Psalm 31:1-5; Exodus 4:1-5:9; Matthew 19:13-22

Late today.  Am down in Monterey helping Susan celebrate her birthday.  Out at 6:30 this morning at Lovers Point in Pacific Grove, photographing surf in the rain.  Then a relaxing breakfast, and enjoying watching the clouds and rain showers scud over Monterey Bay.

Psalm 31:1-5  Our psalmist is on the run and seeks safety: “Be a rock of refuge for me,/ a strong fortress to save me.”  The image of God as both rock and refuge is striking.  As I was climbing around on the rocks this morning, seeking a place for the “perfect shot,” I spotted a small outcropping in the sandstone, under which one body could probably crouch, safe from the storm.  Rocks are solid, immovable, dense, safe.  (And they are foundations: “..and upon this rock I will build my church.”)  As we have seen in so many movies, if we can hide under a rock, we are much safer from those enemies taking shots at us.

In our modern society, we tend to think of refuge in abstract, almost comfortable terms, as e.g., “my home is my refuge from the crowds around me.”   But our psalmist is out in the wild, being pursued by his enemies.  We can almost hear him panting, out of breath from running and barely escaping the trap when he says, “take me out of the net that is hidden for me,/ for you are my refuge.”  Refuge here is not escape; it is safety. How often do I think of God as refuge from my enemies?  As a place of safety, not just retreat or escape?

Exodus 4:1-5:9:  The Moravians are carrying us through Exodus at a pretty rapid clip.  So much has happened already: Moses murders the Egyptian overseer, escapes, gets married, encounters the burning bush and for the first time in the Bible, God identifies himself directly, “I AM WHO I AM.”  And 400 years after Joseph, God is at last ready to bring his chosen people back up out of Egypt.  And Moses is the human whom God will use to accomplish this apparently impossible task.

What makes this story so believable is that Moses is completely human; we know exactly how he feels.  His severe self-doubt is completely understandable: “But suppose they do not believe me or listen to me, but say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you.’” (4:1). As we complete this Right Here Right Now study, I am filled with exactly the same self-doubt.  What if I say something, but people don’t believe me, or worse: what if they think I’m simply addled?  Moses has an advantage here because God demonstrates the power with which he is equipping Moses.  While I am not expecting God to turn my walking stick into a snake, I at least can know that it’s OK to question God as to his intentions.

Even after those dramatic demos, Moses still resists the Call: “…I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” (4:10).  But God will have none of that and promises, “I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak.” (4:12).  There’s the part where I tend to go awry.  I always think I know what to say, and unlike Moses, who was unwilling to speak, I am usually unwilling to shut up.  Once again, our role is to abandon ourselves to God and let him speak through us.

As God promised, Pharaoh’s heart is hard and Moses, out of fear, does not actually say what God intended.  Instead he  asks Pharaoh for a three-day vacation for the Hebrews to “celebrate a festival to[God] in the wilderness.”  That doesn’t move Pharaoh, so he says, “a three days’ journey into the wilderness to sacrifice to the Lord our God, or he will fall upon us with pestilence or sword.” (5:3)  Again, Pharaoh is unmoved.  Moses’ feeble attempts to not actually say what God intends him to say only makes life more miserable for all of them.  The lesson is obvious: when God calls and then sends us, we are to be bold and not make wimp-out excuses–as difficult as that may be to do.  Rather than letting God speak through Moses, Moses tries to control the situation because he is afraid of the possible consequences.  Boy, do I see myself here.

Matthew 19:13-22  Jesus’ encounter with the rich young ruler (RYR) is surely the operating definition of missed opportunity–and one of the great “could have beens” in the NT.  It is also the operating definition of most of us.  Like the RYR, I am much more secure in the tangible present, and what I have, than I am in taking a risk by abandoning all that.  The RYR lacked the imagination to envision what might have been–that the riches he may have encountered by abandoning his “here and now” riches could have been infinitely greater.

This encounter between Jesus and the RYR always bugged me when I was younger.  I always though Jesus was being pretty unreasonable.  Why not just accept the RYR “as is.”  Surely, he would come to see life with Jesus as superior and willingly give up his riches later on.  Why did he have to abandon all that first as a condition of following Jesus? But as I grow older and live in a post-cancer reality, I finally see what Jesus was getting at.  The quest for security and keeping what I have is no longer as intense.  “Stuff” and social position no longer really matter very much.  Moreover, I can see that it is in the Kingdom where the real treasures lay.

 

Psalm 30:1-5; Exodus 1:1-2:10; Matthew 18:15-35

Psalm 30:1-5   This psalm’s superscription indicates it was sung “for the dedication of the house,” which I would take to be the Temple or some new part of the Temple.  (although probably not renovated restrooms or a new soundboard…)  The singer begins with praise, “I shall exalt You, Lord.”  But it’s not just general praise; there’s a personal statement  of rescue: “…for You drew me up,/ and You gave no joy to my enemies.”

Unlike so many other psalms where the poet asks for general destruction of his enemies, this note, “You gave no joy to my enemies” is really quite magnanimous.  The enemies are still there, and still threatening, but at least they are unhappy at being defeated.  Obviously, this generosity is a reflection of the upbeat tone of the psalm, but I think we would do well to think in terms of our enemies being denied the joy of victory over us rather than their complete destruction.

This certainly seems more congruent with what Jesus implied when he said, “turn the other cheek.”  That simple act denies our enemy of joy and neutralizes his triumph.

This sense of joy suffuses the psalmist’s relationship with God, as well: “But a moment in His wrath,/ life in His pleasure.”  It’s this very simple view of proportionality that allows our psalmist to “bed down weeping,/ and in the morning, glad song.”  The sheer joy that an intimate relationship with God brings far outweighs the woe, and especially that feeling of God’s abandonment that occurs so often in the Psalms and in our lives.  Is this psalm too upbeat, too unrealistic about life as it actually is?  Perhaps, but untrammeled joy should occupy our lives, even more than the darker times.

Exodus 1:1-2:10  As promised to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, their progeny was indeed fruitful and multiplied faster than the Egyptians.   As the author slyly notes at 1:19, the midwives report to Pharaoh that “‘For not like the Egyptian women are the Hebrew women, for they are hardy.'”  Even though the Hebrews become slaves they continue to multiply causing the Egyptian aristocracy to feel threatened, even to the point, “should war occur, they will actually join our enemies and fight against us.” (1:10).  Thus, the Egyptian rationale for slavery, but also for embarking on genocide, “Every boy that is born you shall fling into the Nile, and every girl you shall let live.” (1:22)

I’m struck by the parallels to the never-ending immigration debate here today, including even the reality that Hispanic birth rates are higher than Caucasians, as we whites will eventually become a minority.  Clearly, many feel threatened by moving form majority to minority status.  I’m sure a similar rationale was used in the 19th century Antebellum south against freeing the slaves, lest they proliferate uncontrollably and overrun the white landowners.  As usual, human nature–especially when it feels threatened–has changed not a whit in thousands of years.

In Sunday School we started right out with the story of the infant Moses set adrift in the wicker basket, conveniently skipping right over the Pharaoh’s genocidal intentions.  This story, of course, is a conscious allusion to the Noah story, and Alter points out that the word used for wicker “ark” is the same as the ark of the Noah story.  I don’t think it would be a stretch to note that this is also a form of baptism; that in water the next great act in this story of God and his chosen people begins.  Water, which also marks major turning points in Moses’ own life, from the crossing of the Red Sea to Moses’ striking the rock, to looking at, but not crossing, the Jordan River at the end of his life.

It’s certainly no coincidence that the Pharaoh’s daughter names the child Moses, “For from the water I drew him out.” (2:10).

Matthew 18:15-35   Jesus takes up the uncomfortable issue of church discipline.  I’ve always been struck that the issue of things going wrong comes up as the first real discussion about the church soon after Jesus has told his disciples that “upon this rock I will build my church.”  In any event, Jesus makes it clear that if the first one-on-one attempt does not result in “the member listen[ing],”witnesses become essential.  This one-on-one meeting happens only when the one who has sinned agrees that’s the case and repents.  The logical next step couldn’t be clearer: “…take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses.” (18:16)

I think the church has generally come down wrong on either side of this issue.  On the one hand there are some strict congregations, whose leader simply pronounces judgement rather than seeking reconciliation.  On the other, churches tend to avoid the entire issue of discipline–and in our litigious age, probably with good reason.  But neither is ultimately healthy for the body, as Paul and I presume every leader since then understands all too well.

That Jesus’s most detailed disquisition on forgiveness immediately follows is no coincidence.  Forgiveness must be the foundation of every issue of discipline.  The message of the parable is crystalline: God forgives; so must we.  And it’s not just the self-serving and very insincere, “if I’ve offended anyone, please forgive me,” we hear form politicians and celebrities, but as Jesus makes terribly clear, it must be “from the heart.”

 

Psalm 29; Genesis 50; Matthew 18:1-14

Psalm 29: In Psalm 28, the poet seeks to hear the voice of God in reply to his pleas.  Here, God’s voice is the emblem of his power and glory: “Grant to the Lord His name’s glory.” And we, his creatures must do obeisance to that power: “Bow to the Lord in holy majesty.”  I’m sure this psalm was written in the midst of a roaring thunderstorm and we hear–and feel– the voice of God loud and clear over nature itself: “The God of glory thunders,/ The Lord is over the mighty waters.”

It is God’s voice manifesting itself in nature that reminds us of God’s dominance as ruler over His creation, “The Lord’s voice in power,/ the Lord’s voice in majesty.”   And it is a power not to be trifled with: “…the Lord’s voice breaking cedars,/ the Lord’s voice shatters the Lebanon cedars.”  Above all, this psalm reminds us that God is not independent of His creation; he rules over it.  And in this rule there is both creation– “the Lord’s voice brings on the birth-pangs of does”–and in the very next line, destruction, “and lays bare the forests.”

Which of course leads to the issue of the human death and destruction caused by natural disasters.  Are these of God’s devising as this psalm suggests?  Or is the destruction simply scaled-up tragedy due to our fallen human nature?  We readily acknowledge that when bad things happen to us individually that we live in a fallen creation.  Can we scale this up to the level of floods, hurricanes and even snow storms?  To me, this seems to be taking human credit–albeit negative credit– for events that are beyond human influence.  In the end, I can only conclude that God is God, and God’s reasons behind natural events remain beyond our ken.

Genesis 50:  This final chapter wraps up the story of Jacob, Joseph, his brothers, which occupies the last 13 chapters of Genesis–a quarter of the book!  There is the rather large delegation that takes Jacob’s body back to Canaan–so large that it makes the natives sit up and take notice, and “they said, ‘This heavy mourning is Egypt’s.'” (50:11).  But the crux of the chapter is Joseph’s forgiveness of his brothers.  As usual, the brothers are thinking mainly of themselves, “he [Joseph] will surely pay us back for all the evil we caused him.” (50:15) and then, rather than having the courage to simply man up and ask Joseph to forgive them, they couch the request to a command given by their father, “Thus you shall say to Joseph, We beseech you, forgive…” (50:17) knowing that Joseph would never go against anything his father requested.

But forgiveness abounds and once again, Joseph both forgives and weeps.  Most importantly, though, he says, “God meant it for good, so as to bring about at this very time keeping many people alive.”  We don’t hear the brothers’ response, but their silence tells me that they simply never “got it” about how God played the central role in this drama. Something I am equally guilty of when things go my way, as they did for Joseph’s brothers.

This incredible book containing this incredible saga concludes on a calm domestic note about family and the unbroken generations to come, as “Joseph saw the third generation of sons from Ephraim, and the sons, as well, of Machir, son of Manasseh.”  The last scene of this book is Joseph bouncing (I’s like to imagine) his great grandchildren on his knees just before he says, “I am about to die.”  God continues to preserve the seed of Noah as the curtain falls.

Matthew 18:1-14  In this passage, Jesus gives us three crucial requirements for those of us who would work in the Kingdom.  First, humility: “unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (18:3).  It is not only pointless to worry about our status, it is counterproductive.  We are to use the humility of children as our example for our own humility.  When was the last time I was as humble as my two-year old grandson, Jens?

Second, there are going to be obstacles in the work: “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come,” (18:7)  But it is our own ambitions–even good ones–to be an important worker in the Kingdom that end up impeding Kingdom work.  And there is no time for foolishness.  If there are people creating obstacles, it needs to be dealt with, not ignored.  I know from my own management experience that the temptation was always to ignore a problem–especially one involving people–just hoping it would go away on its own.  Which of course it never did.  The longer I delayed the more intractable the issue and the more difficult it was to resolve.  Which is exactly what Jesus is getting at here.

Third, just as we are to eliminate obstacles, we are also to seek those who have become lost.  It is so easy to ignore and subsequently forget those whom we have known that have slipped by the wayside. Seeking and finding the lost sheep–including even ourselves when we are lost in addiction or distraction, I think–is a Kingdom priority.  But our main responsibility is to our brothers and sisters.  As always, this is much easier to say than to do.

Psalm 28; Genesis 49; Matthew 17:14-27

Wow. One month to spring.  Not that it matters much here in California, but my children and grandchildren are pretty tired of winter at this point.  Easy for me to go to Minnesota and rave about the snow and ice, but then again, I had the return flight to California in my pocket…

We may not think of the Psalms this way, but many of them are highly sensual.  Not in the usual sexual implication of that word, but sensual as in our senses.  I use “sensual” rather than “sensory” because the psalmists use senses in a way that directly connects us to God, so “sensual” in the sense of “deep and intimate relationship.”

Here at Psalm 28, we have speaking and the crucial sense of hearing as the psalmist writes, “To You, O Lord, I call./ My rock, do not be deaf to me.”  We use the derisive phrase, “deaf as a rock,” but that is not the meaning here.  God is our anchor, our Rock and above all we desire a response.  For there is nothing more awful than hearing only silence in reply: “Lest You be mute to me/ and I be like those gone down to the pit.:  God’s silence means only one thing: separation, abandonment.  And like those who have gone down to the Pit ahead of him, death.

The psalmist reiterates his vocal cry: “Hear the sound of my pleading/ when I cry out to you.”  And again, “Do not pull me down with the wicked,/ and with the wrongdoers.”  To be in the company of wrongdoers is almost worse than being pulled down into the pit.  The reason is simple because what they say and what they do are miles apart: “…who speak peace to their fellows/ with foulness in their heart.”  Not only do the wrongdoers betray those who mistakenly trust them, they betray God as well: “For they understand not the acts of the Lord/ and His handiwork they would destroy and not build.”  Clearly a message for our time: that God expects us to build on his creation, not destroy it.

Suddenly a turning point: “Blessed is the Lord/ for He has heard the sound of my pleading.”  Notice it is not just “heard my pleading,” but “heard the sound of my pleading.”  These are spoken pleas.  Yes, God hears our silent prayers, but there is something about that which is spoken aloud to God that signifies a deeper belief on our part that God has ears and that he hears just as if He were sitting across the table with us.”  That is how real God is to the psalmist.  Is God that real for me?

Here in the penultimate chapter of this remarkable book, the patriarchal story draws to a close as Jacob “called his sons and said, ‘Gather round, that I may tell you what shall befall you in the days to come.'” (49:1)  And he proceeds to lay out in poetic form both blessings and curses for each of the twelve brothers in birth order.  Reuben, the firstborn has “mounted the place where your father lay” and “profaned my couch.”  And “unsteady as water, you’ll no more prevail!”  For as we saw in the previous chapter as Jacob blessed his grandsons, Reuben’s right of primogeniture was taken away from him.

And so for each brother: “Simeon and Levi, the brothers–/weapons of outrage their trade./ …cursed be their fury so fierce,/ and their wrath so remorseless.” (49:5-7).  Whereas Judah, the root of David, is “a lion’s whelp…like the ming fo beasts, and who dare arouse him?” (49:9)  Zebulon will live by the sea (49:13) and Dan will “be a snake on the road/ and asp on the path, that bites the horse’s heels.” (49:17)  And in fact, the tribe of Dan engaged in guerrilla warfare in Joshua and Judges.  “Asher’s bread shall be rich” and “Naphtali,…who brings forth lovely fawns.” (49:21)  Joseph, the “fruitful son” (49:22) is understandably accorded the greatest blessing: “You father’s blessings surpassed/ the blessings of timeless heights…/ May they rest on the head of Joseph.” (49:20).  And finally, young Benjamin, “ravening wolf,/ in morn he consumes the spoils,/ at evening shares the plunder.” (49:27).  Indeed, as we read in Judges, the tribe of Benjamin was renowned for its military skill.  Twelve very different personalities; twelve very different blessings.  Jacob knew his sons intimately.  Just as God knows us.  What blessing (or curse) would be accorded to us here and now?

Jacob issues very precise geographic and legal details of where and how he will be buried and where: “in the cave bought from the Hittites” and “he breathed his last, and was gathered to his kinfolk.” (49:33).  And the end of one of the most remarkable stories in the OT: the man who used subterfuge to receive the blessing; who wrestled with the angel; who fathered twelve very different sons and yet was blessed by God.  Proof, if ever we needed it, that God powerfully uses us regardless of our imperfections and rebellion.

Jesus issues his greatest challenge to his disciples–and to us: “For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.’” (17:20).  Yet here I sit, very incapable of moving Mount Diablo.  Is it simply a question of too little faith?  I feel that Jesus is referring to our work in the Kingdom of God.  That we can indeed accomplish the impossible by asking the seemingly impossible.  That, I guess, is what vision is all about. That simply dreaming big (as the mathematicians might put it) is necessary but not sufficient, but dreaming from the framework of real faith is indeed sufficient.  But in the end, real faith requires abandoning myself completely to Jesus Christ.  Something I have not yet done.

Ever aware that for people to get a message, especially one they don’t want to hear, it needs to be repeated several times, Jesus tells his disciples again that he will be  betrayed but also that he will be raised.  Still not wanting to accept this very disturbing and strange news, the disciples remain in denial. and “were greatly distressed.” (17:23).  And frankly, I don’t blame them.  We know how the story turns out; they don’t.

Have an excellent day, guys.

Psalm 27:1-6; Genesis 46:28-47:31; Matthew 16:21-28

Crisp air after a bit of rain )although more would have been nice); the sun rising almost directly behind Mt. Diablo as we move inexorably to spring.

Psalm 27:1-6  Like the previous psalm, this psalm bespeaks immense confidence in God and his protection: “The Lord is my light and my rescue./ Whom should I fear?”  And this is not just temporary protection, but “The Lord is my life’s stronghold.”  An impregnable castle, an unassailable fortress.  I have to believe Luther had this psalm in mind when he penned “A Mighty Fortress.”

Like the verses of “A Mighty Fortress,” this reality of protection is heightened dramatically with the almost cannibalistic description of enemies advancing relentlessly, “evildoers draw near me to eat my flesh.”  But with God at our side, even “Though a camp is marshaled against me/ my heart shall not fear.”  Because “He hides me in His shelter / on the day of evil.”  This psalm limns a portrait of God as mighty warrior yet at the same time the psalmist can “behold the Lord’s sweetness.”

This seeming contradiction of protection and sweetness is one of the best descriptions of God that we have.  Our cultural images of God as an avuncular old man or as some crazed death-demanding entity hurling lightening bolts miss the mark.  Here is where we see at once the fierce God of justice and God who is the very definition of love.  And with the psalmist, our response can only be”sacrifices with joyous shouts” and singing.

Genesis 46:28-47:31  Following a poignant reunion with his father at which, as with Benjamin, Joseph “fell on [Jabob’s] neck, and he wept in his neck a long while.”  (46:29), Jacob and a delegation of brothers are presented to Pharaoh, who asks “What do you do?” (47:4).  They are shepherds and assigned to live in Goshen. There is a long, intimate conversation with Pharaoh wherein Jacob reveals his age of 130.  Interestingly, because of his advanced age, it is Jacob who blesses Pharaoh (47:10), in an almost ironic echo of the blessing Jacob received so many years ago.  I’m struck by the detailed description of the conversation between Jacob and Pharaoh, clearly underscoring the amity with which the relationship between Israel and Egypt began.

The scene returns to the reality of the famine and Joseph’s brilliant administration that not only keeps the people fed but shrewdly ends up with Pharaoh owning a fifth of all the once-private land.  But there is a foreboding note as the people volunteer to become slaves to Pharaoh (47:19), making it clear that slavery was already part of the Egyptian culture and that Israel probably fell into slavery almost imperceptibly but inexorably.

Jacob’s dying wish is “do not bury me in Egypt.”  And the last of the Patriarchs leaves the scene–while his descendants remain in Egypt. The stage for the next Act in the drama is set.

Matthew 16:21-28: Now that Peter has acknowledged Jesus as Messiah, he clearly has great visions of Jesus coming to Jerusalem and overthrowing both the Romans and the church authorities.  Jesus is now speaking very clearly and directly about what is going to happen.  No ambiguous statements or parables.  Peter does not like what he hears and at least has the good sense to take Jesus aside rather than expressing his dismay publicly, saying, “God forbid! This must never happen to you.”  And here we have it: Peter–and all of us–want to control circumstances so that we get the outcome we want and think is best.  The eternal conflict of “setting [our minds] not on divine things but on human things.”  We often like to call our plans for what Jesus ought to do “vision,” but too often and exactly like Peter, we suffer from spiritual myopia. The “vision” is about us and not about what God has in mind.

And then the ugly truth: we may not like what God has in mind at all. Which I think is what taking up a cross is all about.  It’s about subjugating our desires and our sense of what “should” happen, abandoning those grand dreams and first discerning (not a trivial task!) and then being open and accepting of what God has in mind.  At least it is for me, I have to take up that cross again every morning.

Just a side note: our small group had an excellent discussion last night about hospitality which led to us discussing your points, Kevin, about open communion and then exploring the nature of faith and then grace.  We may not be a “Lutheran Church” anymore, but it’s encouraging to see that the Lutheran distinctive is still reasonably alive and well.

Psalm 26; Genesis 46:1-27; Matthew 16:5-20

Psalm 26  This psalm takes an opposite tack from the many that implore God to intervene against enemies.  Instead, it almost dares God, “Judge me, O Lord,” and later, Test me, O Lord, and try me.”  This is hardly “Lead us not into temptation.”  However, as usual, context is everything.  This psalm is not so much a psalm of thanksgiving–and certainly not one of supplication–as it is a psalm that professes the poet’s innocence.  Innocent not because “I shall not stumble, ” but innocent because “the Lord I have trusted.” David has hewed strictly to the paths of God’s righteousness and “walk[ed] in Your truth.”

This is a psalm of confidence.  Not a confidence born of self-righteousness or thinking he’s got it all figured out on his own. Or that he is exempt from danger.  But the confidence that arises from complete trust in God.  It is not arrogance that causes him to exclaim, “Test me, O Lord, and try me,” but complete and utter confidence in God’s righteousness.  I think this is what Oswald Chambers is getting at when he talks about “abandoning” ourselves to Christ.  Ego and the need to be in control have been supplanted by complete and total faith in a loving God.  This is why he can ask so confidently to be judged and tested. He is on a journey on which “I shall walk in my wholeness.  Redeem me. Grant me grace.”  Only God can supply that wholeness, that confidence.

Genesis 46:1-27  The conversation between Jacob and Go in his dream-vision shows striking parallels to the conversations God has had with Abraham and Isaac, especially Jacob’s simple sentence, “Here I am” in response to God’s call (46:3). And it’s crucial to help us understand that Jacob did not pull up stakes just to have a happy family reunion or even to avoid famine, but that the journey to Egypt is God-ordained, “I am the god, God of your father..  Fear not to go down to Egypt, for a great nation I will make of you there.” (46:3b)  So, Egypt, not Canaan, is where God will transform Israel from a clan into a nation.  No one surely saw that coming.

And Jacob does not go down to Egypt alone while God waits back in Canaan.  God promises, “I Myself will go down with you to Egypt.”  (46:4)  Even more importantly, God has no intention of abandoning Israel in Egypt, and it is here where the Exodus return is initially promised: “and I Myself will surely bring you back as well.”  Which of course is exactly what happens.  Certainly not in the way Jacob may have imagined and certainly not 400 years in the future.  But as unknowable as God’s plans may be, God’s promise is steadfast.  This is the same God in which David expressed such confidence that he can “walk in wholeness.”

Matthew 16:5-20   We tend to think that Jesus’ disciples never quite “got” what Jesus was talking about.  But here, for once, “they understood that he had not told them to beware of the yeast of bread, but of the teaching of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” (16:12) It’s just as important that we “get it.”  Bad yeast corrupts bread, and bad theological yeast can do the same.  Not just the Pharisees and Sadducees, but the bad yeast that abounds today in the form of corrupt teaching, as e.g., the “prosperity Gospel.”

This is where puns will get you.  Protestants and Catholics will argue until the Second Coming about the exact meaning of 16:18: ” And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church.”  Is the petra Peter (“Rocky”) or Jesus Christ or something else?  I am of the “petra = Jesus Christ” persuasion because I think it is the Church that has the keys to the kingdom, not a single disciple, but I can see where the Catholics are coming from.  For me, the real point here is that the Church is serious business and whatever we do as or in the Church, we do not do lightly or casually because “whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” (16:19b).

Psalm 25:8-22; Genesis 45; Matthew 15:29-16:4

Psalm 25:8-22  Late this Monday morning, as Jerry and I shared images from northern Minnesota earlier today.  Sort of weird to be looking at all these shots of snow, ice, rocks, and very cold water with the sun shining brightly outside and temps in the 50’s headed to the 60’s.

The latter half of this psalm focuses (so to speak) on the visual relationship between God and David.  The poet writes, “My eyes at all times are on the Lord,” but the next verse wherein he asks God to “Turn to me and grant me grace” gives us the picture of David looking at God’s back s he asks the Lord to turn around and see him.  His supplications continue with the request to “See my affliction and suffering” and “See my enemies who are many.”  It is not enough for David to simply speak his troubles to God.  It is essential that God witness them for Himself by seeing.

This “seeing” theme is important to guys like me who tend to makes God into an all-knowing abstraction rather than a Father who sees the distress of his child.  Just as eye-witness testimony is more reliable than hearsay, it’s as crucial for me as it is for David to ask God to be my witness, and see for himself my own desperate situation.  And equally, that like David, I ask God to witness my current state before asking him to do anything about it.  There is an immediacy and intimacy that “seeing” conveys that makes my supplication more real; I am forced to articulate what I want God to turn and see, not just a general prayer for God to “fix” things for me.

Genesis 45  At last: Joseph’s Big Reveal about who he really is: the brother thought dead who has created finally, after all these years, an acknowledgement of the collective guilt of the brothers.  Of which he absolves them by saying, “And so, it is not you who sent me here but God.” (45:8) Here is the mark of a man of true faith: that all of the rotten things that have happened to Joseph have been through God.  It is God who has brought him on this journey through darkness into the light.  Just as our own journeys that seem dark at worst and pointless at best bring  us into the glaring realization that God has been involved–and beside us–all the time.  You have heard enough about my own journey these past 5 years to know what I’m referring to and how it has indeed been God who has brought me to this point.  Amen.

I cannot help but remark on stumbling across the Biblical precedent for hugging: “And he [Joseph] fell upon the neck of his brother Benjamin and he wept, and Benjamin wept on his neck.”  Truly as moving a reunion scene as any in all of Western literature.

Being of a Christological bent I cannot help but see the parallels to the Other Big Reveal: the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Just as Joseph had been presumed dead, he has, as far as the brothers are concerned, raised from the dead.  So, too, Jesus.  Just as the brother’s were the instruments that in effect “killed” Joseph, so too, the Jewish authorities.  But it was God in His larger plan who caused these things to occur. Just as there is a subtext of disbelief among the brothers when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers, so too, between Jesus and his disciples; a reunion that quickly turns form disbelief to pure joy.  And just as Joseph asks to see his father, so too, the resurrected Jesus, having completed his earthly mission, returns to his father.

Matthew 15:29-16:4   I’ve often wondered why there are two separate multitude-feeding stories: the 5000 and the 4000.  For me anyway, repetition emphasizes the miraculous nature of the events, where a single incident could be easily blown off as Jesus setting an example of sharing and everyone then sharing what they had.  Nice, but no miracle.  Second, I think the feeding demonstrates the spiritual abundance we experience through a relationship with Jesus Christ.  We may have only a few loaves and fish in terms of resources or gifts.  But when we allow Jesus to operate on those through us, the results are amplified by orders of magnitude.

Jesus accuses the Pharisees of being reasonable weatherman, seeing the quotidian details, but missing the big picture, i.e., “the signs of the times.”  Boy, is that us: able to spend time and energy on the small stuff such as music and worship style, but missing the larger picture.  IN a sense, I think that’s why I’ve been having trouble with Right Here, Right Now: it’s pulling me away from my comfort of focusing on what I know: what red in the morning and night means, and into the larger picture–the signs of the times, if you will–of our role in the larger community.

Psalm 25:1-7; Genesis 44; Matthew 15:21-28

Psalm 25:1-7  This psalm begins with David’s confession of an implied wrongdoing, “My God, in You I trust. Let me be not shamed,/ let my enemies not gloat over me.”  After asking God to shame his enemies in turn, David takes the next step beyond confession, the opportunity to learn from his mistakes, “Your ways, O Lord, inform me,/ Your paths, instruct me.”  While it is sufficient for us to confess our sins in order to be forgiven, David gives us an example of building on the “lessons learned.”  And this is not just an interior learning experience, but that it is God who gives the instruction–and as I suspect David knew well, the lesson comes in form of the consequences of the sin.

The other side of confession, is that having confessed, God not only forgives but forgets: “My youth’s offenses and my crimes recall not.”  We don’t, but God does.  Instead, as a father who has forgiven his children’s wrongdoings, God remembers us for who we are: his beloved children.  Remembered not because we are inherently good, but simply because we are his children: “In Your kindness, recall me–You;/ for the sake of Your goodness, O Lord.”

Genesis 44  Joseph’s elaborate scheme involving silver and the goblet seems designed to frustrate the brothers in their effort to return the silver, remembering of course, that it was silver they received in payment for originally selling Joseph as a slave.  I’m pretty sure that by now, the brothers feel they are receiving a bizarre recompense for that original deed. I’m intrigued that in the Bible it is silver–not gold–that seems to play the major role in deceit and betrayal.

Joseph’s pronouncement of a death sentence on the one who has the sacred goblet brings the drama to its climax, especially since it is Benjamin, the one innocent party in all that has led to this point.  One perceives a Christological hint here: it is the innocent Jesus on whom the death sentence is pronounced.

Judah comes forward to plead for Benjamin’s life and admits the brothers’ collective guilt at 44:16: God has found out your servants’ crime.”  Judah is referring to the current situation, but it’s clear that this is the comeuppance for the brothers’ crime against Joseph some 20 years earlier.  And it is God who reveals the crime.  There is a perfect symmetry of retribution when Judah says, “Here we are, slaves to my lord.”  The brothers who sold Joseph into slavery are now slaves themselves. (And also a foretaste of Israel’s eventual fate in Egypt.)

Matthew 15:21-28   The story of the Canaanite woman is one of my favorites, because to my mind, her reply to Jesus statement that “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” is one of the most insightful–and clever–in the gospels: “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” (15:27).  We certainly see Jesus’ divinity here in that he heals the woman’s daughter, but equally, his humanity as he acknowledges not only the wisdom of the woman’s words, but her cleverness.  It was probably a great relief to hear such pithy metaphorical insight, which his disciples so often failed to display.

Inasmuch as he is writing to a primarily Jewish community, Matthew’s subtext here is crucial: the evangelicum is not only for the Jews, but gentiles as well.  Yes, Mathew infers, Jews may have pride of place, but the good news is for everyone, even those whom you may view as beneath contempt.

Psalm 24; Genesis 43; Matthew 15:10-20

Psalm 24  This marvelously liturgical psalm poses two enormously important questions.  First, “Who shall go up on the mount of the Lord,/ and who shall stand up in his holy place?”  The answer of course is “The clean of hands and the pure of heart.”  But who is that, really? Were the Israelites clean of hands and pure of heart?  Are we? But God’s justice demands clean hands and a pure heart in order to approach him.  For Israel, under the terms of the Old Covenant it was via the sacrificial system.  For us under the New Covenant, it is the intermediary power of Jesus Christ.

The second question asks, “Who is the King of Glory?”  Of course we know the answer, but I believe this is a question whose answer we must acknowledge each time we gather for worship.  For in uttering the psalmist’s answer, “The Lord of armies, He is the king of glory,” we recapitulate our own relationship with God.  He is the king of glory, not we.  This helps me avoid the tendency to put God in a little box of my own devising, reminding me that I am the created, not the Creator, and that God’s power is far greater than I can ever imagine.  I really think that we must maintain this awestruck mystery about God–and that we will never fully comprehend God.  Yes, we are his beloved children and yes, he is our “abba,” but he is also the King of Glory.  We forget that reality at our peril.

Genesis 43  Finding the silver in their bags has truly freaked the brothers, and Jacob tells them to double the silver and bring other items back to Egypt as tribute (including pistachio nuts!) as insurance to make it clear that their intentions were pure. When Joseph elects to have dinner with his brothers, their anxiety goes through the roof, as the believe the invitation means “in order to fall upon us, to attack us, and to take us as slaves, and our donkeys.” (43:18)  But Joseph’s servant explains that “Your God and the God of your father has placed treasure for you in your bags.” (43:23).

Joseph’s brothers have assumed the worst: the silver in the bags is a plot to frame them and make them slaves.  Joseph’s servant says, “No, the silver is a gift from God.”  How very much like us: assume the worst, even when it is actually a gift from God?  I think it’s our intrinsically sinful and suspicious nature to always start out assuming the worst.  Just as Joseph’s brothers did.  But in fact the “worst” may very well be a gift from God.  That’s how I feel about my cancer: could anything worse have happened to me? Yet, in many ways it has been the greatest gift of my life because of how it has so impacted my spiritual journey and brought a fulness to my life that I otherwise in all likelihood would have missed…

Matthew 15:10-20  If money is one of Jesus’ “Big Topics” so, too, is the problem of spoken words: “it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” (15:11) Because even when we say defensive things like, “I didn’t really mean to say that,” the truth is that we did indeed mean it, and Jesus explains why: “But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles.” (15:18).  Our sinful inner being lays the root of what we say.

Like the Pharisees, I’d rather focus on surface issues like washing our hands before eating, rather than on the real problem of my heart.  Controlling my tongue has been a constant battle through the years.  I’m pretty good with words and can use them to harmful effect on others (especially Susan)–even to the point of seeming like it was a compliment.  This passage that directly connects my tongue to my heart is an ongoing challenge for me.

Finally, in the nature of unexpected gifts in my own bags, I received the following email last night from a guy I’ve never met, but is on one of the prostate cancer Internet boards I inhabit.  I think he has discovered the same thing about unexpected silver in the bag as I have.  He wrote,

“I want to thank you for a couple of things. For your book, which was enlightening; it convinced me that I wasn’t alone in my thoughts and emotions. It helped me come out of the darkness. I also want to thank you for your expressions of faith–I fought faith for a long time after the diagnosis and was angry with God. I finally realized that the cancer and heart attacks were the only times my faith had been seriously challenged. I’ve come around, in part thanks to you. I’ve finally let go and let God and it’s an entirely new world for me now. I have hope for the first time in about a year. Thank you again.”

Psalm 23; Genesis 42; Matthew 14:25-15:9

Psalm 23  This is my third pass through the Psalms and I’m trying to figure out if the Moravians have divided up the psalms such that we intentionally always read Psalm 23 on the day before Valentine’s day.  Because in the end I think this psalm is less a psalm of comfort that is read at approximately 80% of the funerals I’ve attended, than it is a love poem.  For who but a loving Shepherd could offer us meadows and quiet waters? Is there a greater expression of love than God’s companionship as “I walk in the vale of death’s shadow?”  A love so great that all fear is banished?

God’s love is so much greater than mere protection from harm and enemies.  We are his anointed children, and even in the darkest of times we are blessed to overflowing by his generosity.   And best of all, in Alter’s translation, goodness and mercy do not merely “follow me,” they “pursue me.”  Reflect on that: God is so eager to saturate us in blessing that his blessings pursue us, rush after us.  Even in the very darkest times. So, yes, comfort indeed, but comfort that arises, indeed rushes up out of a bubbling spring of pure love.

Genesis 42  The Bible is full of family dynamics–right up to the point where Jesus asks, “Who is my brother?”–a question that seems to point right back to this rich story of hidden fraternal identity and wild misunderstanding.  Like Joseph, Jesus knows the truth of the situation, but just as the brothers fail to recognize Joseph, we fail to recognize Jesus.  An immensely generous Jesus, who gives us full bags and returns our silver (a subtle parallel to the silver that betrayed Jesus), but whose generosity that too often makes us afraid rather than grateful, just as the brothers were afraid.

For me, the hinge point of this story happens when the 10 brothers standing before Joseph recognize their guilt, about which they have obviously been in denial for many years: “Alas, we are guilty for our brother, whose mortal distress we saw when he pleaded with us and we did not listen.” (42:21).  Four words that say it all about the brothers–and about us: “We did not listen.”  And the price for not listening is high.  Reuben attempts to cast himself as the innocent in this bloody business, “Didn’t I say to you, ‘Do not sin against the boy,’ and you did not listen  And now, look, his blood is requited.'”  Just as Adam and Eve failed to listen to God, and Reuben now understands the blood consequences of the failure to listen (even as he tries to shift the blame to others!), so too we have failed to listen.

This is our condition: we do not listen because we think we can control our lives–and the lives of those around us.  And for our failure to listen, there are consequences.  The consequences of sin; c.f. Romans  6:23.

Matthew 14:25-15:9  I think we are too hard on Peter, always looking to his failure of faith as the reason he cannot walk confidently on the water.  But for me, Peter is courageous because (1) he is willing to put Jesus to the test (“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” ) and (2) when commanded, Peter clambers over the gunwales of the boat and sets out.  Matthew doesn’t say anything about the response other 11 disciples, but I’m pretty sure they thought Peter was nuts.  Peter takes the risk and the others don’t.  Yes, Peter loses his focus on Jesus and begins to sink.  But, hey, he got out of the boat.

The two-fold lesson here is clear:  First, when we hear the call to take a risk and get out of the boat we should have the confidence in Jesus to do so. But second, when we take that risk we must constantly look on Jesus, not down at our own feet.  Once we start believing our own press releases and think that whatever walking-on-water thing is being accomplished, is due to our own insights, intelligence, charisma, or whatever, we will begin to sink.  How many famous pastors have met Peter’s fate by believing more in themselves than in Jesus?  Closer to home, why am I still resting in the boat?