Tag Archives: communion of saints

Sunday, November 2nd

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ALL SAINTS SUNDAY

Revelation 7:9–17
Psalm 34:1–10, 22
1 John 3:1–3
Matthew 5:1–12

PRAYER OF THE DAY: Almighty God, you have knit your people together in one communion in the mystical body of your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Grant us grace to follow your blessed saints in lives of faith and commitment, and to know the inexpressible joys you have prepared for those who love you, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

All Saints Day has a special poignancy for me this year. My wife lost her father in August-who was in many respects a second father to me and to each of my children. Ernst died at the ripe age of eighty-six. Though difficult for all of us who loved him, we could celebrate thankfully the many years we had with him and all that he gave to us. Just a month before we lost our grandson, Parker, who lived all of one day. It was considerably harder to see in that event anything worth celebrating. Yet celebrate we did because the value of a life is measured not in chronological time, but in the quantum of love given and received therein, however long or short it may be. By that measure, Parker has outlived many adults in our world who have known too little love and affection.

In our creeds we confess belief in both the resurrection of the body and the communion of saints. There is an inherent conceptual difficulty here. Neither the Hebrew Scriptures nor the New Testament know anything of an “immortal soul.” According to the Bible, human beings are mortal. When they die, everything dies-body, soul and whatever other part of us there might be. Nothing survives death. If there is life after death, it is only because God graciously raises the dead as he did Jesus. Because God does not give us “half a resurrection” restoring only our souls, we enter confidently into the sleep of death anticipating the Day of Jesus Christ when we will be awakened to life eternal.

But what about the communion of saints? What about that great cloud of witnesses cheering us on spoken of in the Letter to the Hebrews? What about Jesus’ declaration that God is not God of the dead, but that all the saints live to him? What do we mean when we speak of the “saints in light?” Seems to me that we have to hold these two apparently contradictory assertions in tension, namely, our belief in the resurrection of the body at the last day and the communion we share now with the angels, archangels and all the company of heaven. I firmly believe that I will be reunited with Ernst and Parker at the day of resurrection and that I will be able to embrace them and speak to them face to face. Just as firmly I believe that in some way too wonderful to comprehend, I am united with them now in a communion that transcends time and space anchored in Jesus Christ, who both sojourns with us throughout our lives and waits for us at the end of our journey “with just one more surprise.” See Evangelical Lutheran Worship # 732.

That communion has both a horizontal and a vertical dimension. By baptism all believers in Jesus throughout the world are united as One Body, one church. Our loyalty to Christ and his church trumps whatever loyalty we might have to family, race or nation. That is the horizontal dimension. The vertical dimension connects all disciples of Jesus living this side of eternity with the saints in light, those believers who have died. On this day it is important to keep both dimensions in view. The saints that have gone before us offer encouragement, support and examples of faithfulness to follow. The saints currently traveling with us offer us opportunities to practice faithfulness, compassion, forgiveness and generosity, all of which the Holy Spirit uses to shape us into the kind of people capable of living joyfully, faithfully and obediently under God’s gentle rule. Whether they are speaking to us out of the distant past or beckoning to us from God’s future or living in our midst, the saints reflect in ever greater clarity and beauty the face of Jesus Christ.

Revelation 7:9–17

My experience with The Book Revelation has always been bitter-sweet. Whenever I announce that I will be holding a Bible Study on Revelation, the initial response is enthusiastic. I find, however, that interest soon wanes when it becomes clear that I will not be announcing the end date for civilization as we know it, the identity of the antichrist or who can expect to be raptured as opposed to being “left behind.” The disappointing truth for many folks is that Revelation does not hold the key to predicting the future. It does nevertheless hold many other fascinating and edifying treasures often missed by those intent on using it as a crystal ball. For a good general overview of Revelation, see the Summary Article by Craig R. Koester, Professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, Minnesota.

Our lesson for Sunday is one of several self-contained liturgical interludes between the visions given to John of Patmos from chapters 4 through 22. See also, Revelation 4:9-11; Revelation 5:6-10; Revelation 11:16-18; Revelation 15:2-4; Revelation 16:4-7; Revelation 19:1-8. This hymn of praise, along with the surrounding narrative, was the inspiration for the old Norwegian hymn, “Behold, A Host Arrayed in White.” See Evangelical Lutheran Worship # 425. John of Patmos is given a vision of a “great multitude” too numerous to count. Vs. 9. These words echo the calling of Abram in Genesis 12:1-3 in which the patriarch is assured that God will make of him a “great nation.” See Kelly, Balmer H., Revelation 7:9-17, published in 40 Interpretation (July 1986) p. 290. That nation is precisely what John is looking at. It is a nation made up of every country, tribe and people yet its allegiance is to “God who sits upon the throne, and the Lamb.” Vs. 10. The political import of this vision is clear. The people called into existence by God and the Lamb, not the Roman Empire, will reign. God, not Caesar, sits upon the highest throne. All rule and authority belongs not to emperor, but to Jesus Christ, “the Lamb.”

We were first introduced to the Lamb in Revelation 5:1-5. He is the one being in all heaven and earth worthy to open up the scroll through which John must enter into the visions soon to be revealed. Though announced in the court of heaven as “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David” (Revelation 5:5), this being appears as a lamb that was slain. Revelation 5:6. This strange juxtaposition, the slain Lamb as the “conqueror” over the vicious predatory beasts to be revealed, is the key to understanding the Book of Revelation. Just as it is the crucified Jesus through whom God’s suffering love overcomes the violent reign of Caesar, so also through the suffering endurance of the seven churches addressed in Revelation 1-3 God’s gracious will for the world is both revealed and actualized. Contrary to appearances, the enduring reality is the life of the fragile, persecuted and demoralized churches-not the Roman Empire.

The great multitude robed in white represents the struggling churches as they truly are: loyal subjects of the triumphant Lamb. They have “washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb.” Vs. 14. This is not to be understood as substitutionary atonement. This “washing” in blood refers to the churches’ sharing in Jesus’ suffering under the cross of Rome. They have come out of the “great tribulation,” that is, persecution under the reign of Caesar. Vs. 14. The image of white robes might very well be an allusion to baptism as well. The use of white garb for the newly baptized is evidenced very early in the life of the church and might well date from the New Testament era. The thrust of this vision is clear. Things are not as they seem. Presently, it appears as though Rome rules supreme and the churches are powerless victims. Caesar’s violence appears to have the upper hand. In reality, however, the patient, suffering love of God revealed in the slain Lamb is destined to outlast the empire. It is precisely through such suffering love that Caesar meets his defeat.

The song making up verses 15-17 evokes numerous images from the Hebrew Scriptures. Service in the temple of the Lord was seen as the highest possible privilege and delight. See, e.g., Psalm 84. Though reserved for the Levitical priesthood in ancient Israel, this privilege is now given to all the baptized. Language strikingly similar to Psalm 23 and Psalm 121 can be found in verses 16-17, i.e., “the sun shall not strike them,” “For the Lamb on the throne will be their shepherd,” and “he will guide them to springs of living water.” As in so many instances throughout the New Testament, John of Patmos draws from numerous familiar images in the Hebrew Scriptures and weaves them into his poetic portrayal of God’s sojourn with his church under the scourge of imperial oppression and violence.

In sum, “Revelation 7:9-17 is, therefore, unalloyed ‘gospel,’ a seeing and hearing of the final justification of the Christian hope. If it is to be part of the church’s proclamation, then, especially in Eastertide, it ought to be proclaimed without ‘if’ and ‘perhaps.’ Similarly, it will not do merely to hold out before persons tempted to despair only a future prospect, coupled with the advice to live out the times in between in chronological waiting. The strength of biblical hope is that it focuses on what is real rather than simply on what will be. Triumph will be because it is the fundamental truth of human life corresponding to the truth of God. Although apocalyptic enthusiasts have frequently reduced the images of Revelation to a time-conditioned calendar, the author surely meant to give the church a vision of God’s victorious vindication always ready to break upon the human scene, so that in the Apocalypse, perhaps more strongly than anywhere else, it is a case of the future determining and creating the present.” Balmer, supra at 294.

Psalm 34:1–10, 22

This is a song of thanksgiving for deliverance from unspecified distress. It is one of the “acrostic” psalms, the others being Psalm 119; Psalm 9; Psalm 10; Psalm 25; Psalm 37; Psalm 111; Psalm 112; and Psalm 145. Its form suggests that the psalm is more likely a mature reflection upon events in the past than a spontaneous expression of praise for something that just occurred. It is quite possible, though, that I take this view because most of the saving acts of God I have experienced appear only in the rear view mirror. That is to say, looking back on my life I can recognize the work of the Holy Spirit in bringing me to the place where I stand today. But I am not one of those persons who experience the guidance of the Spirit in the present tense. I have seldom made choices in my life that I felt certain were inspired, willed or directed by God. Instead, I have stumbled blindly along through the darkness only to discover much later that Jesus has been with me in the darkness and has somehow gotten me to where I needed to be. And this despite my having taken the wrong course, made the wrong decisions and pursued the wrong dreams.

The psalmist invites us to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” Vs. 8. This offer to “taste” makes clear that faith is neither an intellectual exercise nor an emotional attachment. Faith takes the shape of “eating” and sustaining oneself on the promises of the Lord. “[T]hose who seek the Lord lack no good thing.” Vs. 10. It is life lived out of a relationship of trust and confidence in the Lord to provide all things necessary.

From verse 10 the lectionary takes a flying leap to verse 22 which reads: “The Lord redeems the life of his servants; none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.” This is not to be taken as immunization against condemnation by any human court. We know well enough that the innocent frequently are condemned by unjust and oppressive structures. Even in relatively just societies justice sometimes miscarries. But the judgments of all human authorities are relative and subject to reversal in God’s court of appeal. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the ultimate reversal of human judgment. It is precisely because God raised Jesus, who lived according to the humanly impractical directives of the Sermon on the Mount, that believers can so live, endure the world’s rejection, ridicule and persecution but anticipate vindication on the Day of Jesus Christ.

1 John 3:1–3

Professor Stanley Hauerwas is fond of saying that the life of discipleship is unintelligible apart from the conviction that God raised Jesus of Nazareth from death. That is why the world, which does not know or believe in what God did through Jesus, finds disciples of Jesus so utterly incomprehensible-or at least it should. This is what separates Christian ethical conduct from every other ethical point of reference. It is precisely because disciples of Jesus are convinced that the Sermon on the Mount embodies the kingdom destined to come as it must exist in a sinful world that they conform their lives to it even when doing so seems ineffective, impractical and counter-productive. The Sermon is not an unachievable ideal. It was, in fact, achieved and lived out by Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus’ faithfulness to the Sermon he preached resulted in his crucifixion. That, standing alone, would validate what every “realist” tells us. The Sermon is impractical. If Jesus had remained in the tomb, we would have to concede that the cross proves the realist’s point. But God raised Jesus and that changes everything. To every objection of impracticality one might raise against following Jesus’ call to love our enemies, renounce the use of coercive force and lend without expecting repayment, the only proper response is, “but God raised Jesus from death.”

“Beloved, we are God’s children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when he appears we shall be like him…” vs. 2. This is perhaps one of the most important words on the resurrection and eternal life. Far too common is the belief that eternal life is nothing more than a continuation of our present existence-only without sickness, poverty, warfare, Barry Manilow and whatever else makes life miserable. A friend of mine once told me that “death is not real,” that it is no more than “passing through a door.” But if I am the same person on the other side of that door as I am today, nothing has changed. If I carry with me into eternity the same prejudices, the same grudges, the same scars and the same selfish ambitions that characterize my present existence, eternal life will be nothing more than a continuation of all the animosity and strife we now experience-except that there will be no end to it. That sounds very much like Jean Paul Sartre’s portrayal of hell in No Exit.

Death is not only real, but necessary. That is precisely why Paul speaks of baptism as being joined in Jesus’ death. Romans 6:1-4. We need to become the sort of people who can live faithfully, joyfully and obediently under the gentle reign of God in Jesus Christ. That requires repentance which is a sort of death. Repentance, it must be emphasized, is not an individual act. It is rather a way of living in community shaped by the faithful practices of preaching and hearing, Eucharist, prayer, sharing of resources, almsgiving and witness.

Matthew 5:1–12

The problem with the Beatitudes is the same as the problem we have with the well known lullaby, “Rock a by Baby.” The words are so familiar that their shock value no longer registers. Seriously, does anyone really think it’s a good idea to sing an infant to sleep with a song ending in the fall of a baby from the top of a tree? So, too, is there anything inherently blessed about poverty, mourning and persecution? Yet unlike “Rock a by Baby,” which in my view has no redeeming value, the Beatitudes make sense, but only when read against the backdrop of Jesus’ obedient life, faithful death and glorious resurrection.

Moreover, when properly understood as the preamble to the Sermon on the Mount, it becomes obvious that the conditions of beatitude are not metaphorical. Poverty, real poverty, is what can be expected when you lend without expecting return, refuse to re-take what has been stolen from you and forego coercive measures to enforce your “rights.” I therefore agree whole heartedly with Dietrich Bonhoeffer in rejecting the all too common belief that Matthew’s beatitudes represent a watering down of Luke’s briefer version in the Sermon on the Plain. “There is no justification whatever for setting Luke’s version of the beatitudes over against Matthew’s. Matthew is not spiritualizing the beatitudes, and Luke giving them in their original form, nor is Luke giving a political twist to an original form of the beatitude which applied only to a poverty of disposition. Privation is not the ground of the beatitude in Luke nor renunciation in Matthew. On the contrary, both gospels recognize that neither privation nor renunciation, spiritual or political, is justified, except by the call and promise of Jesus, who alone makes blessed those whom he calls, and who is in his person the sole ground of their beatitude.” Bonhoeffer, Dietrich, The Cost of Discipleship, (c. 1959 SCM Press Ltd.) p. 119.

It is important to recall that it is not suffering in general, but the suffering consequential to faithful discipleship that Jesus calls blessed. As pointed out in a frequently quoted passage from the works of John Howard Yoder, “The cross of Calvary was not a difficult family situation, not a frustration of visions of personal fulfillment, a crushing debt or a nagging in-law; it was the political, legally to be expected result of a moral clash with the powers ruling [Jesus’] society.” Yoder, John Howard, The Politics of Jesus, (c. 1972 by Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.) p. 129. Faithfulness to Jesus divides families, invites hostility from the surrounding culture and often requires the sacrifice of life itself. Though they do not frequently make the cut for what the mainstream media considers “news,” there are plenty of instances throughout the world of Christians experiencing poverty, mourning and persecution for their obedience to Jesus. That we do not typically experience these things in the United States is perhaps more an indicator of the church’s lack of discipleship in these parts than the “religious freedom” in which we take such pride.

So what is the “All Saints Day” spin on this text? For some reason, that question calls to mind a novel I read in my twenties entitled Morte d’Urban. It was written by J.F. Powers. The main character is Father Urban, a priest and member of the fictitious Clementine monastic order. Urban is personable, a skilled organizer and a charismatic speaker. His leadership skills are much needed to shore up his failing Clementine order, but the order is run by unskilled, incompetent and less forward looking men who consistently assign Father Urban to positions where his gifts are wasted. Yet wherever he goes, Father Urban uses every opportunity to further the interests and growth of the Clementines.

Over time, however, Urban begins harkening to a different voice calling him to integrity, self-awareness and compassion. The more Father Urban grows into this new self, the less successful he becomes in his role as a promoter of the Clementines. He eventually alienates the powerful and wealthy benefactors he spent so much time and effort cultivating. Ironically, it is at the point of his lowest level of competence (and the height of his spiritual development) that he is appointed leader of the failing Clementine order. His leadership proves to be as ineffective as that of his predecessors-but effectiveness is perhaps overrated.

Is Morte d’Urban a cautionary tale, a parable for a failing protestant establishment desperate to save its institutional life? When survival is at stake, both institutions and individuals are sorely tempted to put spiritual priorities to one side. The bottom line becomes the only line anyone looks at. When new money comes in the door, one tends not to look very carefully at where it came from or how it was made. If somebody within the institution is successful at bringing in membership, building up support and attracting wealthy donors, one does not scrutinize the methodology. As long as nothing blatantly illegal is going on, let the golden goose keep laying! What the heck, it works. None of us likes to think we are that mercenary. But when an institution feeds you, clothes you and provides your medical coverage, it is hard to resist grasping at anything that will extend its life.

What does saintliness look like in our context? What are the qualities we seek in our leaders? Are we valuing effectiveness over faithfulness? Or is this a false dichotomy? Do we need to ask “effective in doing what?” What is a faithful church supposed to look like in 21st Century North America? Are poverty, mourning and persecution marks of such a church? How are we measuring the success of our bishops, pastors and leaders? Is “success” even an appropriate category for such measurement? I don’t know the answer to these questions, but it troubles me that so few in our church are asking them.

Sunday, November 10th

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Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Job 19:23–27a
Psalm 17:1–9
2 Thessalonians 2:1–5, 13–17
Luke 20:27–38

Prayer of the Day: O God, our eternal redeemer, by the presence of your Spirit you renew and direct our hearts. Keep always in our mind the end of all things and the day of judgment. Inspire us for a holy life here, and bring us to the joy of the resurrection, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord

The Sadducees in this week’s gospel lesson were probably more interested in ridiculing and humiliating Jesus than learning anything new about the resurrection of the dead (something they didn’t believe anyway). Even so, the questions they raise are genuine concerns for people who do believe in the resurrection. Will I be raised as the same individual I am today, with all of the same experiences and memories? What will happen to the memories I would give anything to be rid of? Will I recognize and be recognized by the people I have loved? What about people I would rather never see again in this life or the next? And, yes, what about my marriage? Will a lifelong relationship that has come to define me amount to nothing in the new creation?

I used to dismiss these concerns as empty and pointless. After all, we are probably no more able to comprehend life on the other side of the resurrection than a caterpillar is able to imagine life as a butterfly. So why bother puzzling over questions that nobody can answer and probably don’t matter anyway? If God can be trusted to raise the dead, can’t God also be trusted to iron out all the resulting complications? While the left side of my brain continues to assure me that questions about life after resurrection are indeed beyond the reach of my intellect and imagination, my right brain has become restive. Whether it is due to the growing body of evidence for my own mortality, the recent deaths of my parents or a combination of both, I find myself more sympathetic toward people seeking a better understanding of what eternal life entails. Thirty-two years of ministry has also convinced me that the church must speak to these concerns. If we remain silent, we abandon the field to tarot card readers, boardwalk mediums and ever popular TV spiritualists of the John Edward variety. They are only too happy to exploit grief, loneliness and uncertainty for their own personal gain.

Our creeds confess “the resurrection of the body.” Understand that biblical faith knows nothing of an eternal soul. Whatever we are made of-body, soul, mind, spirit or anything else-all of that ceases to exist at death. If there is life beyond the grave, it is not because some eternal part of us survives death and continues to exist in some form thereafter. The Bible knows nothing of any “spirit world.” The only hope there is for life after death is God’s promise to breathe life back into the lifeless dust we have become. The gospel therefore does not promise an escape from death. There is no way around death; there is only a way through it. The way through death is union with Jesus in his own death: “For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” Romans 6:5.

A good friend of mine once told me that he views death as nothing more than “passing through a door into heaven.” While I admire the confident faith that I know lies behind that assertion, I cannot agree with the assertion itself. I pass through any number of doors on any given day and they seldom have any effect on me. I carry through each door all of the same prejudices, grudges, ignorance and nastiness that I was born with or picked up over the years. If I simply carry all that with me into the new creation, it won’t be new for very long. Something has to happen to me before I can live peaceably under the gentle reign of God. Before I can live in the new creation, I have to become a new creation myself. That won’t happen through gradual moral improvement. Nothing short of death and resurrection is required. What is raised from death must necessarily be qualitatively different from what has been consigned to death. I must be raised as a new person capable of loving as I am loved. It won’t be “the same old me.”

Something of that death and resurrection is what should be happening with repentance, confession and forgiveness. Martin Luther calls it “drowning the old Adam.” St. Paul describes it in this way: “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what is ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:14. The important thing to remember here is that the new person is God’s project from beginning to end. Repentance and confession are not spiritual exercises that transform us. Rather, they are the tools by which the Holy Spirit accomplishes the good work of our re-creation. We cannot even know what that work will look like in the end. As St. John puts it, “we are God’s children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we shall be like [Christ] for we shall see him as he is.” I John 3:2. That might not be everything we would like to know, but it is enough.

There is one other concern that comes up frequently in my discussions with people about death and dying. What exactly happens at death? Do we go directly to heaven or do we remain in death until the last day when the dead are raised? Again, I used to be more dismissive of these concerns. Who knows? What difference does it make? When you are dead, ten days might as well be ten-thousand years. But I sense that there is more here than idle curiosity. I think we are looking for assurance that we and our loved ones who go before us will be held together somehow even in death. Thus, although the Hebrew Scriptures generally do not acknowledge any sort of life after death, still Israel believed that God was somehow present even when “my flesh and my heart may fail…” Psalm 73:26. When Jesus responded to his opponents’ denial of the resurrection, he did so by citing God’s self identification as “the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” Luke 20:37. He then went on to point out that God “is not God of the dead but of the living; for all live to him.” Luke 20:38.

I do not know exactly what it means for the dead to “live to God.” I don’t believe for one moment that it refers to some ethereal “spirit world” made up of disembodied souls. Again, there is not one scrap of scriptural support for the pagan notion of an immortal soul. But, in addition to the resurrection of the body, our creeds confess “the communion of saints.” The author of Hebrews speaks of the Old Testament heroes of faith as “a cloud of witnesses” surrounding us with encouragement and support. I don’t know how to reconcile faith in the “resurrection of the body” with our confession of the “communion of saints,” but I believe we need to hang onto both these expressions of our faith without surrendering one to the other.

Personally, I don’t have any need to understand how it all fits together. I don’t need to know how it works. After all, I don’t understand how my computer is printing these words on the screen before me as I type them on the keyboard; nor do I understand how it will eventually spew them out onto the World Wide Web. All I know is that my computer has always faithfully performed these tasks for me in the past and most likely will keep on doing so. But for those of you who might benefit from more conceptual clarity, I share with you the reflections of author and theologian Robert W. Jenson from the second volume of his Systematic Theology:

“The key insight is a simple one: a saint now in heaven is not an otherwise constituted entity who anticipates resurrection. God’s anticipation of the saint’s resurrection is the heavenly reality of the saint. For God’s anticipation of creation’s life in the Kingdom, of our deification and our vision of his glory, is the whole being of heaven. The saint’s present reality is in no way attenuated by this doctrine; what God anticipates indeed belongs to the “whither” of this life but is just so accessible to him and so real in its own mode.” Jenson, Robert W., Systematic Theology, Volume 2 (c. 1999 by Robert W. Jenson, Oxford University Press), p. 368.

Perhaps that is what Jesus meant when he said of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that “they all live” to God.

Job 19:23–27a

For my take generally on the Book of Job, see my entry of Sunday, June 24, 2012. In thinking through the lesson for this coming Sunday, I found particularly helpful Claus Westermann’s book on Job. Employing form-critical analysis, Westermann identifies the dialogues throughout Job as “consoling conversation.” Westermann, Claus, The Structure of the Book of Job-A Form-Critical Analysis (c 1981, Fortress Press) p. 10.  These interchanges involve one who laments his/her misfortune and one or more persons offering comfort and consolation. He further notes that “What it comes down to is that a repeated exchange of words belongs to the process of consolation. In real situations of consolation-as experience demonstrates thousandfold-it almost never happens that the sufferer speaks only once and the consoler replies only once.” Ibid. Furthermore, it is “essential to the process of consolation that the one doing the lamenting be allowed to express himself.” This process, which ought to result in comfort to the afflicted one,  goes awry in the Book of Job. “Disputation has intruded” into the process of consolation with the result that what began as a comforting visit becomes a hostile argument. Ibid. As one reads through the cycles of dialogue in Job, it becomes clear that the target of Job’s lament gradually shifts from his friends to God. Even so, the tone of disputation continues driving all parties away from any prospect of resolution or closure. The spiral of pointless argument is broken only when God intervenes speaking from the heart of the whirl wind.

This is in fact how many encounters with suffering turn out. When people are smarting from a traumatic loss, say for example, the death of a loved one, they often appear hostile and even unreasonable. They might lash out at their loved ones for being unsupportive or the pastor for being inattentive or the church for failing to be sufficiently compassionate. They might even blame God for failing them. Defensiveness tends to be our default posture. You might point out that the family came from all corners of the country to be present at the sufferer’s time of need; that the pastor did everything possible to make the funeral service meaningful and comforting; that the congregation is being supportive in every possible way. You could point out that God has blessed the sufferer throughout his or her life and that this loss is common to everyone at some point. It is therefore entirely irrational to suggest that God is singling him or her out. While all of that might be true, it misses the point. Grief is a matter of the heart, not the head. Consolation is a journey toward healing, not an argument designed to establish propositions. Job’s three friends started out on that journey well enough. They sat with Job in silent solidarity, weeping and mourning with him for seven days. Job 2:11-13. Only when they opened their mouths did everything begin to go downhill.

By the time we reach Chapter 19 form which our lesson is taken, the conversation between Job and his friends has deteriorated into a shouting match. In the previous chapter Bildad, one of the consolers, lashes out at Job in a fit of rage: “Why are we counted as cattle? Why are we stupid in your sight? You who tear yourself in your anger—shall the earth be forsaken because of you, or the rock be removed out of its place?” Job 18:1-4. Bildad and his friends are angry at Job because Job refuses to humble himself before God and seek forgiveness for what must be some significant sin. They have carefully laid out for Job the theological underpinnings for their conclusion that his suffering is the consequence of his own wrong doing. But none of their well reasoned arguments resonate with Job. He continues to speak the language of lament even as they persist in the language of reasoned disputation. The parties are truly talking past each other.  In desperation, Job cries out “How long will you torment me, and break me in pieces with words? These ten times you have cast reproach upon me; are you not ashamed to wrong me? And even if it is true that I have erred, my error remains with me. If indeed you magnify yourselves against me, and make my humiliation an argument against me, know then that God has put me in the wrong, and closed his net around me.” Job 19:1-6.  By this time, Job has given up on finding any consolation from his friends and turns his lament upon God. As much anger and confusion as there might be in Job’s lament, there is also a desperate hope: “For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side and my eyes shall behold, and not another.” Job 19:25-27.

This particular verse is well known as it is commonly read at funerals. While I believe that is an appropriate use of the text, it should be understood that it is not a reference to the resurrection of the dead, a belief specifically formed only in the latest Hebrew writings such as Daniel. Job is very much hoping for God’s vindicating judgment to be manifest in his own lifetime. Now that the counsel of his close friends has turned to judgment and accusation, Job has nowhere left to turn other than to God. In the end, God does vindicate Job, pointing out to Job’s counselors that Job’s lament, not their many disputations, constituted faithful speech to and about God. God is not glorified by elaborate conceptual arguments defending his honor. God is glorified by the faithful lament of one who takes God seriously enough to challenge him.

Clearly, consolation requires compassionate listening and suspension of judgment. Job’s counselors failed because they put their own needs to defend the honor of God and maintain their belief in an orderly moral universe before the needs of their suffering friend. Sadly, that is a mistake frequently made even today. So next time you encounter a lamenting friend, remember Job. In addition to providing us with a lesson on how not to offer consolation, this text emphasizes how freely and openly Israel entered into prayer with her God. Though mindful of her own instances of unfaithfulness to her covenant with God, Israel was not afraid to let God know when she felt God was failing to come through on his side of that covenant.

Psalm 17:1–9

This psalm is a lament and prayer for protection from enemies. Some commentators suggest that this is the prayer of a person on the eve of trial in a significant dispute that might cost him/her dearly. The psalmist points out to God that his/her conduct has been faultless and even invites God to “try” and “test” him/her to show that s/he is blameless. Because God is faithful, the psalmist confidently calls upon him for protection and vindication from his/her adversaries. Such vindication will take the shape of a judgment in the psalmist’s favor against his/her opponents.

While this interpretation is plausible, I wouldn’t bet the farm on it. Given the graphic images of violent attack in verses 10-12 of the psalm (which is not part of our reading), I believe it is just as likely that the psalmist is facing hostility from neighbors in a lawless area of Palestine. The psalm is obviously adaptable for a variety of circumstances. For this reason, it is difficult to date it. As is nearly always the case in Israel’s prayer tradition, the psalmist’s plea for protection is grounded in God’s covenant promises to Israel. No person has any autonomous right to make a claim on God. God owes no one anything. Nevertheless, because God has bound himself to Israel through specific covenant promises, Israel may freely “call God to account” and rely on God to exercise faithfulness to those promises.

2 Thessalonians 2:1–5, 13–17

The relationship between the form and substance of II Thessalonians and 1 Thessalonians has led most commentators to believe that II Thessalonians was composed by a Christian leader writing to a later generation in the name of Paul and his colleagues. However that might be, this second letter echoes Paul’s admonitions to the Thessalonians in the first letter not to concern themselves with “times” and “seasons” for the triumphal return of Christ. I Thessalonians 5:1-11. Here, too, Paul urges the church “not to be quickly shaken in mind or excited, either by spirit or by word or by letter purporting to come from us to the effect that the day of the Lord has come.” Vs 2. He then continues to discuss the appearance of “the man of lawlessness” and the “rebellion” preceding the second coming. This particular section of scripture has given rise to much speculation and is one of the texts that appear to have inspired the Left Behind series. Paul (or the anonymous author) does not explain who the “man of lawlessness” is, nor does he say much about the force that is “restraining him now” discussed in the omitted verses 6-12. Evidently, he assumes that the readers know perfectly well what he was talking about and they probably did. We, alas, have no clue. That is what happens when you read someone else’s mail.

Rather than get caught up in trying to unscramble this egg, I prefer to focus on the concluding verses 13-17. There Paul assures the Thessalonians that they have been elected by God for a better purpose than wrath and punishment. They have been called through the gospel “so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Vs. 14. The focus, then, is comfort for those who have been called. These are the persons to whom the letter is addressed. It is not appropriate to turn this letter of comfort for the elect into a threat against people to whom it was not even addressed.

Luke 20:27–38

Our gospel lesson relates an encounter between Jesus and the Sadducees. It is important to remember that, while the New Testament sometimes lumps the Pharisees and Sadducees together, they represent very different strains of Judaism. The Pharisees and Sadducees each had their own reasons for opposing Jesus. In the case of the Pharisees, the disputes were largely theological. They saw Jesus’ inclusion of “sinners” among his followers as undermining the Torah and the oral traditions designed to ensure strict obedience to its provisions. By contrast, the Sadducees were members and supporters of the priestly caste in charge of maintaining the sacrificial worship practices of the Jerusalem Temple. They were conservative insofar as they insisted on strict adherence to the ritual practices laid out in the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures). They also rejected the oral legal traditions championed by the Pharisees as unwarranted innovations.  Because there is no mention of the resurrection of the dead in the Pentateuch, they maintained that there would be no such resurrection. Nevertheless, the Sadducees were more liberal in their willingness to adopt Hellenistic lifestyles. They enjoyed support from the Roman occupation forces which, in turn, benefited from a substantial cut of Temple revenue. Thus, Jesus’ act of cleansing the Temple and disrupting the commercial transactions that made it a cash cow for Rome constituted a direct threat to their wellbeing. The Sadducees’ opposition to Jesus was thus politically and economically motivated. It was likely the Sadducees who engineered Jesus’ arrest and advocated for his execution. For a useful and concise discussion of the differences between the Pharisees and the Sadducees, see The Jewish Virtual Library.

If the representatives of the Sadducees thought that they could humiliate Jesus before his disciples and in the presence of the people with their clever hypothetical, they seriously underestimated him. Jesus dispenses with the hypothetical summarily by pointing out that those attaining resurrection from death are “equal to angels and are children of God.” We should not read too much into this response. It is not intended to do much of anything but let the Sadducees know that their hypothetical is silly (though for thoughtful believers in the resurrection, it might raise serious concerns as noted in my introductory remarks). The real meat of Jesus’ response to the Sadducees is in his citation to God’s self identification as the God of the patriarchs. If the books the Sadducees acknowledge as holy are from the distant past and the people with whom their God identifies are all dead, it follows that their faith is also a dead relic of the past. In fact, however, God is alive and so are all who put their trust in him. No doubt the scribes (associated with the Pharisees) got a chuckle out of seeing their rival Sadducees trounced by the backwoods preacher from Nazareth. The laughter will be short lived. Their turn comes in verses 41-47.