Month: September 2023

Fostering a culture of “an informed faith”

The Church in which I minister, the Uniting Church in Australia, is a church which values the development of “an informed faith”. It’s something that is absolutely central in my own understanding of discipleship, ministry, and mission (which might explain why I have called this blog An Informed Faith!)

The Uniting Church was formed in 1977 by a union of three protestant denominations (Congregational, Methodist, and Presbyterian), which came together through a commitment to a Basis of Union which had been written, circulated, and voted on by members of those three churches earlier in the 1970s.

This Basis of Union envisages that the Uniting Church would be a thoughtfully educated church. It commits all its members and ministers to “the knowledge of God’s ways with humanity that are open to an informed faith”—a faith that is contextualised, critically developed, alert to contemporary understandings, and engaged with contemporary society.

This “informed faith” has clear foundations. It is to be based on the serious study of Scriptures; the Basis says that the Uniting Church “lays upon its members the serious duty of reading the Scriptures [and] commits its ministers to preach from these” (para 5).

It is to be further guided by our theological heritage from the early church, in the early ecumenical creeds, and the Reformation and Evangelical traditions, through later confessional documents. Uniting Church ministers are particularly exhorted to apply themselves “to careful study of these creeds and to the discipline of interpreting their teaching in a later age” (para 9), as well as to “to study these statements” which are identified as critical confessions (para 10).

In paragraph 11, the Basis offers an expression of thanks to God “for the continuing witness and service of evangelist, of scholar, of prophet and of martyr”. All four of these figures are important. We have been invited into the faith by evangelists, enriched by scholars, challenged by prophets; and the motivation and fate of martyrs must surely give us food for consideration, even if we do not deliberately choose to follow their exact pathway!

As the Basis acknowledges the importance of scholarly interpreters of Scripture, it goes on to affirm insights that we can take from literary, historical and scientific enquiry and contemporary thought. These insights nourish our faith and develop our discipleship. Whatever source they come from—from across the spread of disciplines developed by careful human exploration and thoughtful human experimentation—they can inform and shape our lives of faith in the 21st century.

The Basis also affirms that all members are gifted and called to ministry, that all ministries are part of the ministry of Christ, and that all members need to be equipped for their ministries. So providing lay people, commissioned pastors, and ordained deacons and ministers with opportunities for training and learning which foster these commitments is an important aspect of our church life.

There is no doubt that commitment to “an informed faith” is at the heart of the culture of the Uniting Church. Such a commitment shapes our approach to worship and preaching, pastoral care and mission, governance and organisation. It permeates every aspect of our life together as church.

Scripture

The claim that our faith and life is grounded in scripture is one that is shared with all Protestant and many other denominations, albeit with different emphases amongst that cohort. For the Uniting Church, the foundations of our approach to scripture is outlined in paragraph 5 of the Basis of Union.

Paragraph 5 of the Basis of Union

This paragraph affirms the central importance of scripture. However, it does so in a way which clearly shows that scripture requires interpretation. Merely repeating the precise words of the Bible does not guarantee understanding, or even acceptance, of those words. So, in worship, we not only read scripture passages, but we reflect on them, guided usually by a sermon, and then we are invited to respond to those words, in song, in prayer, and in our own lives.

All of this is acknowledged in paragraph 5, when it declares that “The Word of God on whom salvation depends is to be heard and known from Scripture appropriated in the worshipping and witnessing life of the Church.” The process of appropriation is critical. When we read, or hear, scripture, we need to appropriate it — we need to find ways to make it appropriate in our own context, in our own communities, in our own lives. As we do so, we hear and know the Word of God—identified in paragraph 4 as “Christ who is present when he is preached among people”—the one “who acquits the guilty, who gives life to the dead and who brings into being what otherwise could not exist”.

That process of interpretation is important, and can’t be short-circuited. Trying to make an argument that there is a “plain reading” or “unequivocal support” for a position, is simplistic. It is a matter of interpretation, exploration, testing and exploring—not just a mater of stating “unequivocal” truths.

Contemporary insights

So paragraph 11 of the Basis sets out some of the processes by which this appropriation might take place: “contact with contemporary thought”, the inheritance of “literary, historical and scientific enquiry”, engagement with others within “the worldwide fellowship of churches” as well as with “contemporary society” … all of which stands in the service of developing “an informed faith”.

So the Basis of Union commits us to a process of discovery. Paragraph 11 exhorts us to remain open to new insights which emerge from scientific thinkers, historical researchers, our encounter with other cultural customs, our engagement with people from societies different from our own.

Paragraph 11 of the Basis of Union

In this regard, the Basis stands in the tradition of what is often today called the Wesleyan Quadrilateral. That schema (attributed to Wesley, but never actually articulated by him) relates scripture, the primary source of Christian faith, to three other factors, each of which inform and shape the way we deal with scripture: the tradition of the church, the faculty of reason, and our human experience. Those related factors are reflected in the Basis of Union in other ways, although primarily (in my mind) through what is found in paragraph 11.

So in giving thanks “for the continuing witness and service of evangelist, of scholar, of prophet and of martyr”, and in articulating the various factors which have nourished these figures, the Basis offers some important interpretive insights. It is the way that we interpret scripture and our received traditions, guided by these factors, that shapes our theological culture.

Valuing our inheritance

So we are grounded in scripture; we value experience; and we appreciate tradition. In addition, it is important that we engage our faith with the human faculties of reason and empathy, drawing upon critical investigation and creative imagining, as we seek to live as Christians.

Valuing “the inheritance of literary, historical and scientific enquiries” is one such pathway. By now, we know very clearly that the sun does not revolve around the earth; that the earth is not simply some 4,000 odd years old; that disease is spread by germs. This new scientific knowledge is able to reshape how we read and understand scripture, and how we plan to express faith in our communities.

We know that Moses did not write the first five books of the Tanakh, nor did any of the first apostles pen the Gospels included in our scriptures. Again, this evolving literary and historical understanding orients and shapes our approach to scripture and the way we apply and live.

And we know, now, that people do not choose their sexual identity, but rather who we are, in all our diversity, is a reflection of the creative relational love that comes to us from God. The contemporary insights of science and medicine, psychology and sociology—as well as the important processes of reading and seeking to understand biblical texts in their literary, historical, cultural, and political contexts—informs how we understand, value, and relate to this significant portion of our society.

All of this requires us to live differently, to relate to one another differently, to make laws differently, to be Church differently—all because we value “the inheritance of literary, historical and scientific enquiries” and work hard to engage that inheritance in the ways we interpret scripture, worship and serve, and bear witness to our faith.

Engaging with contemporary societies

Beyond this, the Basis encourages us to engage with contemporary societies and participate in them such that we better come to understand our own nature and mission. Every day, in the modern world, questions are raised, discoveries are made, experiments are undertaken, hypotheses are probed, discarded, or confirmed, policies are proposed and legislated, changes are implemented. That is the very nature of our situation in life for the present age.

And a central theological affirmation, which sweeps up all of these processes of exploration and discovery, is that we hold to an ongoing and ever-present role for the Holy Spirit: the giver of life moves in our midst to encourage us to share together and make new discoveries. So paragraph 11 of the Basis offers a prayer that, as a church, we “may be ready when occasion demands to confess the Lord in fresh words and deeds.”

That prayer invites us to make it our business to know what discoveries are being made by scientists, psychologists, and sociologists, through exploration of the whole cosmos as well as investigation of ecologies and systems close at hand. It invites us to bring our knowledge of those discoveries into conversation with our faith and the developments that have occurred in our theological understandings through the faithful work of exegetes, theologians, missiologists, educators, activists, writers, and preachers. We are also invited to attend to the creative offerings of poets, novelists, composers and artists, helping to shape our understanding of God and of one another.

In our exegesis of biblical texts and our articulation of theological insights, in our decision-making about church polity and our implementation of missional projects, we are always to be informed by these matters. Our expressions of faith always come to birth in the context in which we find ourselves, and always engage our whole being.

Multicultural societies, such as Australia, offer many opportunities for such engagement and learning. Seeking to understand the cultural practices and commitments of friends and neighbours in our midst, means that we will better understand who we are as Church: what it means to be in relationship with one another, to serve one another, to proclaim the living Word afresh. We made a commitment to this way of life in 1985, and we continue to explore what that means in the life of our church, and our society.

And in this country, we are privileged to be able to speak and work and pray with people from the oldest continuous society still existing on earth. The First Peoples of this continent, a collection of many Peoples marked by their own richness of culture and diversity of languages and customs, offer us unending scope to deepen our awareness of God’s ways with human beings. We do have “a destiny together”. We sealed a Covenant with the UAICC in 1994, and reworked the Preamble to our own Constitution in 2009, to indicate how strongly we hold to walking that pathway together.

Right at the start of the Uniting Church, in 1977, the First Assembly issued the grand-sounding Statement to the Nation, in which the realities of the society of the day were named, and the principles which it was intended would guide the new church as it sought to bear witness to our faith and, more significantly, seek to serve the people of that society. This brilliant statement still holds good today, as it articulated key issues which still blight our common life.

And the glaring omission in that Statement—the lack of any reference to the First Peoples of this continent and its surrounding islands—was addressed in a second Statement to the Nation, issued in 1988, when the nation was immersed in celebrations of the 200th anniversary of the arrival of the British invaders who colonised, massacred, and marginalised those First Peoples.

Engaging with the worldwide fellowship of churches

Long before the Uniting Church came into being, faithful people in the three predecessor denominations had expressed a passionate desire to seek unity with people of faith in other denominations. The birth of the ecumenical movement in Australia is often traced to the formation of the Australian Student Christian Movement (1896). Early moves towards forming a union of Protestant denominations was taking place in Australia at this time. But no union resulted.

The momentum continued in other ways. A National Missionary Council was formed in 1926, and in 1946 the Australian Committee for the World Council of Churches was formed. This would subsequently develop into the Australian Council of Churches and then the National Council of Churches in Australia. The moves towards the formation of the Uniting Church—slow and tedious as they may now appear to us to have been—took place within this larger movement seeking unity across the whole people of God.

When the Congregational, Methodist and Presbyterian churches joined together in 1977 to form the Uniting Church in Australia, they declared that this union was both in accord with the will of God, and that it was a gift of God to the people of God in Australia (Basis of Union, para 1). Since then, the Uniting Church has been a church which is committed to working ecumenically with other Christian denominations.

We belong to the National Council of Churches in Australia (NCCA) and the World Council of Churches (WCC), where we co-operate with many denominations. We also belong to the World Methodist Council (WMC) and the World Communion of Reformed Churches (WCRC), in recognitions of those two lines of heritage in our history. We send delegates to these international bodies whenever they meet and take part in the discussions and decisions of plenary sessions and working committees.

Nationally, we have participated in ongoing conversations with other denominations (Anglican, Lutheran, Greek Orthodox, and Roman Catholic). At the grassroots level, our ministers participate in local ministers’ associations in hundreds of towns and cities across the nation. We are an ecumenical church.

I know from the ministries that I have offered in various locations—urban, regional, and rural—that there are places for people who value Pentecostal worship, Anglican ritual, Baptist freedom, evangelical activism, ethno-cultural orthodoxy, fundamentalist biblicism, Roman-guided Catholicism, and other forms of Christian expression, in other denominations. These are our sisters and brothers in Christ. I also know that the Uniting Church occupies a distinctive place within that universal fellowship.

We need to own that space, maintain mature and fruitful relationships with the people of these other forms of faith expression, and be resolutely clear about who we are and what we stand for. We advocate for an informed faith, we stand with the marginalised and disenfranchised, we welcome people who have had difficult times in life and people who identify with diverse expressions of sexuality and gender, and we are proud to serve these communities in accord with the Gospel we know. That is the gift that God offers the people of Australia through the church that we are.

Contact with contemporary thought

The final element noted in paragraph 11 is to the intention for us to seek out “contact with contemporary thought”, such that it will shape in us “an informed faith”. As individuals, or as a culture, we do not hold all the keys to meaning, all the clues to reality, within our grasp. We do not believe that “the world” is a place of menace, filled with evil and permeated with injustice. There is much we can learn from contemporary thought and contemporary societies.

We do well to learn from one another, to seek out different understandings and variant expressions, so that our faith may be deepened and our knowledge may be expanded. We do well to engage with others, different from us, for the sake of our common life together. Such is the call from our foundational document, the Basis of Union.

In recent years, I have become aware of a process known as Appreciative Inquiry. This offers a helpful way to learn from one another, to explore the human resources at our disposal in a consultative way, to engage constructively across differences. I have learnt the value of offering an invitation to another person by saying, “I am curious as to why you say that”, or a similar approach—much better than a direct, confrontational, “what do you mean?” Our faith can be enriched and expanded—and better informed—by such an approach to the world we live in and the people we encounter.

Conclusion

A few years ago, I served in an educational role which had in its job description an explicit charge to contribute to the creation of “a culture in which faith formation for discipleship and leadership is prized, appreciated and accessible and seeks to build an informed and integrated learning community directed to the mission of God”.

I still hold to that succinct articulation of a wide-ranging set of responsibilities as a fine overarching explanation of what all educators—and, indeed, all who serve in pastoral leadership within the Uniting Church—are called to be doing. As one of my colleagues in ministry in the UCA over the decades, Craig Mitchell, has said, “at the core of being the church is being a learning community of disciples” (Facebook post, 7 May 2022).

All communities of faith should have the formation of faith at their heart, teaching the elements of discipleship, seeking opportunities to develop missional connections with their local communities, and offering multiple opportunities for people to share and learn together, reflecting on their experiences as they live out their faith in daily life.

Creating a culture which prizes faith formation means honouring scripture, valuing our inheritance, engaging proactively and constructively in contemporary society, taking our place within the worldwide fellowship of churches, and living attuned to the rich realities of diversity within contemporary societies. All of this contributes to the development of “an informed faith”. And that, most surely, is a central marker of the culture of this church, the Uniting Church in Australia.

*****

The Basis of Union can be read at https://uniting.church/basisofunion/

See my own reflections on the Basis at

What I really like about the Basis of Union

and

What is missing from the Basis of Union?

Dealing with divine violence (Matt 18; Pentecost 16A)

“Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” (Matt 18:21). We know the question—and we know the answer. “If a person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive”, Jesus says, at least according to Luke’s Gospel (Luke 17:4).

Not so in Matthew’s Gospel. Forgiving seven times, as demanding as that is, is not enough—at least according to the Jesus of Matthew’s Gospel. “Not seven times”, says this Jesus, “but, I tell you, seventy-seven times” (Matt 18:22).

We hear this conversation, and an ensuing parable, on this coming Sunday, as it is the Gospel passage proposed by the lectionary. It follows on from last week’s passage dealing with conflict within the community (18:15–20).

And so, this particular Matthean representation of Jesus appears, on the face of it, to be a more generous, accepting, grace-filled version, than even the Jesus of Luke’s Gospel! Forgiveness is important—so important that it needs to be offered, over and over again, we might assume.

Well, hold on—not so fast. Because immediately after reporting this word of Jesus, the author of Matthew’s Gospel reports him offering a parable which contains a number of difficult—indeed, troublesome—elements. He sets a scene involving a king and a number of slaves. How those characters behave is interesting. The end result is that one slave is thrown into prison “to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt” (18:34).

Slaves, of course, were present in the world in which Jesus lives. Their presence is noted in scenes, such as when we see mention of the sick slave of a centurion (Matt 8:5–13; Luke 7:1–10) and a slave of the high priest (Mark 14:47; Matt 26:51; Luke 22:50; John 18:10). They are recurrent characters in the parables of Jesus (Mark 12:1–12 and parallels; Matt 24:45–51; Luke 12:35–40, 42–48; 14:15–24; 19:11–27; 20:9–19). Slaves are also referred to in a number of the sayings of Jesus (Mark 10:44; Matt 6:24; 10:24–25; 20:27; Luke 16:13; 17:7–10; John 8:34–36).

The character of a king appears in a number of parables of Jesus, in both the Gospel of Luke (Luke 14:31–32; and see also 19:27) and that of Matthew (Matt 18:23–35; 22:1–14; 25:31–46). In this last parable, the final scene of judgement of the nations (25:31–46), the king functions as God’s representative, delivering his commendation of those who acted correctly, but judgement on those who failed to do so.

In the parable we will hear this coming Sunday (18:21–35), the king initially demands repayment of a large debt owed to him by one of his slaves. When the slave cannot pay, he plans to sell him and all his goods and family. However, after being begged by the slave, the king remits the debt (18:27). This part of the parable clearly illustrates the instruction of Jesus concerning forgiveness (18:22).

In the next parable found in Matthew’s Gospel (22:1–14), whilst dealing with guests who turn down his invitation to attend a wedding feast and murder the slaves he had sent to them, the king does not act so graciously; we are told that he “was enraged; he sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city” (22:7).

Then, when a guest does enter dressed without his wedding robe, the king was initially rendered speechless, before ordering his attendants, “Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (22:13). This is hardly the action of a leader who is following the exhortation to “forgive seventy times seven”!

This destructive rampage by the king fits alongside the reaction of the slave in the earlier parable. Although himself forgiven of his massive debt of “ten thousand talents” (18:27)—an impossible huge debt, completely unrealistic—he refuses to forgive his fellow-slave who owes him much less, “a hundred denarii” (18:28–30)—a more realistic amount to owe. He has this slave thrown into prison—but on hearing of this, his master, the king, who had earlier practised forgiveness (18:25–27), turns on his slave, now seen as “you wicked slave”, and condemns him “to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt” (18:34).

So I am somewhat bemused by the inclusion of this parable. Had Jesus stopped at verse 27 (“out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt”), the parable would have been a fine example of the principle of “forgive seventy times seven”. But it doesn’t stop there. It continues on for another eight verses, and those verses tell of the complete opposite of gracious forgiveness.

The idea of forgiving someone who himself had failed to show forgiveness is thus doomed to failure. And not only that—it is not simply the king in the parable who acts with vengeance, it is the “heavenly Father” who will act in this way towards anybody who “does not forgive your brother or sister from your heart” (18:35). It seems that God is fundamentally a God of vengeance, not of grace.

This should not surprise us if we look elsewhere in this Gospel, to see how Jesus portrays God. Whilst God feeds the birds of the air (6:24), “clothes the grass of the field” (6:30), casts out demons through the Spirit (12:28), commands the honouring of parents (15:4), joins together man and woman to be come “one flesh” (19:4–6), and is able to deliver “the one who trusts in him” (27:43), there are more ominous actions of the divine being that Jesus reflects in his teachings.

Whilst Jesus teaches that the kingdom of heaven will be characterised by being like a child (18:1–5), a number of parables indicate that what transpires in the kingdom will vary, depending on how a person has behaved in life. Those who commit to the righteous-justice that Jesus teaches (5:20; 6:33; 21:32) “will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (13:53) and will hear gracious words of welcome: “come, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world” (25:34). Their fate is to enter into “eternal life” (25:46).

However, those who fail to live in accord with this way of righteous-justice will encounter a different message: “you that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels” (25:41). Their fate is terrible; the “eternal punishment” that is noted at the conclusion of this parable (25:46) is variously described in other places within this Gospel.

The slave who was not prepared for the return of his master—in the first of four parables (24:45–51) which conclude the final teaching discourse of Jesus—ends with clear punishment: “put him with the hypocrites, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (24:51). Jesus had spoken the instruction to “throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” in the parable where a person came to a wedding inappropriately dressed (22:14). This is a recurrent motif in Matthew’s Gospel.

He has also pointed to the same punishment for lawless and disobedient people in other places: in his words of judgement spoken in Capernaum, where he encounters a distressed centurion (8:12); in his explanation of the parable of the weeds and the wheat (13:42); in the parable of the good and bad fish (13:50); and in the parable of the talents (25:30).

It is a punishment that is taken from Hebrew Scripture texts: “the wicked plot against the righteous and gnash their teeth at them (Ps 37:12); “the wicked gnash their teeth and melt away; the desire of the wicked comes to nothing” (Ps 112:10); “malicious witnesses … impiously mocked more and more, gnashing at me with their teeth” (Ps 35:11,16). The prophet laments that when Jerusalem is ransacked, “all your enemies open their mouths against you, they hiss, they gnash their teeth, they cry ‘we have devoured her!’” (Lam 2:16). It is a well-known form of torment and punishment.

The parable of the unprepared servant also has this apparently savage instruction: “he will cut him in pieces” (24:51). We find that in Hebrew Scripture, this was an action used in sacrificing animals (1 Kings 18:23, 33) and as a warning of judgement against sinners—in the terrible story of the Levite’s concubine (Judges 19:29), after Saul defeated the Ammonites (1 Sam 11:7), and also in direct prophetic warnings (Isa 45:2; 51:9; Ezek 16:40; Dan 2:34; also Judith 5:22). This is the fate decreed for the unprepared slave—a terrible end, indeed!

Throughout this Gospel, Jesus declares that sinners are destined for “the judgement of fire” (Matt 5:22; 7:19; 13:40, 42, 50; 18:8–9; 25:41). This picks up from the warning of John the baptiser, which Matthew has added to his Markan source: “You brood of vipers! who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? … even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Matt 3:7, 10).

That place is described by Jesus, in parables unique to Matthew, as “the furnace of fire” (Matt 13:43, 50; 25:41). Sinners will be sent to a place of “eternal fire” (18:8; 25:41), “the hell of fire” (5:22; 18:9), the “unquenchable fire” threatened by John: “the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire” (3:12). This builds on the warnings found in Mark’s Gospel about the punishment in store for those who put stumbling blocks in the way of “these little ones”—they will be condemned to “the unquenchable fire” (Mark 9:42–48). These warnings are repeated by Jesus in Matt 18:6–9.

Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus is consistent in reporting that he warns his followers, again and again, of the fiery fate that awaits evildoers. Once again, this picks up on Hebrew Scripture passages in which various prophets declare that God will use fire to destroy people and places because of their sinfulness (Isa 1:7; 5:24; 30:27–28, 30, 33 18–19; Jer 4:4; 6:27–30; 20:47–48; Hos 8:14; Joel 2:1–3; Amos 1:4—2:5; Nah 1:15).

Amongst those prophetic oracles, Zephaniah, for instance, portrays utter devastation through divine judgement: “neither their silver nor their gold will be able to save them on the day of the Lord’s wrath; in the fire of his passion the whole earth shall be consumed” (Zeph 1:18).

However, the final prophet in the Christian Old Testament, Malachi, reworks this imagery, offering some hope; God’s messenger on The Day of the Lord “is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness” (Mal 3:1–4).

A number of psalms reflect the desire for God to punish evildoers severely; “pour out your indignation upon them, and let your burning anger overtake them” is the cry of one psalm (Ps 69:24). Another psalm notes the vengeance of God—“in your hearts you devise wrongs; your hands deal out violence on earth” (Ps 58:2)—and suggests that “the righteous will rejoice when they see vengeance done; they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked” (Ps 58:10). We must wonder: did Jesus pray these psalms? did he concur with their ideas? did he pray for God to act with vengeance?

The image of fiery punishment comes from the story of Daniel (Dan 3:1–30) and appears again in the last book of the New Testament, where the prophet describes his visions of “the lake of fire that burns with sulfur” (Rev 19:20; 20:10, 14–15), also described as “the second death” (Rev 20:14; 21:8). It is there that the devil, the beast, and the false prophet “will be tormented day and night forever and ever” (Rev 20:10). Matthew appears to share some similarities with the writer of this book, for as we have noted, eternal punishment in a fiery furnace features also in the words of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel.

So we can’t simply brush aside the closing words of the parable which is in focus this coming Sunday—the Heavenly Father, we are told, will follow the example of the unforgiving servant, who will be “tortured until he would pay his entire debt” (18:34–35), in the service of ensuring that faithful people do indeed forgive one another! (How he will be able to pay off his debt while he is being tortured in prison, I do not know!)

Such punishment is consistent with the way that God’s justice will be implemented, according to the various teachings and parables of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel that we have already noted. It will be incredibly hard to be let off the hook by this fierce, punitive God!! We are left with the conundrum: what are we to make of this aggressively violent, retributive God?

*****

I have had a go at addressing this conundrum in terms of how it is presented in Hebrew Scripture, at

The Day, The End: themes in The Prophets

and

Justice, and only justice, you shall follow.

Each of us will be accountable to God (Romans 14; Pentecost 16A)

Back in the days when I regularly taught “Exegesis of Paul’s Letters” in a theological college (seminary), I would begin the section on Romans in chapter 1, as might reasonably be expected. In characteristically Pauline style, the qualities for which he gives thanks in his opening prayer (1:8–14), as well as the way in which he introduces himself to the believers in Rome (1:1–7), signal a number of the key matters to which he will address himself later in this letter. So that seemed a logical place to start.

However, once we got to 1:16–17, the apparent “theme of the letter”, I would jump over to 15:14–33, and explore what Paul wrote about the intentions that he had, to visit “God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints” (1:7), before pressing on to Spain. Why did he tell them this? It seems to be relevant to what was in Paul’s mind as he wrote his longest, and most theologically complex, letter.

But then, we would continue on, to look at chapter 16, which provides a long list of names of people in Rome to whom Paul sent greetings, as well as those who were with him, who added their greetings to those of Paul. More grist for the mill for understanding Paul’s circumstances, and thus also feeding into his rationale for writing. But also helpful, I believe, for getting an understanding of the situation in Rome, to which Paul was addressing his words. What he indicates about “God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints” in that final chapter, is entirely relevant to our understanding of the letter as a whole.

After that, we would revert to chapter 1, and trace through the theological argumentation of this rhetorically-effusive, doctrinally-loaded stream of words, from 1:16, the thematic declaration of the gospel, which Paul describes as “the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek”, in which “the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith”, all the way through to 15:33, the closing blessing, “the God of peace be with all of you. Amen.”

Had I been even braver, before we looked at chapters 1–11, I would have made the class work through the so-called “ethical section” of the letter (12:1–15:33), for what Paul says there has direct and immediate application to the situation in Rome which he sketches in those opening and closing sections. The “ethical exhortations” in this section do reveal more of the dynamics at play within that community, as I have argued over the last two weeks. Understanding that brings even more appreciation of the specific theological argument that is advanced and developed in “the body of the letter” (1:18—11:36).

However, I wasn’t quite brave enough to do that. And besides, the lectionary we are now using in worship has followed the letter through in the order in which it appears in our Bibles, beginning with chapter 1 back in Epiphany, then picking up from chapter 4 after Trinity Sunday. So it is only now, after many weeks of excerpts throughout Pentecost, that we have arrived at the final part of that ethical section. (And sadly, chapter 16 does not get a look-in in the lectionary offerings.)

And so, here we are in chapter 14 of Romans, with a passage that will be our last chance to consider this letter (Rom 14:1–12). Clearly, the quarrels that Paul had heard about in Rome (13:13) and which he here describes (14:1–3) had resulted in some judging others (14:4). The difficulties that this would have created in the community can be imagined; and I have already explored how some earlier teaching of Paul (12:9–21) could be seen to be a corrective to this problematic situation. I have also written about how the Gentile perception of Jews and the relevance, or otherwise, of the Jewish law for followers of Jesus might have exacerbated this situation (13:8–10).

In this section of Romans, Paul provides ethical instruction which is undergirded by his understanding of what Jesus has done for those who believe, and what this means in terms of how to behave. “We do not live to ourselves”, Paul asserts (14:7), and then immediately asserts in the same breath, ““we do not die to ourselves”. The reason he gives for this is straightforward: “whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s—for to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living” (14:9).

Paul draws no distinction between the living and the dead, insofar as he considers that the death and resurrection of Jesus took place for all people, whether alive or dead. Because he affirms that “we will all stand before the judgment seat of God” (14:10), he then asserts that “each of us will be accountable to God” (14:12). The level of accountability is consistent across all people. And that accountability is, first and foremost, to God.

The situation that has drawn this statement from Paul is one of “quarrelling over opinions” (14:1). Some—later identified as “we who are strong” (15:1)—are those who “believe in eating anything”, while others—here labelled as “the weak” will be more discriminatory, and “eat only vegetables” (14:2). This terminology appears to reflect the same disagreement that is dealt with in more detail in 1 Cor 8—10.

In that context, “the weak” is regularly interpreted to be how Gentile believers perceived the Jews within the Corinthian faith community–they are weak because they refrain from eating meat that had previously been offered to idols and then sold on in the marketplace. “The strong” would thus be the Gentile self-description of those who are not troubled by this, since they know that “no idol in the world really exists” since “there is no God but one” (1 Cor 8:4).

If that is how these terms are to be understood in the context of the various communities of faith that existed in Rome, then the dynamic at work parallels that which Paul knew well in Corinth. In that letter, he admonishes the Corinthians to “build up the church” (1 Cor 14:4), to “strive to excel in [spiritual gifts] for building up the church” (14:12), and to “let all things be done for building up” (14:26).

In writing to the Romans, he offers similar advice: “welcome those who are weak in faith” (Rom 14:1), to “no longer pass judgment on one another, but resolve instead never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of another” (14:13), to “pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding” (14:19), and to “welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God” (15:7).

These exhortations are firmly grounded on Paul’s understanding of what God has already done in Jesus. In the extended discussion that follows the passage in view this coming Sunday, he makes it clear that his instruction to the Romans, “each of us must please our neighbour for the good purpose of building up the neighbour”, is based on the understanding that “Christ did not please himself” (15:2–3). This, in turn, is grounded in the word of the psalmist which he cites, “the I nsults of those who insult you have fallen on me” (Ps 69:9b).

The behaviour of believers is to be modelled on the example of Jesus, whose sacrificial offering paved the way for the inclusive community that Paul desires to see in Rome, and elsewhere: “Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy” (15:8–9).

Once again, this is grounded in ancient scriptural affirmations. To undergird this view, Paul cites a string of texts, each making reference to the goyim (the nations, or the Gentiles): v.9 cites Ps 18:49, v.10 quotes Deut 32:42, v.11 draws on Ps 117:1, and v.12 draws on the statement about “the root of Jesse” in Isa 11:10.

So the pattern of behaviour that is required in Rome is clear: “if your brother or sister is being injured by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love”, leading to the direct practical application into the Roman situation, “do not let what you eat cause the ruin of one for whom Christ died” (14:15).

And in in the section of Romans that we will hear this Sunday, Paul has undergirded this advocacy of mutual care and concern with a deeper theological rationale, again based on the example of Jesus: “if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s” (14:8).

Paul concludes this affirmation with the use of a phrase that came to be used by other early Christian writers, pointing to the universal dominion of God: “for to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living” (14:9; compare “the God of the living and the dead” at Acts 10:42; 2 Tim 4:1; 1 Pet 4:5; and perhaps Rev 1:18).

And so it is that Paul asserts that “we will all stand before the judgment seat of Gods (14:10), a conclusion that he once again supports with reference to scripture—lit is written, ‘As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God’” (14:11, quoting Isa 45:23). So then, he concludes, “each of us will be accountable to God” (Rom 14:12).

Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore (Exodus 14; Pentecost 16A)

“So the Lord saved Israel that day from the Egyptians; and Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore” (Exod 14:20). That’s the statement that tells the story of the Exodus in one short verse; it’s also the ethical problem that sits at the heart of the Exodus story. A part of that story is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Exod 14:19–31).

I have already offered some reflections on the violence that is central to the story of the Exodus from Egypt; see https://johntsquires.com/2023/09/06/escaping-from-oppression-how-do-we-make-sense-of-the-exodus-exodus-12-pentecost-15a/

As I have noted, there is much violence spread throughout the pages of the Hebrew Scriptures—and the reading proposed by the lectionary for this coming Sunday is no exception! I have no doubt that, for many people, the violent scenes in the “historical” narratives, in the prayers of the psalmists, in the visions of the prophets, is most off-putting. As a pacifist myself, I find these scenes disturbing.

As I have worked with people who have experienced trauma from abuse in their lives, I recognise how they may “work through” these matters in ways that are confronting and hard to handle; I have tried to cultivate an attitude of acceptance of them and curiosity about what drives their angry and violent language. And as a person who myself has experienced the trauma of violence through sexual abuse, when I was a child, I am intensely attuned to the ways that violent words and deeds can impact on people.

For my own story, see

On fantasy, mythology, and mental health (part I)

and for the podcast in which I talk about this, go to

https://open.spotify.com/episode/5feSJb2qyVAhzBEfoeHj1x?si=29983b58d694477d

*****

I don’t, of course, hold to each and every event in the biblical narratives as literal historical events; but I do believe that these narratives reflect the zeitgeist of the time. It was a violent time, life was more precarious, people lived in a more tribal fashion (and thus fighting the neighbour was somehow a regular occurrence). And yet, in the midst of this, we see the emergence and development of a spirituality that values something wider than the immediate tribal, parochial viewpoint.

To the extent that the final editors of the many narratives shaped things intentionally, we might note that the stories of the little tribe(s) which later identified together as Israel, were framed by a grand narrative of the cosmic creation (Gen 1–2) and the strategic place of humanity within that creation (Gen 2–3). That, it seems to me, signals the moves that have been made from the violent tribal interactions of many narratives, into the poetic appreciation (mediated via the hierarchical priestly mindset) of the larger global—and spiritual—picture.

Thus, these texts do have some value; but they need to be understood in their detail, in their contexts, and in terms of the whole. They include the earlier stories of their heritage—because the people creating these texts “honour mother and father”, they preserve and retell those stories—but they also show how faithful people grappled with their various situations and challenges.

In Hebrew Scripture, then, we have extended stories constructed by writers seeking to shape the society of their time through a reconstructed (and perhaps idealised) past; songs from psalmists seeking to find God in trying situations; writings from sages plumbing the depths of wisdom and discernment; and oracles from prophets decrying infidelity and lack of commitment to the covenant, using graphic, even violent, language. The whole is a fascinating mix of case studies about “how to be faithful” in changing and challenging circumstances.

The Exodus needs to be seen in this context. It contains poetic sections (Exod 15) celebrating victory after violent engagement; a narrative shaped around that poem; then a further narrative, woven into the existing narrative but expanding or correcting or challenging the earlier material, all included into a literary stream of words that we puzzle, now, to unknot and make sense of.

The story of this Exodus from Egypt came to occupy a central place in the life of the people of Israel. It gained traction as a story that conveyed the identity of the people—once enslaved, miraculously liberated, steadfastly guided, and ultimately rewarded with a place of their own. It was retold in a number of psalms (Psalms 77 and 78; 80 and 81; 105 and 106; 114; 135 and 136).

A standard refrain which recalls the Exodus, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Exod 20:2; Deut 5:6) recurs throughout the ensuing narrative books (Deut 1:27; 5:6; 6:12; 8:14; etc; Judg 2:12; 1 Sam 12:6; 1 Ki 6:1; 8:9, 21; 9:9; 12;28; 2 Ki 17:7, 36; 2 Chron 6:5; 7:22). A number of prophets also recall this story with similar phrases (Jer 7:22, 25; 11:4, 7; 16:14; 23:7; 31:32; 32:21; 34:13; Ezek 20:4–10; Dan 9:15; Hos 11:1; Amos 2:10; 3:1; Mic 6:4; 7:15; Hag 2:5).

In the difficulties of the Exile in Babylon, when the final form of the story as we know it was created, this saga resonated deeply with the confronting experiences and the fervently-held hopes of the people. Their Exile was their Egypt; their Exodus was still awaited, and their entry into the land of Israel remained yet well ahead of them. And so, the story is told of the past, but it becomes a story of the present, a hope for the future, for the people.

It seems to me that the dreaming stories of First Nations Peoples in Australia instruct us about the way that the ancients told their stories, retold and reworked them, and then wrote them down (a step that some First Nations peoples are now taking, under the pressure of western colonisation).

It is quite likely that the same kinds of processes were present in the formation, development, and passing on of the stories of ancient Israel, until such time as it was felt needed to write them down (a step that was clearly taken during the Exile in Babylon and in the years after that, as the people returned to the land of Israel).

The narratives bear witness to the faith of ancient peoples; they reflect life and society as it was, with all its faults as well as its positive points; and they invite us to share in the attitude of faith towards God and the demonstration of justice and care for one another that is reflected in the stories that are told.

What, then, do we make of the story of deliberate, divine-authorised death, which is told in Exodus 14, as we hear in the Hebrew Scripture reading in worship this coming Sunday? The story has become foundational, not only for Jews, but also for Christians, as I noted last week. (See the link above.)

Writing in Bible Odyssey, Professor Brian M. Britt offers this insightful summary of the function of the Exodus mythology over a long, extended period of time. He observes, “The prevalence of the exodus tradition in the Bible demonstrates its importance as a foundational collective memory from ancient Israel that predates the monarchy and survives into the time of the early rabbis and followers of Jesus.

“Postbiblical exodus traditions take many forms, from the Jewish observance of Passover to Christian celebrations of Easter, Muslim teachings about the Prophet Musa, and modern liberation theologies. Though many modern readers have asked whether episodes of the exodus, from the plagues in Egypt to the parting of the Red Sea, “really happened,” the exodus remains one of the most powerful narratives of divine compassion and liberation found in the Bible.”

See

The Exodus Tradition in the Bible

For Jews, this story is foundational. It is both in the remembrance of that first “passing over” at the annual Passover dinner in people’s homes, but also in the self-identity of the people as chosen by the Lord for a special, designated purpose, saved from the antagonisms of hostile surrounding nations, such that the story gains life and becomes effective as a fundamental mythos, a story that explains the very essence of who Jews are.

For Christians, it is in the remembrance of “the night on which the Lord [Jesus] was betrayed”, in the oft-repeated eucharistic celebration in local churches and cathedrals, that the story is foundational. It is part of the central thread of the grand narrative (the death and resurrection of Jesus) that sits at the heart of that religion.

That the story involves bloodshed and death—as well as rescue and salvation—indicates the earthy nature of each faith. Judaism and Christianity alike are grounded in the realities of human existence and deal with factors that are of the essence of human life. It is a foundational story that is important to remember. But that does not mean that the story is without problems.

The fate of the Egyptians, first being bogged in the muddy ground, next panicking as they are subsumed by the waters, and then drowning in the rising sea, is a difficult part of the story. The claim that God deliberately hardens their hearts (14:17) in order to lure them into the waters, is abhorrent. Is this really what God is like? Or is this an element introduced into the story by the narrator, to provide some form of explanation for their fate? I lean to the latter—but it still does not make for easy reading.

This part of the story remains, sitting as an accusatory claim. It is hard to resolve this in a satisfactory way. The Egyptians become a cipher for all with whom the Israelites struggled, over the centuries. They symbolise “the other”; and with the Canaanites, later in the grand narrative, they exercise a peculiar function; a reminder of those who were “in the way” of the grand plan (of God, it was claimed) that was being enacted.

They are difficult people in the way of the story–much like the First Peoples of the continent of Australia and its surrounding islands are “in the way” of the grand colonising, civilising narrative that has been created by powerful white historians, storytellers, and political leaders.

There is, however, another side of the story of Israel, which is presented in the concluding verses of this week’s passage. What happened in the Sea of Reeds is remembered as the day when “the Lord saved Israel … from the Egyptians” (14:20), the day when “Israel saw the great work that the Lord did against the Egyptians” (14:31). It is a story designed to evoke and strengthen faith.

The graphic scene is sketched in few words, but they are telling words: “Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore” (14:30). That is a vastly understated comment. If you have ever seen pictures from the Western Front battles during World War I, you will know that a scene of dead bodies littering the ground is indeed a gruesome and sobering sight. The Exodus story contains just such a devastating scene.

But the whole purpose of the story is not to lament the dead (they are mere collateral damage, in modern terminology). It is to encourage faith and hope amongst those who have continued as faithful in subsequent years. “So the people feared the Lord and believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses” (14:31). Another brief, pointed observation. All’s well that ends well, it would seem—at least, for the victors.

The Disruptive, Transforming Spirit (part four): the Spirit in Rome and beyond

We have explored the disruptive and transformative work of the Spirit in Hebrew Scripture, the Gospels and Acts, and in Corinth, a cosmopolitan city with groups of believers with whom Paul was in regular communication. What of the Spirit elsewhere in Paul’s writings? A different perspective emerges from the communities of faith gathering in Rome—people in a city which Paul had not previously visited, but to whom Paul nevertheless wrote a great length, explaining his theological commitments.

In this longest letter, written to “all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints”, Paul places importance in the role played by the Spirit of God. The word spirit appears 32 times in this letter; many of these refer to the Holy Spirit. Incidentally, the terms “righteous” and “righteousness”, “justify” and “justification”, which are usually identified as the central theme of Romans, appear 42 times in this letter. So Spirit is up there alongside these terms as a key focus in this letter.

Paul retains from his Jewish upbringing a sense of the Spirit as a manifestation of divine energy; the Spirit is God’s gift to believers (5:5) and thus the source of life and peace (7:6; 8:2, 5–6). Paul knows that in his scriptures, the Spirit has breathed over the waters of chaos as God’s primary agent in creation, gifted the elders appointed by Moses, anointed the prophets and inspired their pointed words of warning. The disruption brought by the Spirit has indeed been transformative and constructive.

Paul’s words in Romans imbue the Spirit with an eschatological role—first, the Spirit acts by raising Jesus from the dead (1:4; 8:11) and then by adopting believers as “children of God” (8:14–17, 23). The Spirit is a marker of life in the kingdom of God (14:17). The kingdom, for Paul, remains a future promise, to become a reality within the eschatological timetable (1 Cor 15:23-26). In these passages, the Spirit is the way that God enters human existence, disturbs and reshapes, transforming people so that the ultimate vision of the kingdom can be realised.

But there is a broader procure at hand for Paul. He speaks with passion about how the creation groans in the present time of distress (Rom 8:18–23), as believers hold fast to their hope in the renewal of creation (8:17, 21, 24–25; see also 1 Cor 7:28–31). The role of the Spirit in this period is to strengthen believers by interceding for them (8:26–27).

Paul reminds the Romans that they are “in the Spirit” (8:9); this is reminiscent of his guidance to the Galatians to live “by the Spirit” (Gal 5:16, 22–25) and his exposition to the Corinthians of the gifts which are given “through the Spirit” (1 Cor 12:1, 4–11). The understanding of the gifting of believers by the Spirit, articulated in the first letter to the Corinthians, has played a significant role throughout the history of the church over the centuries.

The life of faith, lived “in the Spirit”, is therefore to be characterised by “spiritual worship” (Rom 12:1). Paul immediately explains that this requires believers to be “transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Rom 12:2). The Spirit disturbs in order to transform. There can be no comfortable familiarity when the Spirit enters, inspires, and energises the community of faith.

After making this bold programmatic statement, Paul then devotes significant time (in chapters 12–15) to spelling out some of the ways in which this transformation might take place amongst the Romans—and, by extrapolation, elsewhere, even into our time and place. As the Spirit produces transformation, the behaviour as well as the words of believers are reshaped. The spirit is manifest in practical ways.

The long letter to the Romans is often associated with the much shorter, and earlier, letter to the Galatians. The common factor is regularly considered to be the focus on “justification by faith”, set out in short form to the Galatians (Gal 2:15–21) and then developed at length in the argument of Romans (see Rom 1:16–18; 3:21–26; 4:13–25: 5:1–5, 18–21; 8:1–2, 10–11; 10:1–4, 12–13; 11:32).

However, there is another connection—the presence and activities of the Spirit. “Did you receive the Spirit by doing the works of the law or by believing what you heard?”, Paul confronts the Galatians (Gal 3:2). That God had granted them the Spirit is not doubted by Paul (3:3–5); the work of this Spirit is seen when “the blessing of Abraham [ comes ] to the Gentiles” (3:14), which is how Paul perceives many in the Galatian community (4:8–9). Yes, indeed, “God has sent the Spirit of his Son into your hearts”, he affirms (4:6).

But the Galatians manifest “the works of the flesh”, which are manifestly opposed to “what the Spirit desires” (5:17). And so, after listing the vices present in the Galatian community (5:18–21), Paul exhorts them to “live by the Spirit”, listing the qualities which form “the fruit of the Spirit” (5:22–25). And the qualities that he enumerates are decidedly counter-cultural, running against the grain of the Greco-Roman society, marked by honour-shame contests, patronage and servitude, hierarchy and order. The “fruits of the Spirit” must be seen as disruptive in that society, and transformative within the community of faith.

Beyond the time of Paul, there is evidence for developments within the movement that Jesus initiated, that see a progressive tendency to embrace that hierarchy and order so dominant in society, and to organise itself so that it becomes an institution, with structured leadership, decreed belief statements, and less openness to the disruptive and transformative actions of the Spirit.

In later letters written in the name of Paul by one of his followers, whilst some fragments of authentic Pauline theology might be included, the focus on this process of institutionalisation means that the Spirit is co-opted to become a clause in a creed (1 Tim 3:16, a precursor of the third section of the Apostles Creed), a guarantor of orthodoxy (“guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us”, 2 Tim 1:14), and the agent of an ecclesial ritual (Tit 3:4–6). The Spirit gifts “power … and self-discipline” (2 Tim 1:7), quite a different role from what is envisaged in the authentic letters by Paul.

That trajectory continues on into writers of the second century, reflecting the order of the church (Ignatius) and the increasing concern with “right beliefs” (Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Tertullian). The disruptive Spirit which enlivens and transforms is hidden with power structures and credal words. And so the church closes options for the renewal that is looked to, experienced, and hoped for, in many places within scripture.

The Disruptive, Transforming Spirit (part three): the Spirit in Corinth

Whenever Christians think about the Spirit—and specifically about the dynamic force that is displayed by the Holy Spirit—our attention goes most immediately to the story of the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2. That’s when the coming of the Spirit was experienced as “a sound like the rush of a violent wind [which] filled the entire house where they were sitting”, followed by “tongues, as of fire … resting on each of them” (vv.2–3). A disruptive and transformative experience, to be sure!

But that’s not all there is to say about the Holy Spirit. As I explored in my previous blogs on this topic, the Holy Spirit was already integral to the faith of the ancient Israelites; and then that same Spirit continued to play a key role for the early Christians. So the Spirit remains a force to be reckoned with in our own times, today.

Beyond the accounts of Jesus and of the first Pentecost, when the Spirit is in mind, we might immediately think of Corinth—the port city, renowned for its trade and for its promiscuity, the city where Paul founded a community of Jesus-followers, where he stayed teaching for what was, for Paul, a long time; the city where relationships in the growing faith community needed ongoing attention, encouragement—and even, because this is Paul we are taking about—correction.

Paul says much about the Spirit in his first letter to the Corinthians. He says that the Spirit searches “the depths of God” (1 Cor 2:10) and gives gifts “to those who are spiritual” (2:13). Those gifts are summarised under the term “spiritual things” (2:13). Accordingly, “those who are spiritual” are able to discern “all things” (2:15), such that they can be confident that they have “the mind of Christ” (2:16).

So confident were some of the Corinthians, that they mistreated others within that same faith community. Small as it was, divisions erupted within the community, and bad behaviour ensued. “All things are lawful”, some of the members maintained (10:23), claiming that they had carte blanche to behave as they wished.

Furthermore, because they maintained that “all of us possess knowledge” (8:1), when it came to the scruples about food shown by some members of the community (presumably Jewish members, reflecting their commitment to kosher food), the very diets of the members (and the source of the food they eat) became a highly contentious issue (8:4–13; 10:23–33). The claim, and the behaviour, of those who were assured that they had the Spirit, leads Paul to explode: “some of you, thinking that I am not coming to you, have become arrogant” (4:18; also 5:2; and compare 13:2).

Squashed by the arrogance of these claims, and the dominating behaviour that resulted, those in the community who felt marginalised were unable to take part in the same way in the community gatherings (11:17–21). Paul strengthens his criticism of those who behave with arrogance, accusing them directly through his characteristically blunt rhetorical questions: “what! do you not have homes to eat and drink in? or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliat[ing] those who have nothing?” (11:22).

In Corinth, then, the gifting of the Spirit is claimed by some as a basis for unedifying behaviour which tears apart, rather than builds up, the community. This is manifested in another way in the worship of the Corinthian community, where, fuelled by their sense of being “the spiritual ones”, some people unleash chaos in the gathering, in contrast to Paul’s sense that in the gathering “all things should be done decently and in order” (14:40), as befits the God who is “a God not of disorder but of peace” (14:33).

Paul does affirm that tongues and prophecies, and other phenomena, are indeed gifts of the Spirit (12:7–11; 14:1, 5, 13, 18). Nevertheless, he observes that “in a gathering I would rather speak five words with my mind, in order to instruct others also, than ten thousand words in a tongue” (14:19). Paul’s discernment leads him to be critical of the way that these gifts of the Spirit have been utilised in this community.

Is the Spirit here disruptive? Yes, it is most certainly clear that the gifting of the Spirit has disrupted and disturbed the gatherings of the community. The firm assurance of spiritual leading, that has developed into arrogance amongst some, has ensured that there is a distinct lack of “good order and unhindered devotion to the Lord” (7:35).

Yet Paul himself will advise the Corinthians in a later communication, “the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Cor 3:17). In that freedom, the Spirit is able to work significant change; “all of us … are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit” (2 Cor 3:18).

The only problem is, as we have seen, some within the community in Corinth appear to have been quite unaware of “the glory … that comes from the Lord”, to the extent that they inflicted damage—in worship, and in relationships—on others. The disruptive Spirit had not led to a positive transformative experience, but had a very negative impact on the community.

Be wary of how you utilise what the Spirit gives you, Paul advises; measure it, and temper it, against the primary importance of “building up the gathering” (1 Cor 14:4, 12). “Let all things be done for building up”, he advises (1 Cor 14:26). The Spirit needs to be harnessed, focussed, and channelled, so that it is not destructive disorder, but constructive progress, which results.

Sing a new song to the Lord (Psalm 149; Pentecost 15A)

Many psalms in the later sections of the Book of Psalms begin with the exclamation, “praise the Lord!” (106:1; 111:1; 112:1; 117:1; 135:1; 146:1; 147:1; 148:1; 149:1; 150:1), whilst some end with that same exclamation (105:45; 106:48; 115:18; 117:2; 135:21; 146:10; 147:20; 148:14; 149:9; 150:6). We find this phrase at the beginning and at the end of Psalm 149, which is offered by the lectionary as the psalm for this coming Sunday.

Singing (v.1) is mentioned often in the psalms: “how good it is to sing praise to our God” (147:1), “with my song I give thanks to him” (28:7), “I will praise the name of God with a song” (69:30), and so the people of Israel are encouraged to “sing to God … lift up a song to him who rides on the clouds” (68:4), “raise a song, sound the tambourine, the west lyre with the harp” (81:2). A whole sequence of “songs of ascent” are included in this book, reflecting the journey of pilgrims as the approach the temple to bring their offerings (psalms 120—134).

, was a staple part of the temple liturgy. The Chronicler regularly reports the role that “the singers” had in the Temple, where “they were on duty [to sing] day and night” (1 Chron 9:33). They were to “play on musical instruments, on harps and lyres and cymbals, to raise loud sounds of joy” (1 Chron 15:16; see also 2 Chron 5:12–13; 9:11; 23:13; 29:28; 35:15).

In the return of the people to the city after the Exile, singers take their place alongside “the gatekeepers and the temple servants” (Ezra 2:70; 7:7; 7:24; Neh 7:1, 73; 10:28, 39; 12:45–47; 13:5). Often in these passages they are mentioned in association with the Levites. It was the descendants of Levi who had been appointed to take care of the Tabernacle (Num 1:51–53; 1 Sam 6:15; 2 Sam 5:24; 1 Ki 8:4) and then the Temple (1 Chron 6:48), “living in the chambers of the temple free from other service” (1 Chron 9:33–34).

Psalms are often communal. This particular psalm which we hear this coming Sunday is set “in the assembly of the faithful” (Ps 149:1), as others seem to be (Ps 7:7; 89:5; 107:32). Still other psalms reflect a setting in “the sanctuary of the Lord” (Ps 60:6; 68:35; 96:6; 108:7; 150:1). Sing “a new song” is often enjoined by the psalmists (33:3; 40:3; 96:1; 98:1; 144:9; and here, 149:1). This refrain is picked up by the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders in heaven (Rev 5:9) and then “the one hundred and forty-four thousand who had [the Lamb’s] name and his Father’s name written on their foreheads” (Rev 14:1–2). These latter texts have occasioned much interest in what, exactly, that “new song” was. But who knows?

The instruction to “let them praise his name … making melody to him with tambourine and lyre” (v.3) is repeated in “praise the Lord with the lyre, make melody to him with the harp of ten strings” (Ps 33:2) and further expanded in the complete orchestral array that is mentioned in Ps 150:1–6, as well as in narrative texts concerning the band of prophets coming to meet Samuel and Saul (1 Sam 10:5) and the sons of Jeduthun (1 Chron 25:1–8). Job notes that faithful people “sing to the tambourine and the lyre” (Job 21:12) and David, of course, was recognised for his skill with the lyre (1 Sam 16:14–16, 23; 18:10).

The role of playing the tambourine appears to have been linked with young girls (Ps 68:25) and women (1 Sam 18:6), following the example of “the prophet Miriam, Aaron’s sister” (Exod 15:20). There are tambourines in the instrumental array in the time of David (2 Sam 6:5; 1 Chron 13:8) and they are noted by Jeremiah (Jer 31:4) and in Judith’s “new psalm” of praise to God (Judith 16:1).

Their presence at weddings is reflected in the sad tale of the wedding of the family of Jambri, where weapons concealed amongst “the tambourines and musicians” are used to perpetrate a huge slaughter, such that “the wedding was turned into mourning and the voice of their musicians into a funeral dirge” (1 Mac 9:37–41).

A group of terracotta figurines dating to the eight-seventh century BCE.
These small figurines, six–eight inches tall, represent female figures playing the hand-drum, which was probably a woman’s instrument in ancient Israel.
These terracottas are in the collection of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. Photo by Carol Meyers, Duke University; from
https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/women-with-hand-drums-dancing-bible

Dancing in temple worship (v.3) is also noted in other psalms; on Zion “singers and dancers alike say, ‘all my springs are in you’” (Ps 87:7), and praising God “with tambourine and dance” is encouraged in the great final psalm of praise (Ps 150:4). Dancing appears also in the narrative texts concerning Miriam (Exod 15:20), the daughter of Jephthah (Judg 11:34), Saul (1 Sam 8:6), and David (2 Sam 6:5; 1 Chron 13:8; 15:29).

The psalm ends with a celebration of the ways that God’s justice will be implemented (Ps 149:6–9), which is bracketed by reference to “the faithful” who “exult in glory” (v.5) and the closing affirmation, “this is glory for all his faithful ones” (v.9). These “faithful ones” are active in offering praise in other psalms (Ps 30:4), for they are valued by God. The psalmists affirm that the Lord “will not forsake his faithful ones” (Ps 37:28) and that their death is “precious … in the sight of the Lord” (Ps 116:15).

Yet regarding God’s just actions as the “glory” which God grants to these “faithful ones” is a reminder of the realities of the world in which the Israelites lived. It was marked by conflicts and battles, by bloodshed and killings, by invasions and deportations, so the judgement of God was sought by the “faithful ones” in brutal terms. With “two-edged swords”, with fetters and chains of iron, so “the judgement decreed” by the Lord God will take place (vv.6–9).

After which, the psalmist takes breath, and concludes, “Praise the Lord!” Indeed!

The Disruptive, Transforming Spirit (part two): the Spirit in Acts

Whenever Christians think about the Spirit—and specifically about the dynamic force that is displayed by the Holy Spirit—our attention goes most immediately to the story of the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2. That’s when the coming of the Spirit was experienced as “a sound like the rush of a violent wind [which] filled the entire house where they were sitting”, followed by “tongues, as of fire … resting on each of them” (vv.2–3).

In the chaos that resulted—“all of them … began to speak in other languages”—the crowd that heard them were bewildered, amazed, astonished, and thought that they were drunk! That’s a disruptive event initiated and impelled by the Spirit right there. The story of Pentecost is a story about God intervening, overturning, and reshaping the people of God. The Spirit certainly was active at Pentecost.

As Luke tells the story of Pentecost, he is deliberately linking his second volume, not only to the activity of the Spirit in Hebrew Scriptures, but also to the way the Spirit overshadowed Mary (Luke 1:35), nurtured John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth (1:80), descended upon Jesus at his baptism (3:22), led Jesus out into the Judean wilderness (4:1) and then back into Galilee (Luke 4:14) to sustain the activities and preaching of Jesus (4:18; 10:21).

Luke, of course, had received the account of the active role of the spirit in the baptism and testing of Jesus (Mark 1:10, 12) and developed it, just as Matthew had done likewise, introducing the saying of Jesus, “if it is by the Spirit of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you” (Matt 12:28).

Certainly, the activities of Jesus can only be thought of as both disruptive—framed by the breach of the heavens at his baptism, the tearing of the temple curtain at his death—and as transformative—signalled by the transfiguration on the mountain top, as well as the change in the disciples effected by their time with Jesus.

Some interpreters have noted that the book of Acts is less about “the acts (deeds) of the apostles” than it is about “the acts of the Hoy Spirit”.

The author himself described the two-volumes work (Luke’s Gospel Acts) as “an orderly account of the things that have come to fulfilment amongst us”. The work highlights how the Holy Spirit plays a central, active role in what is being reported—and how the dual motifs of disruption and transformation continue apace in the movement that Jesus inspired.

The events reported in Acts are generated from the dramatic intervention of the Spirit into the early community formed by the followers of Jesus after his ascension. The story of that intervention reports that Jews came from around the eastern Mediterranean are gathered in Jerusalem for the annual festival (Acts 2:1–13), when the Spirit comes upon them. Each bursts out, “speaking about God’s deeds of power” (2:11). The joy and excitement is tangible even as we hear the story at two millennia’s distance.

Unthinkingly, the wider group of pilgrims hear the cacophony of Spirit-inspired voices, and assume that this is a sign of drunkenness (2:13, 15). Actually, as Luke has made clear, the tongues being heard are not the unintelligible gibberish evident in Corinth, but known languages from the various places of origin of those speaking. And the disruptive element is not from the tongues spoken, but from the actions undertaken by believers in the days, months, and years ahead—as the narrative of Acts conveys.

A second story of the coming of the Spirit is told at a later point in Acts—after Peter sees a vision in which God declares “all food is clean”, and he is summoned to the home of the Gentile centurion, Cornelius, in Caesarea (10:1–33). As Peter preaches to the Gentiles, the Spirit falls on them, “just as it had upon us [Jews] at the beginning (11:15). This event is specifically portrayed as a complementary event alongside the falling of the Spirit on Jews on the Day of Pentecost (2:1–4). It is a further disruptive action that the Spirit impels.

The activity of the Spirit is noted at various places in this sequence of events. The Spirit guides Peter to meet the men sent by Cornelius and travel with them to Caesarea (10:19; 11:12). In reporting to the church in Jerusalem about the arrival of messengers from Cornelius (11:11–12), Peter notes simply that “the spirit said to me to go with them without criticism” (11:12; cf. 10:19–20).

In this report to the Jerusalem church, Peter is short on factual reporting, as it were; he simply states that the spirit fell on them (11:15). His omission of many details (character traits, travel details, conversation and personnel; even, surprisingly, the name of Cornelius) places the focus on the role of the spirit. Once again, what the Spirit impels from this vision, visit, and sermon, is highly disruptive for the early communities of faith.

Jews had been used to eating separately from Gentiles and selectively in terms of food, in accordance with the prescriptions of Leviticus. Now, they are now invited—indeed, commanded—to share at table with Gentiles and to put aside the traditional dietary demarcations.

This is disruptive: just imagine being commanded by God to become vegan and eat meals with the family of your worst nightmares, for instance! And it is transformative: from this sequence there emerge inclusive communities of Jews and Gentiles across the Mediterranean basin, sharing at table and in all manner of ways. That becomes the way of the church.

The importance of the Spirit in Luke’s account of the early movement cannot be underestimated. The significance for the church today of the Spirit’s disruptive, empowering, transformative presence at Pentecost is likewise high. And that transformative activity continues on throughout Acts.

After Peter’s sermon in Caesarea and the gifting of the Spirit to the Gentiles (Acts 10—11), the Spirit guides Barnabas and Paul to Seleucia and onwards (13:2) and then later guides Paul away from Asia Minor, towards Macedonia (16:6–7). This latter move marks a critical stage in the story that Luke tells.

At this key moment of decision in Troas, three injunctions are given; each one is from a divine source. The first of these, an instruction not to speak in the southern region of Asia, comes from the Holy Spirit (16:6). The second direction, a prohibition against any attempt to head north and enter Bithynia, comes from the same spirit, here described as “the spirit of Jesus” (16:7). The third divine interjection takes place at Troas, where a vision is seen in the night with a petition to “come across into Macedonia” (16:9).

The new spirit-inspired direction of travel is disorienting; a serious disagreement between Paul and Barnabas had just occurred (15:39). But this disruption provides the springboard for Paul and Silas to undertake a new mission in Philippi, Thessalonica, and Beroea (16:11—17:15), before visiting the centre of Greek philosophy and politics, Athens (17:16–34), and then Corinth, where Paul stayed eighteen months (18:1–17). Indeed, all that takes place, as Paul travels relentlessly with various companions across many places (13:4—21:17), is driven by the Spirit (13:2, 4), a constantly disruptive and transformative presence.

Much later, Paul’s final visit to Jerusalem and his subsequent arrest takes place under the guidance of the Spirit (20:22-23; 21:11). That event had hugely disruptive consequences for Paul, of course, as he is arrested and spends the rest of his life as a prisoner under Roman guard.

The story of the early years of the movement initiated by Jesus, then, is of multiple events inspired and propelled by the Spirit over these years—intrusive, disruptive, yet transformative events. The Spirit who guides all of this is both disruptive and transform. We need, today, to be open to the same disruption and transformation today.

The Disruptive, Transforming Spirit (part one): the Spirit in Hebrew Scripture

Whenever Christians think about the Spirit—and specifically about the dynamic force that is displayed by the Holy Spirit—our attention goes most immediately to the story of the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2. That’s when the coming of the Spirit was experienced as “a sound like the rush of a violent wind [which] filled the entire house where they were sitting”, followed by “tongues, as of fire … resting on each of them” (vv.2–3). And, of course, the chaos that resulted—“all of them … began to speak in other languages” meant that the crowd that heard them were bewildered, amazed, astonished, and thought that they were drunk!

That’s a disruptive event initiated and impelled by the Spirit right there. The story of Pentecost is a story about God intervening, overturning, and reshaping the people of God. The Spirit certainly was active at Pentecost; but this was not the first time that Jewish people had experienced the Spirit. Pentecost was far from being the first time that the Spirit came and caused upheaval!

Hebrew Scripture refers to the actions of the spirit at many places throughout the story of Israel. In the Exodus from Egypt, the foundational story of Israel—an incredibly disruptive and disturbing experience, to be sure!—the Spirit was at work. “You gave your good spirit to instruct them, and did not withhold your manna from their mouths, and gave them water for their thirst” is how Ezra recounts the story (Neh 9:20–22). It was the work of the Spirit to release the captives from Egypt, lead them through the challenges of the wilderness, and then bring them into the land promised to them.

The Spirit which had guided Moses and was then gifted to chosen elders (Num 11:16–25) was subsequently imparted to Joshua (Num 27:18; Deut 34:9) and then to a string of Judges: Othniel (Judg 3:10), Gideon (6:34), Jephthah (11:29), and Samson (13:24–25; 14:6,19; 15:14). Each of these men led their people through dangerous, challenging, and turbulent experiences, as they sought to impose Israelite domination on the peoples already living in Canaan.

We might justifiably have a different ethical assessment of this process today—invasion, colonisation, and massacre are familiar dynamics, unfortunately, in the Australian context—but for our present purposes we can note that the Spirit was the energising force in this long and disruptive process. It was disruptive for the inhabitants of the land, as they lost homes, families, and cultural heritage. It was disruptive for the invading Israelites, as they followed they call of their leaders to enter and inhabit the land that they believed God had long promised to them.

The Spirit was also active during the period of kingship in Israel. Saul, after he was anointed as king, was possessed by the Spirit and fell into “a prophetic frenzy” (1 Sam 10:6, 10). During his reign, the Spirit continued to operate through David (1 Sam 16:13; 2 Sam 23:2) and presumably gifted Solomon with “his very great wisdom, discernment, and breadth of understanding as vast as the sand on the seashore” (1 Ki 4:29–34; and see Prov 2:6–11). Perhaps Solomon was the model for the spirit-gifted wisdom exhibited by Joseph (Gen 41:33, 38–39), when the ancestral sagas were collected and compiled into the book of Genesis?

It was the Spirit seen in these first three kings who would be seen as the agent for God to be at work in subsequent rulers (Isaiah 11:2). In addition, the prophetic frenzy manifested by Saul might well be regarded as the prototype for later prophetic activity. It signals just how powerfully the work of the Spirit can disrupt and disturb individuals, and a collective group.

*****

The clearest example of this personally disruptive impact is found in the story of the priest Ezekiel, son of Buzi, who was dramatically called to be a prophet. After Ezekiel saw a striking and bizarre vision of a winged chariot, bearing four winged figures (Ezek 1:4–28), he fell on his face; but the Spirit grabbed hold of Ezekiel, entering into him and raising him up onto his feet (Ezek 2:2). Ezekiel has the same visceral experience many more times (Ezek 3:12, 14, 24; 8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5). The work of the Spirit was anything but calm and measured for Ezekiel.

In his prophecies, Ezekiel notes that the Lord God promised to mete out the same dramatic treatment to the Israelites during their exile (Ezek 11:19; 36:26–27; 37:14). Being seized by the Spirit would reorient the hearts and refashion the lives of the exiles, as they look to a return to the land. That is thoroughly disruptive!

Other prophets also look to the activity of the Spirit to be both disruptive and also transformative. The Spirit would inspire prophecies amidst dramatic portents (Joel 2:28–42); the Spirit would declare the way of justice in the midst of the injustices perpetrated by the people, which presages ruin for the land (Micah 3:8–12); and the Spirit would equip leadership during the return to the land, ahead of the tumult of God “shaking the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land” (Haggai 1:14—2:9).

The book of Isaiah contains various exilic oracles which point to the Spirit as the agent of declaring justice to the people (Isa 42:1–9; 61:1–11) and wreaking revenge on the enemies of Israel (Isa 48:14–16). Once again, the disruptive dimension of the Spirit’s work is evident.

In later texts in Hebrew Scripture, there are indications that the spirit inhabits human beings simply through the fact that they exist as the creations of God (Job 27:3; 32:18; 33:4; Zech 12:1). Indeed, all of creation came into being through the spirit of God (Ps 104:30). The act of creation itself was a fracturing of an existing state, a breaking-open of what was for it to become something other than what it had been. Creative activity is disruptive activity.

*****

So the last thing to note about the Spirit in Hebrew Scripture is the first thing that is said about it in the opening chapter of Genesis—the post-exilic priestly document which recounts the foundational creation myth of the Israelite peoples. As the story of creation is placed at the very beginning of the first scroll in the Hebrew Scriptures (Gen 1:1—2:4a), it is explicitly noted that it was by the spirit of God that the creation came into being (Gen 1:1-3).

That creative act began with complete chaos, and shaped and formed the “formless void and darkness” of the very beginning, to become an ordered, cohesive, complex system of inter-relating parts. The status quo of formless nothingness was disrupted, as the wondrously beautiful creation was shaped by “a wind from God [which] swept over the face of the waters” (Gen 1:2). Interpreters over the centuries have assumed that this wind was in fact the Spirit of God, active from the very beginning of God’s creative act.

The Holy Spirit was already integral to the faith of the ancient Israelites. The Holy Spirit continued to play a key role for the early Christians. The Holy Spirit remains a force to be reckoned with in our own times, today. The Spirit may well be how God is calling us to disrupt the status quo of the church today!

Escaping from oppression: how do we make sense of The Exodus? (Exodus 12; Pentecost 15A)

The instructions are clear: “take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it” (Exod 12:7).

The explanation is also clear: “I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt, both human beings and animals … the blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live: when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague shall destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt” (Exod 12:12–13).

It’s a story of hope, expressed in joy; and it’s a story about death, filled with despair. We will hear it this Sunday, as it is offered as the Hebrew Scripture reading for Pentecost 15 (Exodus 12:1–14). It all depends on where you stand as you hear the story. Are you in the shoes of the escaping Hebrews? Or in the shoes of the Egyptians who saw their beloved children slaughtered?

The story that is told about the Exodus in the Hebrew Scriptures is a story filled with hope. It tells of the liberation of an oppressed people, suffering under the burdens of forced labour; it recounts the sequence of events that led to the miraculous escape from slavery, crossing through the Sea of Reeds, travelling unhindered through the wilderness, into a land which the story claims was promised by God—a promised land, gifted to a chosen people by a holy God.

The story that is told in the Hebrew Bible about the Exodus is also a story filled with violence. There is the violence executed in Pharaoh’s actions in having the young boys murdered. There is the violence that is threatened by the Egyptian army as their chariots and horses thunder in hot pursuit of the escaping Israelites.

Worse, there is the insistent violence in the series of increasingly damaging plagues which God is said to have sent against the Egyptians. And finally, there is the climactic and catastrophic violence of the surging of waters over the army and their horses, as they as swamped and drowned in the middle of the Sea of Reeds.

It is a difficult story to take at face value; what sort of people remember such a tale of incessant violence? and what sort of a God takes sides with one group of people and acts in such a vicious way against their opponents? Furthermore, how can we accept this story as part of our canon of scripture, when it is so filled with violent act after violent act?

The Crossing of the Red Sea by Nicholas Poussin (1633–34)

This is not the only place that we encounter violence in the Hebrew Scriptures; as the story goes on, it proves to be one of invasion, massacre, colonisation, and dispossession of people in the land of Canaan; and then, a string of battles take place in various locations, as the invading Israelites gradually exert their dominance over the indigenous people of the land.

All of this violence is indeed of deep concern, and it can be seen to place the whole of those scriptures under a cloud. However, I don’t want to fall into the supercessionist trap, the approach taken in the second century by Marcion of Sinope, who discarded the whole of the Old Testament—and, indeed, a significant part of the New Testament! We have these stories as part of our scriptures, and we need to hear them, ponder them, and engage critically with them.

Nor do I want to gloss over the fact that acts of violence, both those committed by human beings, and those attributed to the Lord God, can be found in many parts of the New Testament. It is a ubiquitous problem. Violence is expressed in many texts in scripture—both Jewish and Christian—and, indeed, is found in the texts of many other religious traditions. Human beings live, and die, by violence. We can never escape it, it seems.

If we take these texts as a literal account of historical events, we have significant theological issues to address. And there are a number of difficult historical questions that must be addressed, if we want to hold to the claim that Exodus is reporting an historical “as it really happened”. Where is the evidence for the escape of a huge number of people at that time? (There is none.) Who was the Pharaoh of the time? (There are two very different suggestions about this.)

What about the evidence for the huge crowd that spent 40 years in the desert? Where are the bones of the dead, the remains of campsites, from that crowd, if that is accepted to be the massive crowd 600,000 males (plus their women and children) that would set forth into the wilderness (see Exod 12:37) and then their descendants? There is absolutely no evidence for these archaeological remains, at all.

But such a forensic historical interrogation is not my approach to the story of the Exodus, nor to other parts of Hebrew Scripture, nor, indeed, to the narratives found in the New Testament.

So my approach to these texts has been to undertake an appreciative enquiry approach: what is this text saying? what drives the energy of the writer? what issues of concern do I read and hear—explicitly in the words used, and implicitly, in between and under what is said? what elements can I affirm, as contributing constructively to the Hebrew Scriptures’ understandings of God? and, as a consequence of that, to the New Testament’s understandings of God?

To begin, we need to recognise that the Exodus was seen as the paradigm for liberation—political, cultural, social, religious—which has shaped Jewish life for millennia. It is no wonder that it was picked up as a key motif for early followers of Jesus, to describe his significance: preaching the kingdom of God, the righteous-justice of a compassionate God, a challenge to the collective political, social, and religious status quo, and a liberating way of being for those following him.

A group of priests in the exile in Babylon collected and collated materials from earlier traditions, and developed a series of stories that conveyed in saga form the key elements of their national story. Symbolism and poetry were the paramount features of these stories, originally oral, later written on scrolls.

In the latter stages of the Exile or perhaps in the early stages of return to the land and rebuilding society, the stories and sagas were drawn into the set of scrolls we know as the Torah, the first part of the TaNaK. Symbolism featured prominently in these poetic stories and narrative rehearsals of the past.

The Passover occupies a central place in the long, sweeping narrative that is told in Hebrew Scripture. As well as the story of the Passover which led to the exodus from Egypt (Exod 12–15) and the thrice-documented priestly regulations governing the annual celebration (Lev 23:4–8; Num 28:16–25; Deut 16:1–8), the story is told of celebrating Passover at key moments in that ongoing narrative: at the foot of Mount Sinai (Num 9:1–14), at Gilgal when about to enter the land of Canaan (Josh 5:10–12), when the Temple worship was restored under Hezekiah (2 Chron 30:1–27), and during the great reformation that took place under Josiah (2 Ki 23:21–23).

The priest-prophet Ezekiel, in his vision of the restored land and new Temple, seen during the Exile, insists that the Passover be celebrated on a recurring annual basis (Ezek 45:21–25). Even though the Temple that was eventually rebuilt was of a different size and shape, when the Exiles returned under Darius, the Passover was celebrated at the dedication of the rebuilt Temple (Ezra 6:19–22).

Over time, interpreters under influence from later developments in thinking began to “reify” and “historicise” these symbolic sagas and develop the idea that they reported “events that actually happened”. They didn’t—as we have noted, there is no evidence outside the Bible for the sequence of events found in the Exodus saga. But the story had a potency for these priestly writers as the land was restored, the Temple rebuilt, society reconstructed.

The Passover story, leading up to the escape of the Exodus, that Jews recall and relive each year and which Christians remember on a regular basis in the eucharistic celebration, tells the age-old scapegoat dynamic in a dramatic story filled with symbolism. It too was not an historical event, but a story developed to explain the special significance of the people of Israel and their faith in a god who took extraordinary steps to secure their freedom.

Of course, within the emerging Jewish movement that had a focus on Jesus as an authoritative teacher of the Torah, a key way of grappling with the fact that Jesus was put to death as a criminal, hung on a cross under the orders of the Roman Governor, was to draw on this story of blood shed, lambs sacrificed, and salvation gained.

The timing of the death of Jesus is placed within the Passover festival by all four canonical Gospels. That is the festival that remembers the story of what happened to Israel, long ago—and that passes on the story that this happens year-in, year-out, as the faithful people of Israel remember and relive their national salvation.

One Gospel even locates the actual hour when Jesus dies on the cross as being “on the day of preparation for the Passover” (John 19:14, 31). Jesus, already identified in this Gospel as “the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world” (John 1:29, 36), dies when the Passover lambs are being slaughtered in preparation for the Passover meal that evening. (The other three Gospels, of course, place the last meal of Jesus with his disciples at the Passover meal—Mark 14:12–25 and parallels—and thus, in their chronology, he dies on the day after Passover.)

Jesus is remembered as the “paschal lamb … who has been sacrificed” (1 Cor 5:7); it is by the shedding of his blood that atonement with God takes place (Rom 3:25), that faithful people are justified (Rom 5:9), that peace is achieved (Col 1:20), that redemption occurs (Eph 1:7). One writer makes much of this, emphasising that this redemption is eternal (Heb 9:12; 13:20), opening up “a new and living way” (Heb 10:19–20). It is his shed (sprinkled) blood makes Jesus “the mediator of a new covenant” (Heb 12:24) and that his faithful people are sanctified (Heb 13:12).

So this ancient story, passed down by word of mouth and then written in scrolls that themselves were passed down for reading and understanding, sits deeply within the self-understanding of both Jewish and Christian people. It is a story we cannot avoid.