Grace Abounds but Time Is Short

2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14

The passage from 2 Kings begins much as today's reading from Luke 9 (below). When YHWH was about to take Elijah up to heaven in the storm wind, Elijah and Elisha [his disciple] set out from Gilgal on a journey. Elijah asks his student to stay put, while Elijah goes on to Bethel. But Elisha replies to Elijah much as Peter does to Jesus, and with the same desire expressed by two of the would-be followers of Jesus in today's reading from Luke, "I will not leave you." So they continued along the road to Bethel, ... and then on to Jericho (2:4-5), and finally to the banks of the Jordan.

(Image source, http://www.ecva.org/exhibition/substance/images/knippers.jpg)

The connection between the Exodus of Elijah and that of Moses is cemented in Luke's gospel with the ministry of Jesus on the Mt. of Transfiguration, just prior to the passage we take up today (Luke 9:28-36). One similarity and a great difference between the departure of Elijah and that of Jesus is the effect it has on the disciples. The Spirit of Jesus does descend when the day of Pentecost "has fully come." And it descends with the promise of even greater works and the mantel of the authority of Jesus' ministry. But the journey of Jesus is not merely the journey of a servant of God. The Son of Man was God's own Son, and when we set out with him, it is the complete transformation of our lives and our world that ensues. It is we who are transformed.


(Image source, http://elaynelaporta.com/gallery/images/medium/ot_elijah-fiery-chariot_MED.jpg)

Luke 9:51-62

(Image source, http://ombudsben.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/foggy-boat-tall.jpg?w=500&h=878, blog article at http://ombudsben.wordpress.com/2009/10/27/obviously-confused-sometimes-sunk/)

Luke 9:51 begins with a time stamp, a captain's log. The days of (prior to, until) Jesus' "ascension" (lit. "taking up," analempsis) were filling up (sumpleroo). The latter verb is used three times by Luke, the first time in Luke 8, when Jesus falls asleep in a sailboat that is being swamped with water. The last time is on the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2:1), translated in the KJV as "when the day of Pentecost was fully come."

The days are filling up--they are coming fast and furious--for Jesus, with the riskiness of a boat filling quickly with water, but Jesus is master of both waves and days. There is no panic, only a firming, or fixing (sterizo), of his orientation toward Jerusalem. Luke has already told us (9:31) that Jesus' departure from Jerusalem will be his Exodus ('exodos). Like the book of Mark, the book of Luke narrates one deliberate journey from Galilee to Jerusalem, after which in one eventful week Jesus enters on Palm Sunday is killed on Good Friday and raised on Easter Sunday.


(Image source, http://www.ohiobass.org/StateTournaments/Erie/PIC-1.jpg, article, http://www.ohiobass.org/StateTournaments/Erie/Erie.htm)

Jesus sends ('apostello, from which we get apostle) messengers (angelos, angels; see Malachi 3:1 and 4:5, for the connection to Elijah) ahead into a Samaritan village to prepare the way ('etoimazo; see Luke 1:17, 1:76, and 3:4). Preparation is something the fool does to excess for himself (Luke 12:20), trying to preserve his own life, and preparation is something a servant dutifully performs for his master (Luke 12:47, 17:8). But in Jesus' vita, the notion of preparation seems to hover over that last week, the destination toward which he has now turned: the Last Supper with his disciples (Luke 22:9, 12-13) and his burial (Luke 23:56, 24:1). If there is foreshadowing about Jesus' death and resurrection in 9:51 it is strengthened by this command to the messengers in 9:52.

Jesus' reception (dechomai, or lack thereof) in this Samaritan town is something of a surprise, given the crowds that follow him (Luke 7:11, 8:4) and the many miracles he performs, though we have already seen some ambiguity and outright rejection of Jesus (8:37, even from the very beginning of his ministry in his own home town, 4:16-30, Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, p. 827). The reception of Jesus, his word and his servants, has become a recurring theme in Luke 8 and 9, starting with the parable of the sower (8:13, those who "receive" the word gladly, but have no roots) and continuing with instructions to the disciples who are headed out on a preaching and healing mission (9:5). Jesus tells the disciples to shake off the dust of any place that does not "receive" them as a testimony against the people of that place. This basic rule of hospitality is turned into a responsibility for all disciples in 9:48, where receiving "this little child" (or "the least among you") is tantamount to receiving Jesus and the One who sent Jesus. In this case, the people of the Samaritan village reject Jesus specifically because his traveling destination is Jerusalem (9:53). They are rejecting him and refusing him hospitality not because of his previous acts but because of his forward trajectory.

James and John, those hotheads (Sons of Thunder, boanerges, in Mark 3:17), ask Jesus if they should call down fire from heaven to consume the villagers, presumably a heightening of the instruction they had been given in 9:5 because the offense is aimed not at disciples but at their Lord. (And/or it may be another allusion to Elijah's ministry and words, "let fire come down from heaven and consume you," 2 Kings 1:10, 12.) But Jesus turns around (strepho) and rebukes them ('epitimao, used in response to fever [4:39], demons [4:35, 41; 9:42], the storm wind [8:24]). In 9:20-21, Jesus has already "rebuked" the disciples after Peter's confession, commanding them not to tell anyone that he is the Christ.

Instead of calling fire from heaven, Jesus and his disciples simply leave the one Samaritan village (9:56) for another. The Son of Man, after all, has come to seek and to save (Luke 19:10), not to destroy. It is not clear whether Jesus and the disciples shake the dust of this town from their feet, but as they are walking along the road (toward Jerusalem), a new episode begins when an unidentified man says, "I will follow ('akoloutheo) you wherever you may be going" ('aperchomai). Jesus has already responded to similar initiatives, for example, the entreaty from the demoniac. Jesus sent the demoniac away, saying "go home" (hupostrepho, Luke 8:39) and tell what God has done for you. To this man who appears along the way to Jerusalem, Jesus gives a portrait of life as a disciple, which is borrowed from the world of nature:

Foxes (and their kits) have holes.

(Image source, http://calphotos.berkeley.edu/imgs/512x768/0000_0000/0408/0965.jpeg)


Birds (and their hatchlings) have nests.

(Image source, http://www.ornithology.com/images/BabyBirds_Miller_061705.jpg)


But the Son of Man (and his "followers" or "disciples") has nowhere to lay his head.

We are not told what this man decided about "following" Jesus further toward Jerusalem after this off-putting response by Jesus, but no sooner has this conversation concluded than Jesus takes the initiative and says to another man, "Follow me." Instead of responding with an immediate "yes," this man wants to "go home" like the demoniac to his family, not to spread the good news about what God has done, but to "bury my father." The question seems to be one of priority, of least and greatest, first and last; what comes first, the Kingdom of God or the cares of this world (Luke 13:30, 14:18, and the parable of the sower)? The second man's answer makes it clear that for him, responsibility to family comes before "following" Jesus on his way toward Jerusalem.

Then follows one of Jesus' most enigmatic sayings: "Let the dead bury their own dead" (Luke 9:60). But the upshot is clear: don't "go home"; instead, go announce the (good) news about the Kingdom of God.

Yet a third man says (like the first) "I will follow you, Lord" but (like the second) first let me go back ('epistrepho, similarly to the demoniac in 8:39) and say good-bye to ('apotassomai, foresake and give up, Luke 14:33) those at home. To this man, Jesus says, "No one who puts a hand on the plow and looks to the rear is useful for the Kingdom of God."


(Image source, http://www.wtpafm.com/morning/trucks/image004.jpg, blog http://www.wtpafm.com/morning/trucks.html)

So, are you on the road with Jesus, following closely, so that when the "fullness of time" comes you too will be with him in Jerusalem?

What road are you taking, a road of vengeance or of grace?

What time is it for you?

Do you feel your boat filling up?


(Image source, http://www.navalassoc.org.au/nautical%20compass011.gif)

What destination is your compass oriented toward? Do you have a solid fix on that location?

These are "homecoming" days as Jesus makes his way toward Jerusalem. He forgives a lack of hospitality in a Samaritan town and almost in the same breath refuses the requests of disciples for more space or time with parents and domestic chores. The reading from 2 Kings allows the contrast with Elijah's ministry and his treatment of Elisha, a disciple who is allowed to return home to "kiss" his parents goodbye before starting on the path of discipleship.

Extreme Makeover: Life Edition

I Kings 19:1-15a

We begin with the story of Elijah. While it is not our primary focus this week, the story does provide some serendipitous points of contact that may help to illumine our reading of the Gospel of Luke. Between the story of Elijah's raising of a dead boy (I Kings 17:8-24, 10th Sunday in Ordinary Time) and this story of Elijah's flight from Jezebel toward Mt. Horeb lies a mountain-top experience of another kind (Mt. Carmel, I Kings 18), a conflict between Elijah and the religious establishment of Israel in which Elijah very much enjoyed the upper hand. I Kings 19 begins with a reference to that prior victory over the prophets of Baal on Mt. Carmel, but then turns suddenly to the presentation of a contemporary threat. There is a sports cliche that comes to mind here: "you are only as good as your last game." In other words, Carmel is over--it is ancient history now--and Jezebel stands ready to challenge Elijah's freshly won claim that his God, YHWH, is superior to her god, Baal.

You might think that a guy who had recently resuscitated a corpse and called down fire from heaven might exude a little confidence. You might expect him to indulge a little swagger. But not today, not Elijah. His mental game is off. His mind isn't in it. He's not trying; he's stopped looking for a strategy to move ahead in the race. He's not even looking to tie. And he's given up on keeping body and soul (nephesh) together. He hasn't the courage, the strength, the heart, the ________ (you fill in the blank) that is required to keep going. He is ready to sit one out, to warm the bench, maybe to quit the team for good. He has lost the will to win. He is sated with the struggle. He says, "Enough already!" (rab `attah; see 2 Samuel 24:16 // 1 Chronicles 21:15) Elijah just wants to curl up under a broom tree and die. He needs someone who understands what he has been through. He needs someone to care that he's been trying all this time to make a difference, but that the cards seem stacked against him. I think he needs an Extreme Makeover.

You know the show.



It is a "reality show" (a misnomer of a genre if ever there were one). The show's premise is that there are real people in this world who are right now struggling against incredible odds to do the right thing. They may be winning a few battles here and there--they may even seem tragically heroic--but they are obviously losing the war. The whole of life seems hopelessly stacked against them. Without some "miraculous" intervention, without some sort of extraordinary good luck, they are going under. They may as well throw in the towel now unless they get help. And they do not need just a little help. They need a complete reshuffling of the deck. The genius of the show is that it has discovered the perfect symbol for this transformation: it is the demolition and rebuilding of the family's house. Given how we "worship" our homes (at least we did once, before the recent Great Recession), it is somehow deemed appropriate that the complete transformation of a family's life be narrated as the awe-inspiring story of a house transformed. In just a matter of days, in seemingly miraculous fashion, the family's old home is destroyed and a new home is constructed in its place, with the help of friends, neighbors, and community.

The question is whether Elijah gets this sort of transformational help when he calls out to God.

Elijah does get help. He receives a hot meal or two delivered by the deacons. (1 Kings 19:5-6, 7-8) He gets some much needed rest while he is "dropping out" and taking a little spiritual R&R. While on his "vacation" he attends the Mt. Horeb church, the same place where Moses went, for a spiritual retreat. He is hoping for a little revival of the spirit, some encouragement, maybe a burning bush or an eleventh commandment, earthquake, fire and smoke. But instead of allowing him to settle in and take his ease, God asks Elijah point blank what he's doing there. (mah-lekah poh; the only other time such a question is asked of someone seeking a refuge, Isaiah 22:16, it is clearly an unfriendly question: "What right have you to be here? Who gave you permission?")

Why are you here? God asks the question twice. (1 Kings 19:9, 13) Both times, Elijah answers the same.

I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.

(I Kings 19:10, 14; NRSV)

After the first answer, YHWH tells Elijah to go stand on the mountain in his presence, because YHWH is crossing over ("going through," `abar; NOT pasach, "passover"; see Exodus 12:23 for the difference). It is not altogether clear whether YHWH's presence is, at the present, a threat of curse or a promise of blessing for Elijah. Does this mean death or life? In the end, we are not sure whether YHWH has even shown up for the appointment. There have been great natural phenomena occurring, wind-shattering of rocks and the like, but YHWH is eerily absent (qol demamah daqqah, "the thinnest whisper of a voice"), as if we were waiting with Elijah for the other shoe to drop.

After YHWH repeats the question and Elijah repeats the answer, it seems that YHWH's "help" with Elijah's transformation comes in the form of an acceptance of Elijah's resignation. (1 Kings 19:16) However, two tell-tale signs contradict that assumption: first, Elijah is told to "go back the way you came" (shub ledarkekah)--in other words, go home, to your old place; and, second, he is commissioned to anoint two kings (Hazael of Damascus, a foreign king; and Jehu, king of Israel). This is perhaps the most significant assignment of his prophetic career; it is hardly a retirement. In fact, the anointing of his successor could be seen as "life insurance" taken out before embarking on hazardous duty. Whatever Elijah was seeking when he came; he received what he needed to continue as a prophet. Sometimes, perhaps, what we need is not an Extreme Makeover, but a swift kick in the pants.

Galatians 3:23-29

According to Paul, the coming of Christ, our faith in Christ and our baptism into Christ, represent an Extreme Makeover. Our lives have been transformed from their former state of slavery and imprisonment to a state of freedom as adopted children and heirs of God's promise. We were sinners under a great debt and in danger of immediate foreclosure and homelessness; but now we are justified, paid up, by faith with a new lease on life. In our new life in the Spirit, there is no prejudice, no distinction, based on the old realities that had things stacked against us: there just isn't a difference now in our family between Jew and Greek, male and female, slave and free. We are all one in Christ. Even our closets have been transformed, even our clothes have changed, to demonstrate this new reality.

Luke 8:26-39

But before we get too comfortable with this new life, we should ask whether there is an example of the aftermath of such a complete life transformation. Have others survived it?

Between last week's table talk (Luke 7) and this week's demoniac comes the parable of the sower (8:4-15) and the comment from Jesus about setting one's light on a lampstand (8:16) and (on hearing that his mother and brothers are looking for him) that his real family is "those who hear the word of God and do it." (Luke 8:21) Then we come to the story of the demoniac, which coincidentally begins with a change of scenery. Jesus and his disciples set out across the lake in a boat and while they are under sail Jesus falls asleep. When a storm blows up and threatens to capsize the boat, the disciples call out for help. ('apollumetha, "we perish"; it is the equivalent of the "demolition" required by an Extreme Makeover.) Jesus quickly comes to their aid, not transforming their lives, but rescuing them from impending death in the storm. The winds and the waves, and their obedience to Jesus, are impressive and clearly connected to the transformational power of faith, but they leave the disciples, like Elijah before them, with more questions than answers. (Luke 8:25)

When they arrive, Luke points out again that they are not at home. They are in the country of the Gerasenes (or Gadarenes), which is the opposite ('antipera) side of the Sea of Galilee. (Luke 8:26) A man comes out to meet them who is in dire straits. Even the Extreme Makeover folks would have difficulty knowing where to start because the man has neither home to demolish nor clothes to throw away. His home is in the tombs. (mnemasin; Luke's only other use of the term in the gospel is for the tomb of Jesus, the sepulcher with the stone across the front, Luke 23:53 and 24:1, and for the tombs of David [Acts 2:29] and Abraham [Acts 7:16]). Having just read I Kings, we cannot avoid hints of Elijah's cave on Mt. Hebron here. But the demoniac in Luke throws us a curve. The demoniac demands of Jesus an answer to the same question God posed to Elijah: "What are you doing here?" More to the point, "What do you want with me?" This is, I think, a clear indicator of the sort of Extreme Makeover Jesus brings, the kind in which he himself participates. The demolition of our old life (crucifixion) and construction of our new life (resurrection) is one in which he has gone before to pave the way, so that we too may experience new life.

See the entry for Mark 5 for a riff on the full story of the demoniac.

A question remains: How does one cope with a total transformation of one's life? Stress, even good stress, can be "bad" for you. It is good that Jesus sends folks "back home" in their "right mind." What's our role in welcoming such folks who have been changed and transformed by God's grace? Going "home" to a new life in Christ has consequences. What should we do to accept and receive someone who's been "born again" and whose life has been redeemed? How often do we invite Jesus to leave and go somewhere else to practice his transforming work?

Just a little nod to Father's Day, note 1 Kings 19:4!

Haunted

Mark 5:1-20

Time was, when I was a boy of 9 or 10 or 11, that this was my favorite New Testament story. There were perhaps two reasons. First, I was the son of a Pentecostal preacher and had seen much evidence of the dramatic effects of the Holy Spirit on many people—so it was not a great stretch, with a boy’s overactive imagination, to conjure a vivid picture of the sort of havoc an unclean spirit might produce. Here was a New Testament story—and there weren’t many—to rival the Old Testament stories of David and Goliath (where, much to a young boy’s delight, the giant literally loses his head) and the so-called witch of Endor. Secondly, I think my fascination with the demoniac’s story derived also from a Pentecostal penchant for archaic language. The Holy Spirit was for us during my formative years the Holy Ghost—and Mark 5 (//Luke 8:26-39), read from the King James Version, the Bible of my youth, was inhabited by a man “possessed with devils”—and those “devils” appeared in the text quite frequently, even in verses where I now know that the Greek text is more restrained. Nowadays the Greek is “more faithfully” rendered by the NRSV’s antiseptic “they.” The KJV was so much better, don’t you think, for a boyish imagination?—far better “devils” than “they.” What my friends and I discovered back then was a ghost story to keep a boy up at night and devils enough to keep him whispering solemn speculations for hours into the night.

So, when, somewhat desperate for a text for this sermon before Presbytery (Middle Tennessee, 2003; Year 1 of the Revised Common Lectionary [RCL] Daily Lectionary, Week following Sunday between July 17 and 23 inclusive) I noticed that Mark 5 appeared as Thursday’s Gospel reading, I took it as a providential sign and was once again enticed to “turn aside to see” this strange text that “burns, yet is not consumed.”

We children of the Enlightenment, denizens of the 20th and now the 21st century, no longer believe in ghosts and devils. We assume that we have exorcised (that’s exorcise, not exercise) or can successfully exorcise all the devils from their hiding places in Mark 5. We are, after all, and with apologies to Amy Jill Levine, “the very model of a modern Bible exegete.” Naturally, we no longer subscribe to a literalistic reading in which two or four or six thousand demons drive two thousand swine off the side of a cliff and into the sea. We are older now, more mature, more civilized and sophisticated. We know all too well that what the ancient writers understood as spirit possession would likely be diagnosed today in a sterile, clinical hospital ward as some sort of mental illness—-though, if we are honest, we will also admit that it is no less terrible and terrifying for its diagnosis. We Presbyterian exegetes know to ask all those “who, what, where, and when” questions that domesticate and bind this text to its ancient context. And we know that we should not move on to a consideration of what the text means here, to us, today, until it has been “successfully” bound, gagged, and interred in the city of Gerasa or Gadara or Gergesa, in the region of the gentile Decapolis, between Galilee and Judea, under Roman Imperial administration, some two thousand years ago. We know all that.

Still, there are ghosts in this text that haunt me. This text, like the demoniac himself, refuses to stay confined to its modern shackles. Though commentary after modern commentary warns us against misreading this story as a condemnation by Jesus of an economic system in which 2,000 swine are more valuable than a single, though deranged human life, still pulpits resound with this “misreading” every time the text is read (though that may now be rarely done). Why does such an economic “misreading” persist? Perhaps the Spirit of Christ seeks once again by the reading of his Word to confront the very demons that possess us—our material possessions. Knowing full well that consumerism destroys our bodies and our spirits—and more so the bodies and spirits of our homeless, mentally ill neighbors—our modern reaction to the arrival of Jesus may be to run to him with the magic of rote prayers begging that he not torment us by “freeing” us of our possessions. Deluded, we may even say that we prefer our life in the caves, bound by our possessions, but free of God and one another. And, like the residents who found the man clothed and in his right mind, we may catch a serious case of NIMBY (not in my back yard) when cured demoniacs try to rejoin polite society—even polite church society.

Yes, there are still ghosts in this text that haunt me--21st century ghosts and devils aplenty. Horizons may have shifted with the computer age, but we still have horizons. We still, and with reason, fear loss of mental capacity, aging, and loneliness. We still succumb to sickness and pain, despite extraordinary efforts to avoid them. And we still loathe and fear death, that most fearsome and seemingly most invincible of all devils.

Friends, the good news is this: Jesus still confronts and casts out devils. Jesus is still the one who calms the storm and raised Jairus’s daughter. Jesus, though he died, lives forever more—and gives us life eternal. We, like the demoniac, are charged to go home to our friends to tell how much the Lord has done for us. I find it is ironic, then, that this text may NEVER be read in our churches, since Mark 5:1-20 conveniently drops out of the RCL for Sundays and Festivals somewhere between the 12th and 13th Sundays in Ordinary Time in Year B. Did we notice?

Note: the parallel text in Luke 8:26-39 does appear on the Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C.

A Host's Inhospitality

A bit of "table talk" by Jesus in Luke 7 sets up three points of contrast: an ungracious host (showing how little forgiveness he has received), a woman whose love for Jesus shows (prior to the fact) how much forgiveness she is open to receiving, and Jesus our guest. (Brendan Byrne, The Hospitality of God: A Reading of Luke's Gospel, Liturgical Press) Who knew that hospitality is such a yard stick (measuring cup) for forgiveness?

But before we turn to the Gospel of Luke, we pause for a moment to consider the Psalmist's cry of desperation.

Psalm 5:1-8

The Psalmist begins with a prayer for attention, which moves from a plea for God to take the earplugs out and turn to face the supplicant ("give ear") to a plea for God to take enough interest in what is being said that the prayer will register on the divine radar. The psalmist wants God to listen with understanding and discernment, to distinguish (binah) the individual words, phrases, and sentences so that sounds of the supplicant's prayer will be intelligible to God. The psalmist wants God to understand the prayer, not merely to hear the sound of praying.
The psalmist's prayer is characterized as a cry for help by someone who has been hurt. (shewa`; the root occurs 11 times in the book of Job and 10 times in the Psalms, but only rarely elsewhere.) Such cries of distress have a purpose and that purpose is to summon a strong helper, a hero. In this case the hero is God, who is envisioned in his role as king. (A warrior and defender; someone with great power; if the king cannot help, who will be able?)



Scroll to 3:11 for the relevant section.

Even though I'm president of the United States, my power is not limitless, so I can't dive down there and plug the hole. I can't suck it up with a straw. All I can do is make sure that I put honest, hard-working smart people in place ... to implement this thing.

(President Barack Obama)
What sorts of things, other than oil spills, merit such a cry? The need for mercy (from a judge; Psalm 28), the need for healing (Psalm 30), and the need to be found or located (e.g., when lost at sea; Psalm 31), among others.



(Image source, http://nbcsports.msnbc.com/id/37650809/ns/sports-othersports/)
Photo: 16-year-old, Abby Sunderland, in her wrecked sailboat, Wild Eyes. She is now on a French fishing vessel, which rescued her half way between Australia and the coast of Africa. She spent two days without communication and sent out distress signals before she was rescued.

The Psalmist ends on the same theme we will see soon in the gospel reading, the one who has been saved from much also loves much. Gratitude is the hallmark of the life saved.

Luke 7:36-8:3

It helps first to remember the Roman setting of Jesus' party invitation. Often we make unfounded assumptions that can be dispelled with a few images, imaginative reconstructions of the Roman triclinium, the arrangements of the three couches, the placement of the table, the open end from which food would have been served.


(Image source, http://library.thinkquest.org/22866/Dutch/Plaatjes/aanlig2.gif)


(Image source, http://www.forumromanum.org/life/johnston180.jpg)




(Image source, http://www.forumromanum.org/life/johnston179.jpg)

306. The places on each couch were named in the same way, (locus) summus, medius, and īmus, denoted respectively by the figures 1, 2, and 3 in Figure 179. The person who occupied the place numbered 1 was said to be above (super, suprā) the person to his right, while the person occupying the middle place (2) was above the person on his right and below (īnfrā) the one on his left. The place of honor on the lectus summus was that numbered 1, and the corresponding place (1) on the lectus īmus was taken by the host. To the most distinguished guest, however, was given the place on the lectus medius marked 3; this place was called by the special name locus cōnsulāris, because if a consul was present, it was always assigned to him. It was next to the place of the host, and, besides, was especially convenient for a public official; if he found it necessary to receive or send a message during the dinner, he could communicate with the messenger without so much as turning on his elbow.

(Johnson's Private Life of the Romans)

Roman dinners were social events, with guests. We too often forget in this age of home theaters that home entertainment in the Roman world was of necessity live entertainment. There was music and dancing. ("`We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not cry.'" Luke 7:32, NIB) There was recitation of written work, poetry and speeches, plays and the "good" parts of the best tragedies and comedies. And there was Jesus. He could be counted on for a miracle, a sign or good work, an exorcism, a good parable, a provocative statement, or something else altogether unexpected. You have to wonder from all the dinner invitations he received whether Jesus was considered by some of the rich folks of his day as just another form of entertainment. ("The Son of Man has come eating and drinking, and you say, 'Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!'" Luke 7:34, NRSV) For a good description, see the Wikipedia article on Roman cuisine, table culture

So, Jesus received yet another invitation to dinner, this time from a Pharisee. He accepted, Luke says, taking his place (which one?) and reclining with the other guests at the table. (Luke 7:36) About that time a woman who has heard that Jesus will be reclining on that couch at dinner in the Pharisee's house shows up with an alabaster bottle of ointment or perfume (muron) she has bought for the occasion. It is strongly aromatic, often used for anointing dead bodies (Luke 23:56).

The Expensive Stuff

(Image source, http://www.christies.com/lotfinderimages/d49742/d4974297x.jpg)


The Cheap Stuff

(Image source, http://www.jerusalem-antiquities.com/images/Roman%20Glass%20Perfume%20Jar6.jpg)

The woman with her alabaster jar walked into the room in full view of the guests and made her way around the table until she stood behind Jesus. There she took her stand, weeping, and began to shower his feet, drenching them with her tears. She was wiping them dry with her hair. And she was kissing his feet and anointing them with the perfume.

The host, taking it all in, says to himself, "He's no prophet! Or he would know what sort of woman is touching him (7:39, hapto, most often of people "grabbing" Jesus, hoping he will "touch" and heal them: e.g., Luke 5:13; 6:19; 7:14; 8:16, 44-47; 11:33; 15:8; 18:15; and 22:51). This is nothing new or out of the ordinary to Jesus. People in need are always grabbing for him. Parents are always bringing their babies to him so that he may touch them. But this woman's a sinner! (harmotolos, see 5:30, 32) Jesus was always being accused of fraternizing with sinners and publicans by the Pharisees; yet, whose table is he sharing today?

Jesus turns to his host and says, "Simon, I have something to say to you." Now we get to glimpse the guise under which Jesus has been invited, because Simon responds, "Go ahead, teacher!" (didaskalos)

Jesus offers an after-dinner parable:

(Image source, http://newportricheyflforeclosures.com/images/forecloserichie.jpg)


(Image source, http://housesforeclosure.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/bungalow.jpg)

A man who owed (chreopheiletai $500,000 and a man who owed $50,000 both had their loans re-negotiated with the bank (see Luke 16:5). (charizomai, generously, graciously, forgave and pardoned.) Now neither man owes anything, both have unblemished credit scores, and both can keep their houses. Tell me, which will love the banker more?

Jesus replies, "You judge correctly." (Similar to the way the Psalmist prays that God will hear and understand his prayer.) Then Jesus convicts Simon: "Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave (didomi, echoing the inability of the debtors to "repay," apodidomi, their obligation) me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair." (NRSV, Luke 7:44) Jesus continues enumerating the host's many obligations, a kiss and oil for his head, which Simon had failed to perform. Her many sins have been forgiven, for she loves much. ...and then he trails off, ...but the one who has been forgiven little loves little.

Perhaps the most astonishing thing about the story is the order in which the statements occur. Jesus makes the declarative (objectively real) statement to Simon that the woman's sins have been (perfect! / past) forgiven before he turns to the woman and informs her (subjectively real) that her sins are (now) forgiven (perfect!).

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The other guests are flabbergasted, asking, as will often be the case with Jesus, "who is this who even forgives sins?" Jesus, not missing a beat, says to the woman that it is her faith that has saved her. Her love for Jesus is an expression of the depth of that faith. Her love is deeper, it seems, than the love of Simon, and so is her faith.

How deep is my love?

How much faith do I have?

First, Do No Harm!

If our mission is to be/make disciples (it is), we must examine carefully those things that may impede our mission and get in the way of extending help and hospitality. One of those things is fear. Sometimes we fear the angry responses that we may receive from hurting people. But sometimes we also fear our own inadequacy and inability, worrying that we may only make matters worse if we try to help. Because we do not know and cannot know always the full impact of our attempts to help, we may be tempted to avoid those people who are hurting. Instead, we must focus first on meeting the needs of the people whom God sends our way; putting them first--before our fear--is akin to putting Christ first. We must overcome any negative (-) response in ourselves and any fear of a negative response from those whom we would help, so that God's help and grace can triumph (+) over our fear and over the bitterness of hurting people.

I Kings 17:8-24

Crying Bitter Tears

The bitter question that a grieving widow and mother asks Elijah is the sort of response we sometimes fear from those in pain whom we would like to help. The woman is understandably bitter and angry. She had been prepared to lose her son to famine when the prophet of God (the man of God, 'ish ha'elohim) had first appeared (I Kings 17:12). The prophet--without invitation--had offered her help and a promise: "thus says the LORD the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth." (NRSV, I Kings 17:14) That promise must have seemed like salvation to her, especially when the jar of meal and the jug of oil did not run out after the first day and the second and the third. Her confidence, hope, and faith grew. She began to trust the Word of the Lord and the words of the prophet (I Kings 17:16). Now a fate worse than dying with her son suddenly confronts her. The widow's son has died; she must live on alone, so she lashes out at the prophet: "What did I ever do to you, that you come here and expose my sin to kill my son?" (I Kings 17:18) Elijah, instead of taking offense or meeting her bitterness with his own bitterness, takes her son compassionately into his arms and calls out to God on her behalf. Life reenters the boy and new life animates the widow, who says "now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the LORD from your mouth is the truth ['emet, trustworthy]." (NRSV, I Kings 17:24)

Galatians 1:11-24

Resisting Grace, Hissing and Scratching at Jesus

We read again, now from Galatians instead of Acts (9:1-20, Third Sunday of Easter), about Saul's persecution of the followers of the Way and his remarkable conversion. One of my favorite images of Saul the Persecutor is from Fred B. Craddock's sermon, "Praying Through Clenched Teeth" (Twentieth Century Pulpit, Vol. II; also available in Eugene Lowry's How to Preach a Parable).

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The image of Saul (or Paul) presented there is of a wounded animal hissing and striking out at the hand that would save it. Craddock concludes his sermon like this:

Not too long ago God reached out his hand to bless me and my family. When he did, I looked at his hand; it was covered with scratches. Such is the hand of love, extended to those who are bitter.

(Image, "Crucified Hands," © Copyright 2005 by Debbie Rockey. All rights reserved.)

The "revelation of Jesus Christ" (apokalypsis, Galatians 1:12) of which Paul speaks in Galatians is the means by which he received the gospel (euangelion, good news, Galatians 1:11) that he now preaches. As Paul puts it, the new thing that happened on the Damascus road was that God revealed "his Son to [or in] me." (Galatians 1:16) Jesus is now the source and the content of Paul's preaching. But at the precise moment of that revelation, Jesus was unwelcome to Saul. The good news was resisted. Saul was still hissing and scratching and striking out against Jesus (persecuting [kath' hyperbalen 'ediokon] and trying to destroy ['eporthoun] the church; Galatians 1:13, 1:23). Craddock suggests that Paul's overreaction (kath' hyperbalen) to the good news of Jesus was a result of the threat Paul perceived to the-world-as-he-knew-it (Judaism), including his understanding of who God is and what God requires. The gospel threatened Saul's sense of self, his core identity, because it showed that the things in life that Saul most avidly pursued were in truth non-essentials (Galatians 1:14). For that reason, Saul struck out. But God persisted for Paul's own sake, and for the sake of the revelation of the gospel of Jesus Christ and for the sake of creating a church among the gentiles (Galatians 1:16).

Luke 7:11-17

Showing Mercy with Courage and with Gracious Abandon

As Jesus nears the gates of Nain, he encounters a burial detail removing a corpse from town. It is not just any corpse, but a widow's "only begotten" (monogenes; see Luke 8:42 and 9:38) son who has died. All children are unique, special, and irreplaceable. The loss of an only child to a parent whose childbearing years are over simply underscores and emphasizes the bitterness of such a loss with terrible loneliness and finality. It is right to concentrate on Luke's concatenation of specific descriptors, especially the pairing of a "widow's (kai 'auten en chera) only begotten." It is to this situation in which a woman is left without both husband and son (e.g., Naomi; Ruth 1:5) that Jesus responds with deep compassion (splagchnizomai, like Pharaoh's daughter does as she rescues a crying baby Moses from the Nile basket, Exodus 2:6). In Proverbs 17:5, the LXX adds a contrasting line after the two negative statements that are in the Hebrew text: "Those who mock the poor insult their Maker; those who are glad at calamity will not go unpunished" (NRSV, following the Hebrew) "and the one who shows compassion (episplagchnizomai) will receive mercy" (LXX). Compassion and mercy go together. That is why compassion is forbidden at the destruction of the temple in Ezekiel 24:15-24; until chastisement is over, there is no mercy (and also, therefore, no compassion). Compassion includes the promise of concrete help (e.g., by the Ziphites to Saul when he is chasing David, 1 Samuel 23:21; ironically not shown by Saul at any time to David). This verb for compassion is only used by Luke again at 10:33 (the Good Samaritan) and 15:20 (the father for his Prodigal Son). This should not come as a great shock to those who are familiar with the Lukan narrative.

Jesus tells the widow not to weep (me klaie), an imperative repeated in the NT only at Revelation 5:5 to John, who had begun to despair that the scroll could not be opened. The root occurs, of course, in the Sermon on the Plain. (Luke 6:21, "Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.") It occurs twice more in Luke 7, in the enigmatic saying at 7:32 and in 7:38 with the sinner woman who stood behind Jesus weeping, washing his feet with her tears and drying them with her hair.

At issue throughout this chapter is the identity of Jesus as a Great Prophet (Luke 7:16, 7:22, 7:39). His response to the widow from Nain and the sinner woman are woven of the same cloth: forgiveness and healing, resurrection and salvation.