Archives for March 2016

Psalm 42; Exodus 36; Matthew 27:11-31

Psalm 42: The famous opening line of this psalm establishes the theme of this psalm of supplication: “As a deer yearns for streams of water,/ so I yearn for You, O God.” (2) Rather than emphasizing the poet’s suffering as many other psalms do, the theme here is his passionate longing for God, who is absent. The Germans have a better word for this intense longing because it also connotes a deep emotion that “longing” or “yearning” do not: Sehnsucht. This longing is expressed as “My whole being thirsts for God/ for the living God.” (3a) But alas, our poet feels he is far from God’s presence: “When shall I come and see/ the presence of God?“(3b)

Water in all its forms is the foundational metaphor of this psalm, and here it describes not only longing but a feeling of abandonment, “My tears became my bread day and night” because the psalmist is surrounded by mocking enemies who “said to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?'” (4b) He reminisces about happier days when “I would step in the procession,/ when I would march to the house of God/ with the sound of glad song of the celebrant throng.” (5) Equally important, though, he remains faithful and believes God will rescue him eventually and he will be able to once again join the procession headed to the temple: “Hope in God, for yet will I acclaim Him/ for His rescuing presence.” (6)

As he recalls God’s blessings, he returns to the water metaphor. This time is is God’s presence expressed as immersing him completely: “Deep unto deep calls out/ at the sound of Your channels./ All Your breakers have surged over me.” (8) He imagines how he would speak with God when he returns, “I would say to the God my Rock, ‘Why have You forgotten me?? Why in gloom do I go, hard pressed by the foe?’” (10) But the thing that seems to vex him most is that his enemies “say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?‘” (11)

Have we not felt exactly the same when we feel God seems absent from our lives and an erstwhile friend, who knows we are people of faith, asks, “So, you claim to believe in God, but he’s nowhere to be seen, is he?'” And then they conclude, “Therefore, God does not exist.”

Nevertheless, like the psalmist, we cling to hope, “Hope in God, for yet will I acclaim Him,/ His rescuing presence and my God.” (12) Because we know that sooner or later, God will indeed show up.

Exodus 36: This chapter is a reprise of the construction of the Tabernacle. But where the earlier description was basically dry details, a definite joy and enthusiasm underscore this description and we can see the humanity involved. While the superintendents, Bezalel and Oholiab, are featured, it’s heartening to know that the work also included “every skillful one to whom the Lord has given skill and understanding to know how to do any work in the construction of the sanctuary shall work in accordance with all that the Lord has commanded.” (1)

I think it’s telling that the authors emphasize how the “skill and understanding” of the workers and artisans has been given and that the work is “in accordance with all that the Lord has commanded.” God has given each of us gifts of skill and understanding. The question is, do we use them in to work in the Kingdom, or do we squander them on useless projects or even worse, fail to use them at all?

The authors continue to emphasize how “everyone whose heart was stirred to come to do the work” and that so many offerings pour in that the overseers (I presume Bezalel or Oholiab) tell Moses, “The people are bringing much more than enough for doing the work that the Lord has commanded us to do.” (5). One has the feeling that the offerings are gifts from a chastened people, who having seen some 3000 of their kindred struck down following the golden calf debacle that the roots of much of their enthusiasm arises from feeling duty bound to whatever is commanded of them by God through Moses.

The other sub-theme that is prominent here is how the Tabernacle is the work of human hands and skill— an emphasis missing from the earlier description. We meet “those with skill among the workers made the tabernacle with ten curtains” (8) The pronoun “he”  begins each sentence that describes a particular object, reminding us that it is the work of human hands that is connected with each item—curtains, loops, gold clasps, upright frames, silver bases, bars of acacia wood. One has to believe that the leaders and artisans who built the great cathedrals of Europe relied on this part of Exodus to motivate their people—especially when it came to giving offerings—but hopefully with the same willingness shown by the people of Israel here.

Matthew 27:11-31: Jesus is before Pilate and answers the governor’s question, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  with three terse words, “You say so.” As always, Jesus’ answer flings the question back onto the questioner. What’s interesting here is that when “he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer.” (12) What do we make of Jesus’ silence? Pilate was “amazed,” but it seems clear to me anyway that Jesus’ silence simply means he will not dignify these false accusations with an answer. To speak and defend himself would have given his accusers legitimacy. His silence deprives them of the satisfaction thinking they had any case whatsoever.

Pilate quickly figures out the emptiness of their plot—”he realized that it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over.” (18)— as he cuts quickly to the chase and decides to use a method that he thinks will result in Jesus’ release. He offers them the choice between Jesus and Jesus “who is called the Messiah” (17) As if in proof of the correctness of instincts, Matthew tells us that “his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.” (19).

But Pilate badly misjudges the mood of the crowd and his ruse to establish Jesus as the innocent party is turned on its head when the crowd, which has obviously been incited by the religious officials, demands that Jesus be crucified. Mobs are unpredictable and two millennia later we see the same evidence in the misguided enthusiasm of people for the political Barabbases of our own day. They would rather turn the world upside down than do the right thing.

To avoid a riot, Pilate gives in, but not before he famously “took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” (24) The question hangs in the air two thousand years later: Could Pilate have done anything else than what he did? I confess that no reasonable alternative occurs to me. It stands in history as proof that incited mobs are unstable and unwise.

Psalm 41; Exodus 35; Matthew 27:1-10

Psalm 41: Our psalmist begins with a general statement of wishing well being to others in unfortunate circumstances: “Happy [is he] who looks to the poor./ On the day of evil may the Lord make him safe./ May the Lord guard him and keep him alive.” (2, 3a). But then the words move to greater specificity: “And do not deliver him into his enemies’ maw./ May the Lord sustain him on the couch of pain.” (3b, 4a) And he notes that God healed this poor sick man: “You transformed his whole bed of illness.” (4b)

These are all very nice “psalmic” thoughts but suddenly the poem turns personal and we realize that he is the one who is praying for healing: “I said, ‘Lord grant me grace,/ heal me, though I offended You.” As always, illness is thought to be the result of sin. But now the poet launches into a very specific set of dire circumstances that have happened to him: “My enemies said evil of me:/ ‘When will he die and his name be lost?’ (6) In fact, one ostensible friend came to visit him and betrayed him, “his heart spoke a lie.” (7a) Worse, this ‘friend’ did not come to comfort but to check him out as “He gathered up mischief, went out, spoke abroad.” (7b)

The betrayal becomes a conspiracy: “One and all my foes whispered against me,/ against me plotted my harm.” (8) They speak confidently with shadenfreude of his impending death: “Some nasty thing is lodged in him./ As he lies down, he will not rise again.” (9). Then, even worse “Even my confidant, in whom I did trust,/ who ate my bread, was utterly devious with me.” (10)

So, our psalmist understandably asks for healing by the only one in whom he can trust: “And You, O Lord, grant me grace, raise me up,” (11a). But his motives are not as pure as we had hoped as he concluded the supplication with “that I may pay them back.” (11b) The poet puts God to the test, stating that of God heals him, “In this I shall know You desire me—/that my enemy not trumpet his conquest of me.” (12)

Once God demonstrates his love for him by healing him, the psalmist will acknowledge God’s mercy: “And I, in my innocence, You sustained me/ and made me stand before You forever.” (13)

I’m not convinced this is a prayer we should offer on our sickbed. Jesus instructed us to love our enemies. And his healing power made it clear that illness was not the direct result of personal sin. But if nothing else, this psalm demonstrates again that we can bare our deepest emotions and our darkest wishes to God.

Exodus 35: Now that Moses has received these extremely detailed instructions from God while he was up on the mountain, he comes down to communicate them to all Israel, saying, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do.” (1) Not surprisingly, the first instruction is all about obeying the Sabbath. The penalty for breaking Sabbath was harsh indeed: “whoever does any work on [the Sabbath] shall be put to death.” (2)

While I am certainly no Bible scholar, it’s becoming obvious that another group of priests (who certainly have strong feelings about keeping the Sabbath) are writing this portion of Exodus.

Once again we encounter the details of the material requirements for the Tabernacle and there is a general plea for skilled labor to help build it:”All who are skillful among you shall come and make all that the Lord has commanded:” (10) These authors are far more succinct in describing the  the Tabernacle, its furnishings, and the priestly vestments than the endless detail that was covered in the earlier chapters.

Rather, there seems to be an emphasis on the people who will participate in this enormous project rather than on construction details.  This time rather than being forced to hand over their possessions, the people are asked to give willingly, which they do happily: “And they came, everyone whose heart was stirred, and everyone whose spirit was willing, and brought the Lord’s offering to be used for the tent of meeting, and for all its service, and for the sacred vestments.” (21)

There is certainly greater enthusiasm as these authors again and again speak of willing hearts, “So they came, both men and women; all who were of a willing heart brought brooches and earrings and signet rings and pendants, all sorts of gold objects, everyone bringing an offering of gold to the Lord.” (22)

And this time, Moses introduces Bezalel and Oholiab, who will be overseeing the project, as being ordained for the task: “Then Moses said to the Israelites: See, the Lord has called by name Bezalel [and God] has filled him with divine spirit, with skill, intelligence, and knowledge in every kind of craft.” (30) And God “has filled them [Bezalel and Oholiab] with skill to do every kind of work done by an artisan or by a designer or by an embroiderer…” (35)

Frankly, I find this version of building the Tabernacle more congenial than the earlier sections because of its emphasis on the willing hearts of the people and God’s ordination of the skilled artisans who will carry out this project. It seems much more like a collaboration between Israel and God rather than a project that has been commanded. Which is also why people today will give willingly from their hearts when they feel a part of God’s project rather than having it imposed on them form on high.

Matthew 27:1-10: The conspirators have a single goal, which they themselves cannot carry out, so “the chief priests and the elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death.” (1) Jesus is handed over to Pilate, who happens to be in Jerusalem primarily to keep the peace during the tumultuous Passover. I’m sure he’d much rather be in the Roman comforts of his digs up north in Caesarea.

Matthew interrupts the Jesus story to update us on the Betrayer: “When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders.” (3) Judas is deeply regretful about what he has done, telling the officials, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” (4). But they will not accept back the infamous 30 pieces of silver he was paid. Judas throws the money on the floor and “he went and hanged himself.” (5)

Why does Matthew present us with a repentant Judas? I think because he wants to communicate two things. First, he’s making it clear that Satan took over his heart and made him just one more instrumentality of the inevitable course of events of the Passion story. Second, I think Matthew is suggesting that anyone of us could have been Judas. It’s just not that difficult to act on our darkest impulses and then come to regret it later.

The chief priests pick up the silver that’s laying on floor, but with their inevitable self-righteousness announce,“It is not lawful to put them into the treasury, since they are blood money.” (6) For Matthew this is the final hypocrisy. The officials intimate that since Judas accepted the money it is now untouchable when in fact it is the blood money that is actually on their heads—not Judas’s.

Matthew tells us they used the money to buy a potter’s field to bury the unsanctified dead, allowing him once again to assert how Scripture was fulfilled, this time, he says, from Jeremiah. Even though Matthew says it’s Jeremiah, the actual prophecy seems to be from Zechariah. Naturally, theological controversy has ensued with all kinds of creative ideas for explaining Matthew’s apparent error. As an engineer, I prefer the simplest explanation: Matthew made a mistake. But of course for inerrantists, that’s unacceptable.

Psalm 40:9-18; Exodus 34; Matthew 26:59-75

Psalm 40:9-18: Our psalmist wants nothing more than “to do what pleases You, my God, I desire.” (9a) and he knows that what he has learned from God suffuses his very being: “and Your teaching is deep within me.” (b). And he puts what he has learned into practice:  “I heralded justice in a great assembly,” (10a) as he proclaims God’s teachings and his testimony of God’s mercy to all who will listen:
“Look, I will not seal my lips.
Lord, You Yourself know.
Your justice I concealed not in my heart.
Your faithfulness and Your rescue I spoke.
I withheld not from the great assembly Your steadfast truth.” (10b, 11)

This is a man who has been transformed by God’s mercy and he wishes to proclaim it aloud. But is it out of joy at God’s rescue, or is there a hidden expectation of a quid pro quo here? Having proclaimed God, we sense he believes God will reciprocate accordingly: “You, Lord, will not hold back/ Your mercies from me./ Your steadfast truth/ shall always guard me.” (12)

But as he confesses his sins we see his sincerity and know that he is truly grateful for God’s faithfulness in spite of his own weakness and sins: “My crimes overtook me/ and I could not see—more numerous than the hairs of my head—/and my heart forsook me.” (13). His recollection seems to pull him from joy back down to despair and supplication: “Show favor, O Lord, to save me. Lord, to my help hasten” (14) along with the inevitable desire for God to take vengeance on his enemies: “May they be shamed and abased one and all,/ who seek my life to destroy it,/ may they fall back and be disgraced,/ who desire my harm.” (15)

But he recovers quickly as he once again recalls God’s goodness: “Let all who seek You/ rejoice and exult in You./ May they always say, ‘God is great!‘” (17) Nevertheless, even in exaltation our poet knows that he is constantly in need of God’s rescue and God’s forgiveness: “As for me, I am lowly and needy/..My help, he who frees me You are.” (18)

For me, this psalm is a beautiful example of the highs and lows we experience as human beings, but there is always one constant upon which we can rely: Our faithful God who loves us despite our many faults and sins.

Exodus 34: God grants Moses a mulligan as he instructs Moses to “Cut two tablets of stone like the former ones, and I will write on the tablets the words that were on the former tablets, which you broke.” (1). Moses does so and once again ascends Sinai, since something this momentous—the re-presentation of the Law—apparently cannot occur in the more mundane setting of the Tent of Meeting.

As Moses stands on Sinai, God speaks, making it clear that he has rethought his tendency to want to kill sinful Israel every time they sin. Now we hear one of the most beautiful verses in the OT that describes God’s generous grace:
    “The Lord, the Lord,
      a God merciful and gracious,
       slow to anger,
       and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation,
forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin” (6, 7a)

Nevertheless, God still demands justice and obedience:
yet by no means clearing the guilty,
        but visiting the iniquity of the parents
        upon the children
        and the children’s children,
         to the third and the fourth generation.” (7b)

In short, God is telling Moses—and us—that our sins have consequences that stretch far beyond our own lives and deeply affect the lives of our progeny and their progeny and on. We certainly see this effect in our society today where children who grow up in an unstable family situation go on to commit the crimes of their fathers. As awful as it seems, the truth is that the sins of the fathers do beget the sins of the sons.

Upon hearing God utter these words, Moses bows to the earth and asks forgiveness for himself and the people he leads: “O Lord, I pray, let the Lord go with us. Although this is a stiff-necked people, pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for your inheritance.” (8) As always, confession is essential.

God renews the Covenant with Israel and this times the usual terms and conditions seem even more detailed. There are big issues such as their dealings with the inhabitants of Canaan: particularly around worship. They are not to make cast idols such as the golden calf and “You shall tear down their altars, break their pillars, and cut down their sacred poles” (13) and not to intermarry. There are also oddities such as “You shall not boil a kid in its mother’s milk.” (26).

While this reprise of the decalogue is similar, it has substantial differences from the earlier one written on the tablets Moses broke. This is much more about dealing with the Canaanites and avoiding their perverse religious practices. My suspicion is that there are at least two priestly groups involved in writing the book of Exodus, and here we see the words of the group that insisted on very specific worship practices as being even more important than the ethical practices of the earlier tablets.

Moses spends another forty days on the mountain communing with God. He then returns with the new tablets, but he “did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.” (29) Aaron and the others are afraid to come near Moses so he covers his face with a veil. I’m pretty sure this detail was added to remind us that of all the Patriarchs, it is Moses who has had the closest connection to—and most conversations with— God. It’s clear that the authors of this book saw Moses as the real founder of the nation of Israel. The earlier Patriarchs may have led important tribes, but now we are talking nationhood

Matthew 26:59-75: The kangaroo court at Caiphas’ house continues through the night as Matthew makes the sinister motives of the religious authorities perfectly clear: “the chief priests and the whole council were looking for false testimony against Jesus so that they might put him to death.” (59). They finally find a guy who says, “This fellow said, ‘I am able to destroy the temple of God and to build it in three days.'” (61). Jesus remains silent to the high priest’s demand,“Have you no answer?“(62)

But when he does speak, Jesus follows his usual habit of not giving the answer they were seeking. In fact it is essentially an apocalyptic riddle:
     From now on you will see the Son of Man
    seated at the right hand of Power
    and coming on the clouds of heaven.” (64)

Even though Jesus’s answer is pretty oblique, one priest exclaims that he has spoken blasphemy and they all chime in,“He deserves death.” (66). They spit in Jesus face and someone slaps him. In a detail I’ve never noticed before, they derisively ask Jesus, “Prophesy to us, you Messiah! Who is it that struck you?” (68)

Matthew has made it clear that this “justice” is nothing of the sort. The evidence is flimsy and the group eagerly latches on to the words of the one priest who accuses Jesus of blasphemy. These proceedings are just another manifestation of how mobs are inflamed by incendiary words rather than evidence. Exactly what we see around us everywhere today.

But the real tragedy of today’s reading is Peter’s denial. At least he was there to be asked and to deny, as opposed to all the other disciples. Three times he denies he knows Jesus and then the cock crows, “And he went out and wept bitterly.” (75) Three times. The same number of hour darkness came over the earth during his crucifixion and the same number of days Jesus is buried. Like the number seven, three represents completeness. And three denials is the same as many denials.

Of course we are all Peter.

Psalm 40:1-8; Exodus 32:30-33:23; Matthew 26:47-58

Psalm 40:1-8: This poem begins as a thanksgiving psalm. God has heard his pleas and rescued him: “I urgently hoped for the Lord./ He bent down toward me and heard my voice,/ and He brought me up from the roiling pit./ from thickest mire.” (1-3a) The image suggests he has been saved from drowning in a whirlpool formed by rocks and rushing water. This sense of rescue and being placed safely on the firm rocks alongside the river is reinforced: “And He set my feet on a crag,/ made my steps firm.” (3b)

When we are rescued by God, our first act, indeed our first instinct, is to worship God in thanksgiving and that is what our poet does here: “And He put in my mouth a new song—/ praise to our God.” (4a) And he wishes to be an example to others of God’s salvific power: “May many see and fear/ and trust in the Lord.” (4b) When we hear stories of wonderful rescues by God from metaphorical roiling pits such as those who are rescued from the perils of addiction by turning to God, we understand exactly what the poet is describing and our hearts are glad.

This rescue reminds our psalmist—as it should remind us—that “Happy the man who puts/ in the Lord his trust/ and does not turn to the sea monster gods/ and to false idols.” (5) While we may not worship ‘sea monster gods’ like the Canaanites, we surely are surrounded by an almost infinite variety of false idols that will never hear our pleas, much less rescue us.

Our psalmist launches into effusive praise and reminds us that “Many things You have done—You,/ O Lord our God—Your wonders!/ And Your plans for us—none can match you.” (6a) I don’t think it’s that God has specific mapped-out plans for us as much as the poet is describing God’s loving overall plan for us is to follow him. Whatever God’s plans for our lives may be we can look back and see how God has rescued and guided us:  “I would tell and I would speak: they are too numerous to recount.” (6b)

Our psalmist then tells us that his rescue and God’s plan do not come on efforts of his own, but simply that God has heard him: “Sacrifice and grain-offering You do not desire./ You opened Your ears for me: /for burnt-offering and offense-offering You do not ask.” (7) That God is not asking for sacrifices is a pretty revolutionary thought for a poet who writes at the time of the ongoing temple sacrifices in Jerusalem. And for us, it is a precursor to how God heard the cries of humankind and sent his son Jesus to become the once-and-for-all sacrifice.

Exodus 32:30-33:23: Even though the Levites have killed 3000 Israelites, God is not fully satisfied at Israel’s repentance. Moses pleads to God, offering to have God erase him from memory and from God’s book: “if you will only forgive their sin—but if not, blot me out of the book that you have written.” (32:32). But God is not interested in making Moses a substitutionary sacrifice. The people have sinned and as this point, God says, “when the day comes for punishment, I will punish them for their sin.” (32:34). Which God proceeds to so: “the Lord sent a plague on the people, because they made the calf—the one that Aaron made.” (32:35) That final phrase makes sure no one—least of all God— is confused, Aaron made the idol.  It did not magically appear out of the fire.

God gives the command to depart Sinai and head to Canaan. The folks are mighty upset. It seems they have grown comfortable, and Moses has warned them that God sees them as “a stiff-necked people; if for a single moment I should go up among you, I would consume you.” (33:5). Further punishment surely awaits them.

Even though Moses is down off the mountain, God remains quite busy giving Moses instructions, which now occurs at the “tent of meeting.” This appears to be a literal tent pitched some distance outside the camp. The people know the conversation is occurring because the “the pillar of cloud would descend and stand at the entrance of the tent, and the Lord would speak with Moses.” (33:9) Surely motivated by their fear of impending punishment, the people are now well motivated to worship God: “When all the people saw the pillar of cloud standing at the entrance of the tent, all the people would rise and bow down.” (33:10)

During these tent meetings, Moses continues to intercede for the people. In fact Moses is brutally direct with God, telling him, “you have not let me know whom you will send with me.” (12)  Moses reminds God that these are the people God has chosen and he then says something truly profound as he pleads with God: “In this way, we shall be distinct, I and your people, from every people on the face of the earth.” (33:16) God has surely kept his promise to make the people of Israel distinct—right on down to the present day. When we think about it, is is truly remarkable that the Jewish identity continues to be preserved across the millennia.

God agrees to Moses’ pleas. Then the authors note that even though God and Moses have been conversing “face to face, as one speaks to a friend,” he has never actually seen God’s face. Moses asks God, “Show me your glory, I pray.”(18)  God agrees but there is one condition: “you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.” (20). Which tells us that the glory of God is so great that even though we humans have been created in the image of God, we cannot look directly at him. This is something to remember when we try to anthropomorphize God into our likeness and think that God is just one of us, only more powerful. But it also tells us that prayer does not require seeing God “face to face,” but that we are nevertheless in his presence as Moses was.

Moses, the one person in the Bible more than any other, who has what has to be the most intimate relationship with God recounted in the Scriptures, is still a mortal, and can see only the back of God as he passes by. The authors are reminding us in a dramatic fashion that God is God and we cannot comprehend God’s full persona. We are the creatures; God is the Creator.

Matthew 26:47-58: Judas arrives with “a large crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the elders of the people.” (47) and promptly betrays Jesus with the most infamous kiss in history. Jesus’ last words to his betrayer are remarkable for their pathos: “Friend, do what you are here to do.” (50). The kindness in Jesus’ voice not only indicates he knows what is about to happen, but seems to suggest that Judas has been motivated by forces outside himself. And in those words there is even a suggestion of forgiveness. History has been cruel to Judas, but Jesus greets him in resigned peace. Could we ever greet one who betrays us with the same kind equanimity?

Emotions run strong and Matthew tells us “Suddenly, one of those with Jesus put his hand on his sword, drew it, and struck the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear.” (51). Other gospels tell us it was ever-impetuous Peter, but as is usual for Matthew, it is the act that is more important than the person. Jesus reminds all who can hear, “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?” (53) But Jesus does not call upon God; he has fully accepted his fate and the cup of bitterness he is about to drink.

Jesus also remarks that the crowd has “come out with swords and clubs to arrest me as though I were a bandit?” (55) when they could have arrested him in the temple. Jesus certainly knows that the plot is being executed under cover of night because the religious authorities were afraid the crowds around Jesus would riot. Jesus implicitly accuses the authorities of cowardice. One wonders what went through their heads as they heard these words. As always, though, Matthew’s Jesus reminds us that “this has taken place, so that the scriptures of the prophets may be fulfilled.” (56)—a clear reference to the suffering servant of Isaiah.

Then we encounter some of the most disheartening words in this gospel: “Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.” (56b). Which is pretty much what I would have done as well. Think about it: three years with Jesus; a clear message that he is the Messiah; the most intimate gatherings and conversations. But when facing danger, they flee immediately. This is one of those places where we know that the Gospels are indeed true. Were the Gospel of Matthew a fictional account at least one disciple would have stood at his side.  As it is, only Peter “was following him at a distance, as far as the courtyard of the high priest; and going inside, he sat with the guards in order to see how this would end.” (58). Matthew reminds us that even though Jesus has told them repeatedly that he would die, Peter still holds out hope that this was all a big mistake.



Psalm 39:7-13; Exodus 31:12-32:29; Matthew 26:36-46

Psalm 39:7-13: The poet continues to echo a philosophical despair of the brevity of life, similar to Qoheleth, the author of Ecclesiastes: “In but a shadow a man goes about./ mere breath he murmurs—he stores/ and knows not who will gather.” (7) Nevertheless, he is not so resigned as to abandon his desire for God to rescue from the derision of his enemies: “From all my sins save me./ Make me not the scoundrel’s scorn.” (9)

But it’s clear our poet does not take a very optimistic view of God’s benevolence. Rather, he envisions a punishing God: “Take away from me Your scourge,/ from the blow of Your hand I perish.” (11) In fact, we see the arbitrary and even destructive God such as the one Job encountered: “In rebuke for a crime You chastise a man,/ melt like the moth his treasure.” And again, in the face of God’s seemingly arbitrary and destructive power, he sighs, “Mere breath all humankind.” (12)

But woven into these existential cries we hear the man of faith, who still wants to believe God will still hear his weeping cries: “Hear my prayer, O Lord,/ to my cry hearken,/ to my tears be not deaf.” (13a) He wants nothing more that to walk alongside God through life’s journey: “For I am a sojourner with Your,/ a new settle like all my fathers.” (13b) But then we hear his final, closing sigh. God is far too great for him—and for us. God extracts too much from us and we can only cry in exhaustion, “Look away from me, that I may catch my breath/ before I depart and am not.” (14).  This is a man who honestly admits that a relationship with God is a fraught thing. To which I can only write, Amen.

This psalm is a long distance from the peaceful assurance of the 23rd Psalm. One wonders if this psalm is a reflection on Job—or perhaps it is the launching point for the poet who wrote the book of Job. This God is neither our lover nor our “daddy.” This God is distant, aloof, unhearing even to those who believe deeply. In the face of all that is awry in the world, he seems to be a God perfect for the existential angst of the 21st century. And a God perfect for this day when we remember that Jesus was completely absent from the earth.

Exodus 31:12-32:29: Moses’ has been up on the mountain for forty days, listening patiently to God as he received instruction after instruction about laws, sacrifices, design and construction of the Tabernacle, designing priestly vestments, anointing and consecrating priests, and hearing who will be in charge of building and assembling all this. God arrives at the end of this 40-day seminar by enunciating the law of the Sabbath: “You shall keep the sabbath, because it is holy for you; everyone who profanes it shall be put to death; whoever does any work on it shall be cut off from among the people.” (31:14) Inasmuch as this is the last instruction given to Moses, we naturally conclude that the issue of worshipping God is the most important responsibility of all.

One hopes that Moses took good notes about all these instructions because now that God has completed these complicated instructions, he hands Moses the “two tablets of the covenant, tablets of stone, written with the finger of God.” (31:18), which we believe to be only the Decalogue.

For Moses, this mountaintop experience alone with God has doubtless been awe-inspiring, invigorating, and a wonderful time alone away from all those Israelites who were constantly bothering him.

Unfortunately, things down on the ground have not been going all that well. The people have grown restless and impatient. Poor Aaron is now the object of their complaining as they conclude, “as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” (32:1) Aaron, lacking the fortitude of his brother to stand against the mob, tells the people to bring him all the “gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” (32:2)

The infamous golden calf is constructed, which mainly serves as an excuse for the entire nation to have a bacchanal. God instructs Moses to “Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely.” (7) We get a clear glimpse of the anger of the OT God, who is definitely not the loving God we prefer to imagine: I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them.” (9). Moses implores God to relent, asking God  to remember his original promise, ‘I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.’” (13)

And then in one of the more remarkable passages about God, “the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.” (14) We don’t often think about God ‘changing his mind,’ what with the idea that an omnipotent God would always make the correct decision. 

Having persuaded God to change his mind, Moses comes down off the mountain, stone tablets in hand, and witnesses the chaos. He throws the tablets down, breaking them, which is certainly a dramatic symbol of how Israel has broken its side of the Covenant. Confronting Aaron, Moses asks, ““What did this people do to you that you have brought so great a sin upon them?” (21) And Moses proceeds to give perhaps the lamest excuse in the Bible, stating that the people gave him the gold and “I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!” (24). I only wish the authors had recorded Moses’ reaction to this absurdity.

Moses asks for volunteers to bring order out of chaos and we can hear him shouting,“Who is on the Lord’s side? Come to me!” The sons of Levi answer Moses’ call for “each of you kill your brother, your friend, and your neighbor.’” (27) and promptly slay 3000 of their brothers, friends, and neighbors. For their efforts, Moses tells them,“Today you have ordained yourselves for the service of the Lord, each one at the cost of a son or a brother, and so have brought a blessing on yourselves this day.” (29) Which seems almost like a priestly consecration itself.

This is simply one of those places where all I can do is shake my head in puzzlement as to the nature of this seemingly immature God who flares up in anger but whose mind can be swayed by a smooth-talking Moses. But one thing is for sure: It’s the Levites who wrote this history.

Matthew 26:36-46: Is this another Moravian coincidence or did they plan it this way. For we read of jesus’ agony in Gethsemane. And there is no doubt in my mind that he would have been much more likely to pray in the rather bleak, almost doubting tone of Psalm 39, which he surely knew as well as Psalm 23.

While he is never in doubt as to God’s nature or that God is listening to him, he nevertheless prays in what I believe to be honest desperation, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” (39). Here in Matthew, Jesus prays them returns to find the disciples sleeping. He does not seem disturbed by their slumber, but goes back two more times to pray exactly the same prayer.

I’m struck that Jesus prays the same prayer three times. Is it an echo of the three temptations of Satan at the beginning of his ministry? Is it a signal to us that when we are in desperate straits we can pray the same prayer over and over?

If nothing else, it is a clear sign that Jesus was fully human and that he fully comprehended the dark and painful road he was about to follow. In this way, the prayer is a form of preparation, which is exactly the point he makes as he wakes his slumbering disciples, “See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going.” (45, 46) We have heard only Jesus’ side of his prayer. Did God answer him? We’ll never know. But this we do know: having prayed he is ready to face the trials of the darkest day in history. Even unanswered prayer is essential preparation for the journey to come.

Psalm 39:1-6; Exodus 30:17-31:11; Matthew 26:31-35

Good Friday

Psalm 39:1-6: This David psalm opens with the the usual phrases associated with a psalm of supplication. The psalmist informs us, “I thought, ‘Let me keep my ways from offending my my tongue./ Let me keep a muzzle on my mouth/ as long as the wicked is before me.’” (1). The poet is wise not say say things to his enemies that he might regret.

But there’s a twist. this psalm is a meditation. The next verse makes it clear that words are not being spoken but interior thoughts remain just as passionate as any words uttered aloud: “I was mute—in silence./ I keep still deprived of good and my pain was grievous.” (3) In other words, he has elected to suffer in silence in front of his enemies—and we assume, his friends.

But his feelings are so strong and passionate—”My heart was hot within me./ In my thoughts a fire burned. (4a)—that “I spoke with my tongue:” (4b). And he speaks to the only one he knows may be listening: God. He breaks his silence and prays aloud, but the prayer is far more philosophical than we would expect from a man in desperate circumstances: “Let me know, O Lord, my end/ and what is the measure of my days.” (5) Are his traits so desperate that he is asking God how much longer he must suffer? Or is there something deeper going on here?

Verse 6 reveals the philosophical depth of the poem as the poet makes a statement we would be much more likely to read in Ecclesiastes: “Look, mere handspans You made my days,/ and my lot is nothing before You./ Mere breath is each man standing.” We suddenly see the deep existential angst. What is the point of suffering, anyway, our poet seems to be asking. God is of little help here. Rather, God is remote, silent, and benignly indifferent to this man, whose being is mere ephemerality, anyway.

That life is fleeting and ultimately pointless before an indifferent God is a feeling any person who honestly asks these profound questions must confront. Particularly when there is only silence. Jesus must have felt this same abandonment and ephemerality on the cross. At some point in his suffering he must have felt that his life was pointless and as his famous cry from Psalm 22 reminds us, that he had been abandoned altogether: “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

Exodus 30:17-31:11: Since the Tabernacle is a holy place, it is crucial that any priest coming to offer obeisance to God must be both ritually and physically clean. Hence the “bronze basin with a bronze stand for washing.” (31:18) Washing is not just a casual act: “they shall wash with water, so that they may not die.” (20). And to make sure everyone got the point, God repeats himself in the next verse in exactly the same phrase: “They shall wash their hands and their feet, so that they may not die.” (21)

This proto-baptism at theTabernacle is a stark reminder to us that we have been washed by God through Jesus Christ once and for all. This is what our baptism represents, and like the instructions here it is a profoundly serious act. Which is doubtless why some Christian denominations believe that baptism must be a conscious decision on the part of the individual and that infants cannot make that decision—hence the “age of accountability.”

God—as cosmic chemist—now reveals the formula for the anointing oils consisting of precise measures of myrrh [Aha! we’ll encounter myrrh later.], cinnamon, aromatic cane, cassia—all mixed together with olive oil. Again, God reminds Moses that this is no ordinary oil, “This shall be my holy anointing oil throughout your generations.” and it is forbidden to be made or used for any other purpose. Once again we are reminded that “holy” means set apart for God.

So, too, the incense consisting of “sweet spices, stacte, and onycha, and galbanum, sweet spices with pure frankincense…an incense blended as by the perfumer, seasoned with salt, pure and holy.” (35). I’m struck by the salt. Jesus is the one who reminds us that we are to be the salt of the earth, and here we see that salt is an element of a substance that is holy and set apart. So, too, are we.

With all these plans and precise instructions in hand, God announces that he has chosen specific people to do the actual work of creation, who he has “filled him with divine spirit, with ability, intelligence, and knowledge in every kind of craft.” (31:3) So when we speak of a God-given talent, we have biblical confirmation right here!  To supervise the “artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, in every kind of craft.” (4,5), God has chosen a certain Bezalel. To lead the construction of the Tabernacle and its furnishings, including the ARk, he has chosen Oholiab.

Here in Exodus, we see that God imbues us with certain talents, which like the Parable of the Talents that Jesus tells, means we are to put them to work for God, not hide them in the ground. This passage also reminds us that the ability to create and craft handiwork is a reflection of God’s own magnificent acts of creation. In short we are to exercise the fact that we are created imago deo with our own gifts and talents.

Matthew 26:31-35: Jesus announces to his seemingly loyal disciples, “You will all become deserters because of me this night; for it is written,

‘I will strike the shepherd,
    and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’ (31)

Could there be any more depressing announcement to men who had followed him loyally for three years? The disciples had to be thinking, does Jesus think so little of us that he predicts that we’ll desert him? Really! That’s impossible! Never happen!

As usual, Peter expresses the emotion of both himself and the others as he exclaims,“Though all become deserters because of you, I will never desert you.” (33). Jesus of course responds with his famous retort that Peter will deny him not once but three times. Peter objects even more vociferously, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” (35) And lest we be tempted to blame only Peter, Matthew makes it clear that “so said all the disciples.” (35b)  Our high-faluting intentions are always so much grander than our cowardly actions.

But something I’d never noticed before is that  right in the middle of all this Jesus clearly states the coming reality of his resurrection: “But after I am raised up, I will go ahead of you to Galilee.” (32). But the disciples are so busy being  offended about Jesus’ accusation of them of being deserters that some of the most important news of that last night is not even heard, much less responded to. It’s Friday and we don’t even hear that Sunday is coming.

Which of course is exactly like me. I am so offended at being told something that is true but I don’t like that I miss the greater, more important story: that Jesus loves me and that he will “meet us in Galilee.”

Psalm 38:18–23; Exodus 29:31–30:16; Matthew 26:14–30

Psalm 38:18–23: The poet’s David ironically confesses his ‘crime’ as if in a kangaroo court: “For my crime I shall tell,/ I dread my offense.” (19) But even this ‘confession’ has not placated his foes: “And my wanton enemies grow many,/ my unprovoked foes abound.” (20)

He then expresses the frustration that we all feel when we believe we are innocent and even most most benign actions are seen as malevolent: “And those who pay back good with evil/ thwart me for pursuing good.” (21)

Since he is unable to find succor even among his erstwhile friends who have not only abandoned him but are now also undermining him, there is only one place remaining to whom he can turn. We hear the desperation in his voice, “Do not forsake me, Lord. My God, do not stay far from me.” (22) The psalm closes on his final plea: “Hasten to my help,/ O Master of my rescue.” (23) Here the psalm ends abruptly, almost as if the music stops just before the final resolution of a V-I chord. Does God indeed rescue him? Life is like that. We pray, but then just as this psalm concludes, there is only silence.

Exodus 29:31–30:16: Instructions regarding the consecration of Aaron and his sons continues apace with eating the ram flesh and bread. This is holy food and “no one else shall eat of them.” (29:33) The full-bore consecration takes seven days—one day longer than to create the earth, although the number seven is symbolic of completeness. The consecration is an expensive process with one bull sacrificed each morning. Through this process the altar itself becomes holy, and “whatever touches the altar shall become holy.” (37)

Now that the altar is consecrated it is commissioned for daily use: “you shall offer on the altar two lambs a year old regularly each day.” (38) In addition, “one-tenth of a measure of choice flour mixed with one-fourth of a hin of beaten oil, and one-fourth of a hin of wine for a drink offering” (40) is offered each day. The lamb, the bread and the winde are, of course, the precursor to the Eucharist, except that the Lamb was offered only once at Calvary and therefore is no longer required.

We finally arrive at God’s explanation for all this sacrificing and burning is that it will be “a pleasing odor, an offering by fire to the Lord.” (41). God further states that it is also at “the tent of meeting before the Lord, where I will meet with you, to speak to you there. I will meet with the Israelites there, and it shall be sanctified by my glory.” (42, 43). And by doing so, “ I will dwell among the Israelites, and I will be their God. And they shall know that I am the Lord their God, who brought them out of the land of Egypt that I might dwell among them; I am the Lord their God.” (45, 46)

What’s remarkable to me here is just how local God is. He makes it clear that he is dwelling right there, apparently only in this one place: the Tabernacle. There is no hint here of what later will become the omnipresent Go, simultaneously everywhere. At this point, God seems to be in relationship with only one people, and that is with Israel. Does this mean he’s unavailable to other tribes and nations at this point? Has he not revealed himself to others? Given what the author of Hebrews says about Melchizedek, we observe that the authors of Exodus are ignoring that part of their history.

The priestly authors continue by describing the altar of incense, which at 1 x 1 cubits is quite a bit smaller than the big time sacrificial altar. This, too, is a full-time offering, always burning, “a regular incense offering before the Lord throughout your generations.” (30:8) Catholics (and high church Episcopalians) have preserved the incense offering in  the Mass. There is no question that odor and smoke of incense further heightens the sense that one is in a holy space. And that is certainly the purpose here, as well.

Of course it takes funding to run this Tabernacle operation, and this detail is not forgotten. The entire population of Israel must contribute: “each one who is registered shall give: half a shekel according to the shekel of the sanctuary (the shekel is twenty gerahs), half a shekel as an offering to the Lord.” (30:13).  It is a flat tax and makes no distinction between the rich and poor. All pay exactly the same amount. This certainly suggests that before God we are all equal regardless of our wealth—or lack thereof. This idea was pretty much lost by the time Jesus appeared, and he had to remind people that the widow who gave her two mites was giving more sacrificially than wealthy Pharisees.  And of course today we tend to respect the wealthy givers more than the poor. But in the eyes of God, all are equal.

Matthew 26:14–30: This passage can be no coincidence in terms of its timing by the Moravians. Today is Maundy Thursday and we read of the last Passover meal of Jesus with his disciples. Not unlike Jesus having his disciples borrow the donkey for Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, he sends his disciples on ahead to “Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, ‘The Teacher says, My time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples.’” (18) Did Jesus set something up ahead of time? Or did the man agree because he knew Jesus’ reputation. Be that as it may, “the disciples did as Jesus had directed them, and they prepared the Passover meal.” (19)

The dramatic scene of incipient betrayal is disbelief and denial “And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?” (22) And of course the disciples are stand-ins for all of us, as we find it so easy to deny Jesus in the public square.

Matthew finally reveals who will betray Jesus, having told us a few verses earlier that Judas has been paid the infamous 30 pieces of silver.  Jesus doesn’t make it easy on him, telling the group, “woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.” (24) But in Matthew’s telling it is not Jesus who incriminates him, but Judas, who does that in his own words with the most ironic question in the gospels, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” Just as when we betray Jesus in our seemingly innocent denials, but always well aware when we have sinned.

Jesus institutes the words of the Eucharist but with the dire reminder at the end of what is about to come, “I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” (29)

Did the disciples get it even now? Or did they think their Rabbi was just being obscure and discursive? We know how the story comes out. But for them, it was just another Passover. Never mind the odd exchange between Judas and Jesus. Which I’m pretty sure is what I would have thought were I there as well.

Psalm 38:10–16; Exodus 29:1–30; Matthew 26:1–13

Psalm 38:10–16: Our psalmist describes how David lies ill on his bed and he can think only on the one who can hear him: “O Master, before You is all  my desire/ and my sighs are not hidden from You.” (10) He beautifully captures the sense of hopelessness and a death-like fatigue that accompanies illness: My heart spins around, my strength forsakes me,/ and the light of my eyes, too, is done from me.” (11)

Unlike today, where friends and family are often by our side as we suffer, the depth of David’s suffering intensified because he has been abandoned in his sickness: “My friends and companions stand far off from my plight/ and my kinsmen stand far away.” (12) Even worse, they plot to undermine him, which is certainly David’s story: “They lay snares, who seek my life and want my harm. They speak lies, deceit utter all day long.” (13) But his physical suffering leaves him beyond caring: “But like the deaf I do not hear,/ and like the mute whose mouth will not open. And I become like a man who does not hear/ and has no rebuke in his mouth.” (14, 15)

There is only one who still cares; only one in whom he can find a glimmer of hope; only one in whom he still has assurance: “For in You, O Lord, I have hoped. /You will answer, O Master, my God.” (16). So when all seems lost, we are never completely lost when we recall that God, however silent he may be, is still nearby.

Exodus 29:1–30: Now that the tabernacle is erected; the altar is built; the vestments and priestly garments are ready, it is time to ordain Aaron and his sons. The physical requirements are “one young bull and two rams without blemish, and unleavened bread, unleavened cakes mixed with oil, and unleavened wafers spread with oil.” (1,2) God requires the very best they—and we—have to offer. 

In a foretaste of baptism, “You shall bring Aaron and his sons to the entrance of the tent of meeting, and wash them with water.” (4) Then Moses dresses Aaron and “take[s] the anointing oil, and pour it on his head and anoint him.” (7) Aaron’s sons are also dressed and God reminds us that for the Aaronic line, “the priesthood shall be theirs by a perpetual ordinance.” (9)

Careful instructions follow as to sacrificing the bull and where its blood is placed on the altar. The entrails of the bull are burned, but “the flesh of the bull, and its skin, and its dung, you shall burn with fire outside the camp; it is a sin offering.” (14) Similar instructions regarding the two rams follows. There is the fairly gruesome (to me, anyway) instruction to take various body parts of the ram, along with the bread, place it in the palms of the priests, who raise their hands to God before burning those items.

This carefully composed liturgy of sacrifice is what God expects going forward: “These things shall be a perpetual ordinance for Aaron and his sons from the Israelites, for this is an offering; and it shall be an offering by the Israelites from their sacrifice of offerings of well-being, their offering to the Lord.” (28)

So, why is this liturgy recorded in such occasionally grotesque detail? There’s the obvious answer that when it comes to worship, God requires strict order. God defines worship; not us. And even though our worship today is free of sacrifice—Jesus having accomplished that once and for all—we still owe God respectful order in how we worship. Worship is not informal; it is not casual or ad hoc. Qualities that go missing in too many churches today, IMHO.

I think the other reason is that the authors of this book, while in Babylonian exile some hundreds of years after the fact, want to make sure that the temple sacrifices are seen to be grounded in the very first events of the Covenant. Are they describing an actual historical event that occurred exactly this way? Who knows? But these details are essential to the myth (the word in the sense of a common story, not a fiction) that grounds a dispersed Israel as it awaits its return to Jerusalem and the rebuilding of the temple.

Matthew 26:1–13: Matthew now picks up the narrative of the events of the Passion. [I’m pretty sure the Moravians are happy that the readings of the Passion occur this year during the calendrical Passion leading up to Easter. We’ll see how closely the readings track.]

The first thing he relates is that Jesus is fully aware of what is about to occur: “he said to his disciples, “You know that after two days the Passover is coming, and the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified.” (2). The gospel writer knows it is crucial that even though Jesus is the center of a plot to kill him, that he willingly goes along. Were that not so, Jesus would be seen for all time as innocent victim rather than innocent lamb of God.

The plotters, led by Caiaphas, “conspired to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him. But they said, “Not during the festival, or there may be a riot among the people.” (4,5) The wheels are set in inexorable motion. 

Meanwhile in Bethany… Jesus is at the house of Simon the leper. [Other gospels have him at the house of Mary and Martha. Perhaps everyone is related…] The woman, whom Matthew does not identify, but we presume to be a wealthy prostitute, pours very expensive lotion on Jesus’ feet. A group of unidentified disciples complain loudly, “Why this waste?” [Other gospels identify the complainer as Judas, but Matthew has his reasons for not exposing Judas just yet.]

Jesus counters the complaint, observing “She has performed a good service for me.” (10) and then in a reference that must have seemed puzzling, he says, “By pouring this ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial.” (12) I suspect that even though jesus has repeatedly said he will die, denial remains very strong among his disciples. After all, he’s just concluded a very successful speaking tour with the crowds in Jerusalem. What could possibly go wrong?

But we need to be careful not to be too hard on the disciples. I’m pretty sure were I there, I would have complained and I would have been in total denial that anything bad was about to happen.

Matthew reminds us that by her act this unnamed woman becomes famous indeed, as Jesus says, “I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” (13). Which indeed is true whenever we read this. As always, there’s a teachable moment: Jesus is telling his disciples—and us—once again, just as he has finished saying in the preceding sermon about the sheep and goats that it is our sacrifices by which we will be remembered.

Psalm 38:1–9; Exodus 28:15–43; Matthew 25:31–46

Psalm 38:1–9: In a radical change of tone and theme, the almost smug assurance found in the preceding psalm that God will bless the righteous is blown away here by desperate supplication. The opening line, “Lord, do not rebuke me in Your fury/ nor chastise me in Your wrath,” is a plea to escape God’s anger at some unspecified sin. Whatever the poet may have done, he believes he has provoked God to the point where “Your arrows have come down upon me,/ and upon me has come down Your hand.” (3). God has struck hard with both the sharp pain of arrows and and the crushing weight of his hand.

The reason for this feeling of physical pain and oppression is an awful disease that is the result of God’s anger at some unspecified sin, where “There is no whole place in my flesh through Your rage,/ no soundness in my limbs through my offense.” (4)  As we know, in the pre-medicine age, the only explanation for illness was the belief that it had a direct correlation to sin, or in the case of pagan societies, that one had offended the gods. This was certainly the case in Jesus’ time and even today, there are people who believe that illness arises from God’s anger at one’s sin. I will never forget the ostensible Christians, who in 1980 accused my friend Steve, who contracted AIDS through a blood transfusion that he must have sinned greatly to be so cruelly punished by God.

Here, the poet is convinced that his disease is so dire because “my crimes have welled over my head,/ like a heavy burden, too heavy for me.” (5) Of course, while sin may not cause disease, there is no question that sin can well over our head and drive us to the same desperation that he describes here. If we do not turn to Jesus’ saving grace then surely we, too, will be overwhelmed.

We can hear the pathos in his voice as he describes the gruesome details of his illness, but always freighted with self-blame:
My sores make a stench, have festered/ through my folly/ I am twisted, I am all bent.” (6,7) Disease accompanied by guilt result in deep depression as his entire being is consumed by intense suffering: “All day long I go about gloomy./ For my innards are filled with burning/ and there is no whole place in my flesh.” (8)

If ever we needed a vivid description of the pain that accompanies a death by cancer, and the agony I remember witnessing as my friend Bill died of advanced prostate cancer in 2011, it is here as we hear the poet barely gasp out the words, “I grow numb and am utterly crushed.” (9)

Exodus 28:15–43: The specifics of the priestly breastplate made “in the style of the ephod; of gold, of blue and purple and crimson yarns, and of fine twisted linen” (15) are indeed impressive. Like the ephod, it has “twelve stones with names corresponding to the names of the sons of Israel; they shall be like signets, each engraved with its name, for the twelve tribes.” (21)

Along with the usual gold decoration, there is the mysterious Urim and the Thummim, whose physical nature is not described. However, we can guess their purpose since the function of the breastplate is judgement and the Urim and Thummin “shall be on Aaron’s heart when he goes in before the Lord; thus Aaron shall bear the judgment of the Israelites on his heart before the Lord continually.” (30). This suggests they may have been used for divination as a means to ascertain God’s will.

Much has been made through the years of their mystical nature, but they may have been as simple as a couple of engraved rocks thrown down by the priest with their resulting position indicating God’s will. God’s dice? Perhaps they were meant as some sort of “Divine Assist” to aid the priest when he could not form a clear judgement. In any event it seems odd that God would speak through some sort of ancient game of chance.  But there they are. Frankly, I’m glad that in the later history of Israel, prophets appeared on the scene to speak God’s word clearly rather than trying to determine God’s will through some mysterious objects.

The other priestly vestments are equally impressive. I’m intrigued that the blue “robe of the ephod: has “an opening for the head in the middle of it, with a woven binding around the opening, like the opening in a coat of mail, so that it may not be torn.” In other words it went on over the head of the priest. But that it resembled a “coat of mail” suggests that there are other, more military, garments that existed at that time. God makes one last thing extremely clear: “Aaron and his sons shall wear them when they go into the tent of meeting, or when they come near the altar to minister in the holy place; or they will bring guilt on themselves and die.” (43)

I come away from these descriptions somewhat awestruck not only by the beauty of these objects but with an increased respect for the technologies—some probably lost today—as well as the skill of the craftspeople that existed so many years ago. We may have different technology today, but I question whether it’s superior and wonder what has been lost.

Matthew 25:31–46: We come at last to what I think are Jesus’ most powerful and clear words about our obligations for working in the Kingdom, which actually involves working in the world. Several things are clear.

There will be a day of judgement at the end of history. And things will be very black and white. There is no neutral middle ground. Every person of every nation—not just the Jews—which I presume means every person who has ever lived, “will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats,” (32) The sheep are the ones to whom “the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” (34)

What’s crucial here is that this is not just some arbitrary act because God likes their looks. Their blessing is a direct result of their actions while on earth. Here we come to the heart of what has unfortunately come to be called “the social gospel,” but is in fact a description of our basic duties as human beings in society: “for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” (35, 36) In other words, it is our care for others that determines, I believe, the extent of our reward.

Both the righteous and unrighteous ask exactly the same question: “‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink?” (37). The simple differentiation is that the righteous cared “for the least of these” and the unrighteous did not.

It is in these verses where we see the culmination of God’s priority that has been a theme running through the Scripture: we who are able, bear personal responsibility for those who are unable. We cannot leave the fate of the poor, the naked, the hungry, the ill and dying to some faceless bureaucracy and say we’ve done our duty because we’ve paid our taxes. We are solely accountable for our individual actions. God will judge us by what we do—not by what we think we should do or what we intend to do—for the lot of those less fortunate, who we see everyday around us.

And as I look at my life, I see all too clearly where I have failed in that responsibility for individual action.

Psalm 37:34–40; Exodus 27:1–28:14; Matthew 25:14–30

Psalm 37:34–40: The psalmist comes (at last) to his concluding lines as he summarizes the key points he’s made earlier. The core promise of the psalm is simple: Stick with God and the seeming success of the wicked will eventually be reversed. Not only that, but it is the just who will win in the end: “Hope for the Lord and keep His way/ and He will exalt you to inherit the earth;/ you will see the wicked cut off.” (34)

Harking back to the opening verses where our poet likens the wicked to green grass that withers, he returns to the vegetation metaphor, reminding us, “I have seen an arrogant wicked man/ taking root like a flourishing plant. / He passes on, and, look, he is gone.” (35, 36a) Not just withered and dried up, but gone altogether: “I seek him, and he is not found.” (36b)

Instead of focusing on the deeds of the wicked, we are advised to turn our attention elsewhere—to the righteous man as our example to follow: “Watch the blameless,/ look to the upright,/ for the man of peace has a future.” (37) This is certainly excellent advice for us in the current state of the world. Not that we can ignore evil—or even ignore the follies of the current political season, but our gaze must be on what is good and blameless. And for us Christians, that is certainly just one person: Jesus Christ.

Once again, the poet reminds us, “And transgressors one and all are destroyed,/ the future of the wicked cut off.” (38) This is certainly the theme that Jesus picks up in the Olivet Discourse. If not sooner, those who have centered their live and actions only on their own self-centered gain will come to the gnashing of teeth at the end of history. And the worst fate of all: they will be ‘cut off” from God.

Those who have followed God are rescued, and God is “their stronghold in time of distress.” (39b). But God is more than shelter, God is active in the lives of the righteous even when we are in turmoil and danger: “And the Lord will help them and free them,/ He will free them from the wicked and rescue them,/ for they have sheltered in Him.” (40)

This promise may seem far off and abstract, but I contend that f we look back on our own lives we can see many times where God has indeed sheltered us and rescued us form the wiles of those who would do us harm. Does that make our lives free and easy? No. But absent God’s shelter I know the storms that have come into my life would have been far more difficult to endure.

Exodus 27:1–28:14: The seemingly endless detail in the construction and furnishing of God’s tent—the Tabernacle—continues apace. Using the main structural material, acacia wood, Moses is commanded to build an altar, 7 1/2 feet on a side, that includes horns, bronze rings and a metal grating on which sacrifices are to be burned. More poles for portability, as well. What’s intriguing is that God has apparently given a demonstration to Moses about how to build it: “They shall be made just as you were shown on the mountain.” (27:8)

Attention now turns to the outer perimeter—the courtyard—and the hangings which define it. It is a sizable structure 150 feet of hangings and bronze pillars with silver hooks and bands on the north and south sides, 75 feet of the same construction on the east and west sides.

What’s impressive here is the sheer logistics involved in construction here in the middle of the desert. Gold, silver, bronze all requires furnaces for refining and casting. Giant looms to handle weaving of these huge curtains are also required. Not to mention store yards for inventory. My image has always been of this transient people on a giant camping trip. But the reality must have been far more complex.

There would also have to be extensive workrooms for the fabrication of the priestly vestments. God instructs Moses to “bring near to you your brother Aaron, and his sons with him, from among the Israelites, to serve me as priests—Aaron and Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar.” (28:1) Then he must round up the right people to make “sacred vestments for the glorious adornment of your brother Aaron.” (2), which requires the efforts of “all who have ability, whom I have endowed with skill.” (3) These folks “shall use gold, blue, purple, and crimson yarns, and fine linen” to make “sacred vestments for your brother Aaron and his sons to serve me as priests.” (4,5)


The most impressive garment is the Ephod, whose traces we see today as the stoles of ordained pastors. The Ephod is made of “of gold, of blue, purple, and crimson yarns, and of fine twisted linen, skillfully worked.” (6) The skills of stone carvers and jewelers are also required to “engrave the two stones with the names of the sons of Israel,” (11) not to mention gold workers for “two chains of pure gold, twisted like cords.” (14)

So why all this magnificent construction and priestly finery? The reason seems simple to me: God deserves the very best we can offer. The best materials and the best workmanship. The details in the chapters are an example to all who follow that what we do for God, we do soli deo gloria—to the glory of God alone. As his highest creation, we humans are to return to God our very best dedication and skill. There is no shortcut, no cheap imitation, no skimping, when it comes to working for God.

Matthew 25:14–30: The points that Jesus is making in the parables of the wicked and dedicated slaves and of the careless bridesmaids come to their climax in the parable of the talents. Notice that each slave is given an amount of talents proportional to their ability (15) ‘Talents’ were basically gold bars in Jesus’ time, but the translation is a useful pun for the gifts—talents—which God has imbued us with. Or to quote God himself in the Exodus passage: all who have ability, whom I have endowed with skill.

The slave with the most talents has invested well and doubled his money; so too the one with two talents. But the one-talent slave has famously buried his talent and made nothing of it. Perhaps the master would have taken mercy on him had he been merely cautious. But I think the slave seals his fate when he accuses the master, “I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed.” (24). In other words, he asserts the master is not only conducting business unfairly, but implying that he, the slave, knows better than the master what seed should be scattered where. It was his pride in thinking—his massive assumption— that he knew better than the master combined with fear of punishment that paralyzed him into doing nothing. This makes his inaction far more egregious than mere laziness.

And yet, isn’t this exactly what we do ourselves when we assume we know God’s work better than God does? We make assumptions and pronouncements about what God has in mind rather than letting the Holy Spirit do its work. Or, if we are outside the church, we complain it is full of hypocrites and we stay away and pursue our own interests. All of these acts are arrogant and are exactly like burying the talents we could have invested in the work of the kingdom.