Month: November 2024

I will cause a righteous branch to spring up for David (Jer 33; Advent 1C)

The prophet Jeremiah lived at a turning point in the history of Israel. The northern kingdom had been conquered by the Assyrians in 721 BCE; the elite classes were taken into exile, the land was repopulated with people from other nations (2 Kings 17). The southern kingdom had been invaded by the Assyrians in 701 BCE, but they were repelled (2 Kings 18:13–19:37). King Hezekiah made a pact with the Babylonians, but the prophet Isaiah warned that the nation would eventually fall to the Babylonians (2 Kings 20:12–19). Babylon conquered Assyria in 607 BCE and pressed hard to the south; the southern kingdom fell in 587 BCE (2 Kings 24–25) and “Judah went into exile out of its land” (2 Ki 25:21).

Jeremiah lived in the latter years of the southern kingdom, through into the time of exile—although personally, he was sent into exile in Egypt, even though most of his fellow Judahites were taken to Babylon. The difficult experiences of Jeremiah as a prophet colour many of his pronouncements. As the book moves on from the poetic oracles of chapters 1–25, to a series of prose narratives in chapters 26–45, some key events in the life of Jeremiah are reported. 

The passage from Jeremiah proposed for this coming Sunday, the first Sunday in Advent (Jer 33:14–16), contains a specific prophecy which appears fitting for this season, as we anticipate the celebration of the birth of Jesus. It takes on a deeper meaning if we understand where it fits within the original historical context of the time when Jeremiah was speaking.

Jeremiah had been called as a youth to declare the message of the Lord to the people of Israel, that God was planning “to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant” (Jer 1:10). Years later, the adult prophet Jeremiah was called to “stand in the court of the Lord’s house and speak to all the cities of Judah that come to worship in the house of the Lord; speak to them all the words that I command you; do not hold back a word” (Jer 26:2). His message was about their failure to walk in the law that God had given them. The response from the ruling class is not positive—in fact, Jeremiah is threatened with death (26:7–11). 

However, the midst of his despair, Jeremiah sees hope: “the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will restore the fortunes of my people, Israel and Judah, says the Lord, and I will bring them back to the land that I gave to their ancestors and they shall take possession of it” (30:3). In this context, Jeremiah indicates that the Lord “will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah … I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (31:31–34). 

To signal his confidence in this promised return, Jeremiah buys a field in his hometown of Anathoth from his cousin Hanamel (32:1–15). The narrator notes that “the army of the king of Babylon was besieging Jerusalem, and the prophet Jeremiah was confined in the court of the guard that was in the palace of the king of Judah, where King Zedekiah of Judah had confined him” (32:2–3). Nevertheless, the purchase serves to provide assurance that the exiled people will indeed return to the land of Israel; “houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land” (32:15). 

Jeremiah exhorts the people to “give thanks to the Lord of hosts, for the Lord is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!” (33:11), because in the places laid waste by the Babylonians, “in all its towns there shall again be pasture for shepherds resting their flocks … flocks shall again pass under the hands of the one who counts them, says the Lord” (33:12–13). As the people return to the land, the Lord “will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land” (33:15). The title “Son of David” is later applied to Jesus in three Gospels (Mark 10:47–48; Matt 1:1; 12:23; 15:22; 21:9, 15; Luke 18:38–39).

The prophet Isaiah also refers to the “shoot [which] shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots; the spirit of the Lord shall rest on him” (11:1–2). The appearance of this “shoot” will lead to the promised time when “the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them” (11:6)—a wonderful Messianic prophecy.

Jeremiah, in an earlier oracle, had declared that “the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land” (Jer 23:5). His words at Jer 33:14–16 repeat this message of hope. That hope, in Christian theology, was taken up in Jesus, who was claimed to be the righteous branch, the one ruling with justice (Matt 12:15–21). Jesus spoke clearly about the need for justice in our lives (Matt 23:23; Luke 7:29). He spoke in the tradition of the prophets, including Jeremiah, who had regularly reminded the people,of Israel of the centrality of doing justice for those who were obedient to the covenant with the Lord God.

In speaking out for justice, Jesus provided a clear countercultural vision for his followers, and called them into a radically different way of living. It is that Jesus whom we celebrate at Christmas, and that countercultural vision that is at the heart of the Advent season.

Beginning the year on the right foot (Psalm 25; Advent 1C)

This coming Sunday is the first day in a new year-at least, as the church marks the years. Rather beginning on the first day of January (for the calendar month) or of July (for the financial year), the church year begins with the season of Advent. The season stretches over four weeks  and serves as preparation for the joyous celebration of Christmas, marking the birth of Jesus. So this coming Sunday in worship, it would be quite appropriate to wish other people a happy new year!

It is the custom more generally in society to make “New Year resolutions”—even if such resolutions rarely last weeks, or even days, into the new year. In keeping with that custom, perhaps it could be appropriate for people of faith to use the words of the psalm proposed by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, the First Sunday in Advent.

In Psalm 25, the psalmist sets out a clear view of what it is that God expects of people of faith. First, the psalmist begins by offering their “soul” to God, declaring “O my God, in you I trust” (vv.1–2). The Hebrew word translated as “soul” in v.1 is nephesh.  This is a common Hebrew word, appearing 688 times in Hebrew Scripture, of which the most common translation (238 times) is “soul”; the next most common translation is “life” (180 times). The word is thus a common descriptor for a human being, as a whole. 

However, to use the English word “soul” to translate nephesh does it a disservice. We have become acclimatised to regarding the soul as but one part of the whole human being—that is the influence of dualistic Platonic thinking, where “body and soul” refer to the two complementary parts of a human being. In Hebrew, nephesh has a unified, whole-of-person reference, quite separate from the dualism that dominates a Greek way of thinking.

Nephesh appears a number of times in the first creation story in Hebrew scripture, where it refers to “living creatures” in the seas (Gen 1:20, 21), on the earth (Gen 1:24), and to “every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life (nephesh hayah)” (Gen 1:30). It is found also in the second creation story, where it likewise describes how God formed a man from the dust of the earth and breathed the breath of life into him, and “the man became a living being (nephesh hayah)” (Gen 2:7). The claim that each living creature is a nephesh is reiterated in the Holiness Code (Lev 11:10, 46; 17:11). 

The concept of nephesh is a foundational understanding in Hebraic thought: the nephesh is the totality of existence for every creature, including humans. In our psalm for this Sunday, then, the psalmist offers their whole being to God, placing trust in God. This is a fine model for us to consider and emulate throughout the whole of the year: discipleship is a whole-of-being thing.

An attitude of trust towards God permeates the psalms. “Those who know your name put their trust in you”, one psalmist affirms, “for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you” (Ps 9:10). Another psalmist sings “I trust in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God’; my times are in your hand” (Ps 31:14–15). A third psalmist affirms, “I am like a green olive tree in the house of God; I trust in the steadfast love of God forever and ever” (Ps 52:8). In yet another psalm, the writer sings “when I am afraid, I put my trust in you … in God I trust; I am not afraid” (Ps 52:3–4, 10–11).

One psalmist evokes the remembrance of trusting people in the past: “in you our ancestors trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them; to you they cried, and were saved; in you they trusted, and were not put to shame” (Ps 22:4–5). Another declares that they “trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation” (Ps 13:5), while yet another states “I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering” (Ps 26:1). Trust is a foundational element in our faith.

Then, the author of Psalm 25 prays for the ways in which they might know God’s ways: “make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths; lead me in your truth, and teach me” (vv.4–5). The paths of the Lord are probably best-known from the much-beloved Psalm 23, in the opening sequence of affirmations that the Lord “makes me lie down in green pastures … leads me beside still waters … restores my soul … [and] leads me in right paths” (Ps 23:2–3). 

This psalmist later explains that “the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness for those who keep his covenant and his decrees” (Ps 25:10). Another psalmist affirms, “my steps have held fast to your paths; my feet have not slipped” (Ps 17:5); yet another, in a well-known refrain, sings “word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Ps 119:195). In like manner, another psalm rejoices that “you show me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy” (Ps 16:11). 

Keeping to the path of the Lord requires knowing, and adhering to, the commandments of Torah, so one psalmist prays, “teach me to do your will, for you are my God; let your good spirit lead me on a level path” (Ps 143:10). In the longest psalm of all—an extended song of praise for Torah—the psalmist sings, “give me understanding, that I may keep your law and observe it with my whole heart; lead me in the path of your commandments, for I delight in it” (Ps 119:34–35). The prayer of Psalm 25, “make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths” reinforces the centrality of Torah obedience in the psalms.

Third, the psalm includes a short prayer seeking forgiveness: “do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me, for your goodness’ sake, O Lord!” (v.7). The petition is repeated a few verses later: “for your name’s sake, O Lord, pardon my guilt, for it is great” (v.11). Some psalms contain verses which echo this prayer: “consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins” (Ps 25:8); “help us, O God of our salvation, for the glory of your name; deliver us, and forgive our sins, for your name’s sake” (Ps 79:9). 

Other psalms offer an affirmation that God does, indeed, forgive: “when deeds of iniquity overwhelm us, you forgive our transgressions” (Ps 65:3); “if you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? but there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered” (Ps 130:3–4); “bless the Lord, O my soul, and do not forget all his benefits—who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases” (Ps 103:2–3); “happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered” (Ps 32:1). 

Forgiveness is of the essence of the Lord God, who is “is slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving iniquity and transgression” (Exod 34:6–8; Num 14:18; Neh 9:17b; Ps 145:8–9; Joel 2:13; Jonah 4:2; see also 2 Kings 13:23; 2 Chron 30:9). In one of the central episodes in the life of the Israelites, after they had made a golden calf, Moses pleads with God for forgiveness (Exod 32:32); after God had punished those who sinned in this episode by sending a plague (Exod 32:35), God is declared to be “abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin”, and the covenant is renewed (Exod 34:6–10).

Seeking forgiveness was central to the life of ancient Israelites, and continued on to be important in Second Temple Judaism. Indeed, it is this prayer for forgiveness which is taken up in the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples: “forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us” (Luke 11:4), or in what was likely an earlier version: “forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matt 6:12).

Finally, towards the end of the psalm, the psalmist prays, “may integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you” (v.21). Integrity and uprightness figure in other psalms. “I will walk with integrity of heart within my house”, one psalmist sings, “I will not set before my eyes anything that is base” (Ps 101:2–3), while another declares, “I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering” (Ps 26:1).

So one psalmist prays, “judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness and according to the integrity that is in me” (Ps 7:8), while another affirms that the precepts of the Lord “are established forever and ever, to be performed with faithfulness and uprightness” (Ps 111:8). In another psalm we learn that “the Lord is righteous; he loves righteous deeds; the upright shall behold his face” (Ps 11:7), while another psalm declares that “justice will return to the righteous and all the upright in heart will follow it” (Ps 94:15). The motif of uprightness permeates these songs of faith.

When the psalmist sings, “for you I wait all day long” (Ps 25:5), they are reflecting a common attitude across many psalms, waiting for the Lord: “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits” (Ps 130:5–6), “it is for you, O Lord, that I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer” (Ps 38:15); “for God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him” (Ps 62:5). So the psalmist encourages others, “be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord” (Ps 31:24) and affirms that “those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land” (Ps 37:9). 

Such waiting is in no way a passive statement being, for such waiting, as we have seen, involves the whole being (the nephesh) in active obedience to Torah and a deliberate intention to live in an upright way. This same attitude could well inform the way that we, today, live as people of faith.

I think this is a great psalm to read and hear at the start of the (church) year. It offers us a number of ways to ground our faith and live as faithful disciples in today’s world. If you don’t regularly include a reading of a psalm in your worship liturgy, this Sunday is a really good day to do that!

Daniel, saved from the power of the lions (Narrative Lectionary for Advent 1C; Daniel 6)

The Narrative Lectionary is currently offering us a selection of passages from six of the prophets of ancient Israel: Jonah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Joel, and the anonymous post-exilic prophet whose words are collected in Isaiah 56–66. This coming Sunday we we will read and hear the passage from Daniel 6, which tells of Daniel being placed in grave danger in a den of lions, and then rescued by the command of King Darius of Persia.

Ironically, although he is considered one of the four Major Prophets in Hebrew Scripture, Daniel himself is never “called to be a prophet”, as we have seen in other prophetic books; he is introduced as one of a number of “young men without physical defect and handsome, endowed with knowledge and insight”, who were chosen “to be taught the literature and language of the Chaldeans” (1:3–5). Indeed, the Israelite Daniel is given a Babylonian name, Belteshazzar (1:7; 4:8), and his entire story takes place in the Babylonian court. 

(The Chaldeans were part of the Babylonian Empire; centuries earlier they had settled beside the Euphrates in what became the southeastern edge of the Babylonian Empire. Abraham is said to have come from Ur, a city in the region of Chaldea; see Gen 11:31; 15:7.)

The story of the prophet Daniel is thus set outside Israel, in the time of exile, after the conquest of the southern kingdom by the Babylonians in 587 BCE (Dan 1:1–2; see 2 Kings 25). Daniel had been chosen to serve in the court of Nebuchadnezzar, who reigned from 605 BCE to 562 BCE (Dan 1:3–7); when the Persians took control of the Babylonian empire in 539 BCE, Daniel continued to serve in a position of some power.

Scholars believe, however, that the story is told at a much later time, after the exile—perhaps even during the time of Seleucid superiority in the second century BCE. Two centuries after they had returned to the land of Israel, rebuilt their Temple, restored their cities and towns, and living under Persian rule, the people of Israel were over run by the troops of Alexander the Great, King of Macedonia, as he swept across the eastern Mediterranean region as Far East as modern day India. A new foreign power, and a new attitude towards the religion and customs of Israel.

Initially the interaction between Israelites and Macedonians was one of integration. Greek became the language of trade; syncretism marked the religious life of the people, as they adopted Greek customs. But when Antiochus Epiphanes came to power over the region, he introduced an altar in the temple to receive pagan offerings—something which, in  Israelite eyes, was known a “desolating sacrilege” (Mark 13:14; 1 Mac 1:54). This appears to be clearly described in the final vision, recounting how forces “shall occupy and profane the temple and fortress, abolish the regular burnt offering and set up the abomination that makes desolate” (Dan 11:31).

A clear reflection of the exile experience is that an extended section of the book (2:4b—7:28) is written in Aramaic, a language which evolved from Hebrew because of the influence of Babylonian culture and language on the exiled Israelites. The rest of the book (like all the rest of Hebrew Scripture) is written in Hebrew. Whereas Aramaic became the common language of Jews even when they were living back in Israel (and this was the case by the time of Jesus), Hebrew was preserved as the holy language of scripture. 

Curiously, the book has two distinct parts, which overlap this linguistic division; each part is likely to have originated in a different time after the exile. The first six chapters recount stories about Daniel, who was serving in the court and enjoyed friendly relations with the monarch; the style is one found in other legends about courtiers and dream interpreters. Chapters 7–12 comprise a series of apocalyptic visions which appear to contain some very direct references to events that took place in the second century BCE. These chapters come “from the mouth of Daniel”, as it were, rather than being stories about him (as in chapters 1–6).

Daniel has been operating in the murky arena of national politics: then, as now, a fraught environment! He has twice advised the king by interpreting dreams. Whilst Daniel exercised his role as a satrap under Darius the Mede, a conspiracy was formed against him as opponents looked to bring him down. When he is caught praying to the Lord God, despite the interdict of the king (6:1–15), he is thrown into the lion’s den (6:16). 

The next morning, the king hurries to the den, and finds Daniel alive; his prayers have miraculously saved him (6:19–22). Daniel is released from the lion’s den and rescued from danger (6:23–28); Darius issues an edict praising “the living God” whose “kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion has no end; he delivers and rescues, he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth” (6:26–27).

If the story was written (as is thought by many) during the time of the Seleucids, its depiction of a foreign ruler who is positively disposed towards Israel’s God is striking. Under Antiochus Epiphanes, the colonising forces of the Macedonians “built a gymnasium in Jerusalem, according to Gentile custom, and removed the marks of circumcision, and abandoned the holy covenant; they joined with the Gentiles and sold themselves to do evil” (1 Mac 1:14–15). Antiochus not only erected an image in the temple (the “desolation of sacrilege”), but even had the scrolls of Torah collected and burnt—many centuries before the Nazis did this (you can read the details of his rule in 1 Mac 1:41–64).

The author of Daniel is writing political literature as political critique. We know that Antiochus provoked a political uprising led by the Maccabees, the sons of Matthias (1 Mac 2—6)—figures later upheld as heroes by the Zealots in the time of Jesus. The book of Daniel provides a rationale for the zealous ideology of the Maccabees, seeking to put in place a righteous leadership in Israel.

Carol Newsom observes that “in several narratives in the book of Daniel, the king humbly confesses the sovereignty of the God of the Jews, acknowledging that he rules by the will of God” (“Political Theology in the Book of Daniel: An Internal Debate”,  Review and Expositor, vol. 109, 2012, pp.557–568). Prof. Newsom continues, “other parts of the book depict the gentile king as being part of God’s plan, but a part that will ultimately be destroyed as incompatible with divine sovereignty.” We see this clearly in view in chapters 1—6.

Preparing for the joyous celebration soon to come (Advent in Year C)

The season of Advent, which begins this Sunday, marks the beginning of a new year in the calendar of the church. Advent is a period of four weeks of preparation ahead of the joyous celebration of Christmas, marking the birth of Jesus, and the season of Epiphany, recognising that with the birth of Jesus, “the light of the world” has been revealed.

There is a parallel of a kind with the season of Lent, which is a longer period of 40 days of preparation leading into the high days of Easter, remembering the last meal, arrest, and trial of Jesus, his crucifixion and burial, and his raising from the dead and appearing to his followers.  And following after these central days, there is the whole 50-day season Easter, in which the presence of the risen Jesus in the church is remembered.

Each season builds in anticipation towards a climactic moment in the story of Jesus. During Advent, the lectionary offers us a process to build towards the Christmas celebration by offering passages from Gospel, Epistle, Prophets, and song-like selections (both from the Psalms and the Gospel) which celebrate the joyous notes of salvation found scattered throughout scripture. 

These passages begin on Advent 1 by affirming that God will fulfil promises made earlier (Jer 33:14–16), giving thanks in joyfulness (1 Thess 3:9–13) and recalling the mercy, steadfast love, and faithfulness (Psalm 25). The selection from the Gospel is drawn from the final apocalyptic discourse of Jesus (which runs through Luke 21, verses 8–36), where he speaks about “dreadful portents and great signs from heaven”, deception and warfare, and “great distress on the earth and wrath against this people”. Yet the final section of this speech (Luke 21:25–36) points towards the time when “your redemption is drawing near” (v.28) and “the kingdom of God is near” (v.31). It is an invitation to anticipate and to celebrate.

For Advent 2, the prophetic word comes from two prophets: Malachi declares that God “sending my messenger to prepare the way before me” (Mal 3:1–4) and Zechariah looks with hope towards a time when “in the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us” (Luke 1:68–79). The lectionary shares the deep confidence of those waiting for “the day of the Lord” (Phil 1:3–11), and a reminder that, in the coming of Jesus, “all flesh shall see the salvation of God” (Luke 3:6). The sense of celebratory anticipation continues to build.

Then, for Advent 3, further prophetic words sound forth from Zephaniah, urging people to “rejoice and exult with all your heart” (Zeph 3:14), and from Isaiah, celebrating the salvation that comes from God and rejoicing that “great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel” (Isa 12:1–6). These words of hope and joy are accompanied by Paul’s exhortations to “rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil 4:4–7) and the prophet John’s proclamation of “good news” regarding “one who is more powerful than I is coming”—which includes stern reminders about the importance of acting with equity and justice (Luke 3:7–18).

It is that sense of justice which imbues the prophetic words attributed to the young Mary, which we hear on Advent 4. Mary “magnifies the Lord” and anticipates that the Lord God will have “scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts … brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly … filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:46–55). These words resonate with an older oracle spoken by Micah, who looked towards “one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days”, one who would bring peace and security to the people of Israel (Micah 5:2–5). 

These two oracles sit alongside the psalmist’s acknowledgement of the reality of hardship and even infidelity amongst the people of God, whose story has been that the Lord God has “fed them with the bread of tears and given them tears to drink in full measure”. Nevertheless, the psalmist is confident that faithful people will know that God has come to save them (Ps 80:1–7). 

And so the lectionary offers also words from an unknown writer, addressing a “word of exhortation” to “the Hebrews” in the assurance that “it is by God’s will that we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all” (Heb 10:5–10). (My personal view is that this passage sits rather oddly in the sequence of passages offered during Advent, with its priestly focus on sacrifices and offerings pointing to a different aspect of the story of Jesus—one which is more fitting to the Lenten period just before Easter.)

In these four weeks, the notes of hope and confidence, joy and justice, resound with increasing intensity, as we draw closer to Christmas. And for that festival, in a sequence of three passages from Isaiah, the three men whose work is collected under this single name declare the hope that marks the season, just as it had marked the people long ago in Israel. 

Alongside these prophetic words, the lectionary offers three joyful songs (Psalms 96—98), the same notes of joy and justice are sounded yet again, even as the Gospel passage offers the story of the birth of Jesus as Luke tells it (Luke 2:1–20), climaxing in “good news of great joy for all the people” (v.10) and the angelic hymn, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!” (v.14).

See 

Justice and joy: a sequence of Psalms for Christmas
Promise and proclamation: passages from the Prophets at Christmas
Three options for Christmas celebrations (The Nativity of The Lord)

Will hardline conservative evangelicals learn anything from the revelations about the abuses committed by John Smyth “in the name of the Gospel”?

Respectable gentlemen, pillars of society, and good citizens all. Advocating obedience and emphasising responsibility. Preaching “good news” which requires trust, faith, and “a serving heart”. Teaching “godliness” which entails decency, seemliness, and propriety. The outward appearance looks good, honourable, and worthy.

What this wraps around, however, is a world of rigorous discipline and strong patriarchy, a relentless drive to ensure submission to “the head”  (i.e. the man) and obedience to parents, a persistent marginalising and oppressing of women, a strident denunciation of all who stray from the “narrow way” of “Bible-believing Christianity”, and an incessant repetition of the fundamental message that “all have sinned” and all such sinners can only be “saved by the blood of the lamb”. Obedience and disciplined acceptance of what authority decrees are essential.

This is the world of hard-line conservative evangelicalism, which has long been part of the Establishment in Britain and, with a strong Puritan twist, has captured so many Protestant churches in the USA. It is present in Australia, most strikingly in the Sydney Anglican diocese, but there are tentacles into many other Anglican dioceses around the country—and, indeed, into a number of other denominations as well. (There has been a small and declining element of this in my own denomination; the most vigorous proponents of this distorted theology wisely decided to leave a couple of years ago.)

We have seen the very worst manifestation of British conservative evangelical Christianity in recent times, with revelations relating to the masochistic treatment meted out to school-age boys over many years by the head of a reputable evangelical organisation, the Iwerne Trust. The Trust held annual camps to instruct schoolage boys in so-called “muscular Christianity”. These camps were run on military lines; the leader of the camp was the “commandant”, his deputy was the “adjutant”, and all of the leaders were known as “officers”. (It sounds just like the regimented school cadets system that I remember from my schooldays, decades ago.)

It was in this kind of environment that a barrister named John Smyth found an opportunity to implement his harsh disciplininary measures. Smyth was camp leader on the Iwerne camps 1964–84, chair of the Iwerne Trust 1974–81, and a Scripture Union trustee 1971–79. (The Iwerne Trust operated under the umbrella of Scripture Union, but appears to have been only loosely associated with SU leadership.)

The details of what he did have been documented in church reports—the first, written around 40 years ago, but I comprehensively shelved by those in the know—as well as in media interviews with survivors and even his own son, who endured emotional abuse and vicious physical violence at the hands of his father (aided and abetted by his compliant mother). What is revealed is truly, deeply disturbing. 

Smyth died some years ago. He had been forced to relocate countries twice in his life, fleeing the revelations of his horrid modus operandi. But each time he moved on without any brief of the suspicions relating to him being forwarded to the next “Christian” organisation that he worked with. He avoided justice throughout his lifetime.

The latest public push regarding this man and the way his actions were covered up by complicit colleagues has led to the very public resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who knew Smyth decades ago, apparently knew the suspicions swirling around him then, clearly learnt the full truth over a decade ago, but never did anything to bring this person to account. Welby has become the scapegoat for widespread institutional failure.

Archbishop Justin Welby (top left), complicit in the cover-up; John Smyth (top right), perpetrator of horrendous abuse; and Keith Makin (bottom), author of the recent Report.

What a shocking indictment! Welby’s sins, whilst totally unacceptable, seem to pale in comparison to the atrocious coverups of so many male clergy. It is just disgusting. But of course we know that the general culture fostered by hardline conservative evangelicals is punitive, oppressive, homophobic, and completely alien to the Gospel. Smyth was living out a distorted theology that had been developed from the increasingly strident message that was being promulgated by hardline evangelicals within the church—and which still lives and grows today. And he got away with it because so many people just gave him “another chance”, or turned a blind eye, wanting to protect the reputation of the church, or simply refused to believe that such a “devout man” could do this.

Prof. Adrian Thatcher has written with his typical clarity on this matter, arguing that “the Church of England will never ‘learn lessons’ about the causes of Smyth’s shocking exploits until it reviews its own theological failings.” In particular, he maintains that “many of [the Church of England’s] members and organisations do hold ideological beliefs that hurt people and are ‘followed at the expense of a core care and regard for every human being’.” He notes that there are “copious references among the testimony of survivors in the [2024 Makin] Report to misogyny, homophobia, to ‘muscular Christianity’, to outrageous sexism (remember the ‘lady helpers’), in the camps and organisations where Smyth’s wickedness was propagated.”

Thatcher quotes Makin’s conclusion that “the patriarchal approach in the organisations and cultures that John Smyth operated, was a conducive and organisational factor to the abuse”. That patriarchal approach is a key characteristic of conservative evangelicalism, whose leaders, Thatcher argues, are still “protected from an overdue examination of their patriarchal, sexist and homophobic beliefs, all ‘Bible-based’, and the harm that derives from them.”

The challenge to hardline conservative evangelical leaders is to reflect on the harm done by their ideological attachment to this distorted theology, to repent of the sins that have been and are being committed, and to rediscover the actual Gospel—good news—for humanity, which, as the latest Church of England media release says, is not about “a seemingly privileged group from an elite background to decide that the needs of victims should be set aside, and that Smyth’s abuse should not therefore be brought to light”, but rather “about proclaiming Good News to the poor and healing the broken hearted.”

Amen.

The Church of England’s media release about the Makin Review is at https://www.churchofengland.org/media/press-releases/independent-review-churchs-handling-smyth-case-published

Prof. Adrian Thatcher’s analysis is at

No Lessons Learned? Makin, Welby and Theology
No Lessons Learned? Makin, Welby and Theology

One detailed discussion of the complicity of some in the terrible coverup that has occurred is at https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/ideas/religion/church-of-england/68541/justin-welby-is-a-scapegoat-for-establishment-failures?

Another is at https://sixtyguilders.org/2024/11/18/st-ebbes-and-the-smyth-scandal-an-inadequate-response/?

The ruler of the Kings of the earth (Rev 1; The Reign of Christ, Pentecost 27B)

We are drawing to the end of the long “season after Pentecost” that began back in June and has run through half the year. This coming Sunday is celebrating The Festival of the Reign of Christ, as the climactic moment of this long “season of growth”, as it is often called. The Epistle reading proposed by the lectionary for this Sunday (Rev 1:4b—8) fits well with the theme of “the reign of Christ”, as it contains a greeting from the author which refers to “Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth” (1:5).

It is also fitting that, on the last Sunday in the church year, we hear from the last book in the New Testament, commonly called the Revelation of John. This book has some indications that it is to be understood as a letter. The opening section (1:1–20) includes an explicit identification of the author (1:4) and the location of his writing (1:9); a brief description of the situation of the recipients (1:9) along with a listing of the specific cities in which they lived (1:11); and a short blessing and doxology (1:4–5).

The book also contains the text of seven short letters, to the churches in these seven cities (2:1–3:22). The closing section (22:8–21) reiterates the role of the author (22:8) and concludes with a blessing formula (22:21). Each of these elements reflects traditional letter-writing style.

The author identifies himself as John (1:4, 9; 22:8) and notes that he was living on the island of Patmos (1:9); church tradition has equated him with John, the disciple of Jesus, as well as the author of the fourth Gospel and three letters. However, this book is strikingly different from the Gospel and the three letters.

Some have argued that the tone of the book might reflect the style of one of “the sons of Thunder”, as the disciple John was labelled (Mark 3:17); but such a generalisation is not grounded in specific evidence.

Both the style of Greek employed and the way that biblical imagery is deployed sets this book apart from the Gospel which bears John’s name; whilst that book is steeped in biblical imagery and language, it is done in a more subtle and sophisticated manner.

The recipients of the book, identified generically as “the seven churches that are in Asia” (1:4), are subsequently named one by one, by city (1:11). In the details of the seven letters which are addressed specifically to these seven churches (2:1– 3:22), we might imagine that we will find insight into the specific situation in these churches, which is being addressed in this book.

Yet, a careful reading of these particular letters indicates that they are written and delivered in response to a dramatic vision of a distinguished figure with an ominous presence, who instructs the author to write the letters to the angels of the various churches (1:9–20). This figure can well be understood to be the “ruler of the kings of the earth” already referred to (see 1:4)—Jesus, reigning supreme over all. 

Indeed, this opening section of the book is rich with imagery which describes the significance of Jesus. Many of the phrases used here to describe Jesus are later employed in connection with those who follow him. In the initial doxology of 1:4–6, four key phrases are used to describe Jesus. First, the author affirms the traditional view of the redemptive power of the blood which Jesus has shed (1:5); the same language appears in other New Testament books (Rom 3:25; 5:9; 1 Cor 11:25–27; Col 1:20; Eph 1:7; 2:13; Heb 9:12–14; 10:19; 13:20; 1 Pet 1:2, 19; 1 John 1:7; 5:6–8).

This affirmation, of Jesus as the lamb who is sacrificed in order to effect redemption, returns as a common refrain in Revelation (5:10; 7:14; 12:11; 14:3–4; 19:13). In the regulations for temple sacrifice, the purity of the sacrificial lamb was seen as essential (Num 28:3; Lev 1:10). Jesus is depicted in this book as the supreme authority, the one who has risen from the dead and is at one with God. Yet there is a stark counterpoint running throughout the whole book. Jesus is the one who has been pierced (1:7); perhaps this evokes the piercing of Jesus’ side as he hung on the cross (John 19:34–37, citing this as a fulfillment of Zech 12:10). Such power comes only through complete submission. 

Next comes the affirmation that he is “the firstborn of the dead” (1:5; see also 1:18; 2:8); resurrected believers will follow the same path he treads (20:6). This resonates with the Pauline language about Jesus as firstborn from the dead (Rom 8:29; Col 1:15, 18; and see 1 Cor 15:20, 23; and Heb 1:6).

A third affirmation is that he is “the faithful witness” who testifies to the purposes of God (1:5; 3:14); those who follow his way are given insight into God’s will and in turn, they become witnesses to Jesus (17:6).

Jesus Christ Pantocrator,
from a mosaic in the Hagia Sophia Church
(now a Mosque) in Istanbul

Finally, as the risen one, Jesus is “the ruler of the kings of the earth” (1:5) who exercises the sovereign powers of God over earthly authorities (6:15–17); ultimately these rulers will either be destroyed (19:17–21) or acknowledge his authority (21:22– 24). His supreme authority is conveyed by a later reference to the keys given to him (1:18; see Isa 22:20–22; Matt 16:19); these keys grant him power over Death and Hades (1:18; see also 6:8; 20:13–14). This element certainly resonates with the theme of The Reign of Christ, which originated when it was introduced by Pope Pius XI in 1925. 

The 1920s were a time when Fascist dictators were rising to power in Europe.  I have read that “the specific impetus for the Pope establishing this universal feast of the Church was the martyrdom of a Catholic priest, Blessed Miguel Pro, during the Mexican revolution”; see Today’s Catholic, 18 Nov 2014, at https://todayscatholic.org/christ-the-king/

The article continues, “The institution of this feast was, therefore, almost an act of defiance from the Church against all those who at that time were seeking to absolutize their own political ideologies, insisting boldly that no earthly power, no particular political system or military dictatorship is ever absolute. Rather, only God is eternal and only the Kingdom of God is an absolute value, which never fails.” The vision of Rev 1:4b—8 is certainly consistent with this perspective. And the distinctive vision of this book, concerning “the lamb who was slain” (5:1–14), offers a distinctive way by which this political power is exercised. See

“Worthy is the lamb that was slaughtered”: a paradoxical vision (Rev 5; Easter 3C)

The work as a whole  is characterised as being “words of prophecy” (1:3; 22:10, 18–19). The prophecy which is presented in this book is summarised as “what must soon take place” (1:1; 22:6). Both at the beginning and at the end of the book, the author declares that he is looking forward in time, reporting events that will soon take place. When, exactly, those events will take place has been the focus of investigation by numerous people of faith over many centuries—“the end of the world is nigh” has been proclaimed in every century since the first century, and always (as we know) without success. Any claims in this regard, today, should be dismissed as not at all correct.

In the ways that Revelation has been interpreted, and the problems associated with each of them, see 

Images drawn from the past, looking to the future, as a message for the present (Revelation; Easter, Year C)

So, enjoy reading and hearing this very brief excerpt from this most unusual biblical book at this time of the year!

A kingdom not from this world (John 18; The Reign of Christ, Pentecost 27B)

I preached this sermon for Project Reconnect, to be used in the resources they distribute for Sunday 24 November 2024, the Festival of the Reign of Christ. For information about Project Reconnect, see the end of this blog.

The church’s year is currently designated as Year B. During the year, on most Sundays we have heard from the Gospel of Mark, along with passages from the narrative of Samuel and Kings, some of the Wisdom Literature, and letters written by Paul and James, and more recently, the letter to the Hebrews. And each Sunday, one of the Psalms is designated also for us to hear, sing, and reflect on. 

The lectionary provides a rich offering throughout the three years that form the full cycle, ensuring that we read passages from all four Gospels and all major sections of scripture. The current year draws to a close this coming Sunday, as happens at the end of each church year, with the Festival of the Reign of Christ. After this Sunday, we enter a new church year, as the season of Advent begins for Year C, when the focus is on Luke, the prophets, and other letters.

The church’s year is organised differently from the calendar year; it revolves around the key events of our faith: the birth of Jesus, which we celebrate each Christmas, the death and resurrection of Jesus, which comes into focus at Easter, the birth of the Church, which we recall at the celebration of Pentecost, and the long season after Pentecost, when we attend to our life as disciples and the mission into which we are called as people of faith.

This Sunday, the day I am referring to as the festival of the Reign of Christ, has been known traditionally as the festival of Christ the King, when we commemorate the reign that Christ exercises over the world. I prefer the term Reign of Christ as at least one step away from the connotations that are associated with that archaic institution of monarchy. 

And that flags one of the questions that I have with this feast day: how do we maintain a contemporary feel about aspects of our faith that seem to be bound to older patterns and customs? It’s a question that relates to many aspects of our life in the church; how do we demonstrate the relevance for today of the ancient faith? It’s a question worth pondering.

A depiction of Jesus Christ Pantocrator (ruler of all)
in the Hagia Sophia church (now Mosque) in Istanbul

The Reign of Christ is a relatively new festival in the calendar of church festivals—it was introduced by Pope Pius XI in 1925, and has since been adopted by Lutheran, Anglican, and various Protestant churches around the world, and also, apparently, by the Western Rite parishes of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. (Yes, that is a real denomination!) 

So that is a second question that I have relating to this day—along with Trinity Sunday, it sits as a day devoted to “a doctrine” developed later in the church’s life, rather than “a time in the life of Jesus”, which is what Christmas and Easter is, or “a time in the life of the church”, namely, Pentecost. Does it really belong in our pattern of seasonal celebrations?

In Roman Catholic tradition, the day is explained by some words from Cyril of Alexandria, a fifth century Doctor of the Church who served as Patriarch of Alexandria, in Egypt, from 412 to 444. In establishing this festival, Pope Pius XI quoted from the writings of Cyril: “Christ has dominion over all creatures … by essence and by nature … the Word of God, as consubstantial with the Father, has all things in common with him, and therefore has necessarily supreme and absolute dominion over all things created. From this it follows that to Christ angels and men [sic] are subject. Christ is also King by acquired, as well as by natural right, for he is our Redeemer. …’ We are no longer our own property, for Christ has purchased us with a great price; our very bodies are the members of Christ.”

However, the festival of the Reign of Christ has only been celebrated in the Roman Catholic Church since it was introduced by Pope Pius XI in 1925. This was a time when Fascist dictators were rising to power in Europe.  I have read that “the specific impetus for the Pope establishing this universal feast of the Church was the martyrdom of a Catholic priest, Blessed Miguel Pro, during the Mexican revolution”; see Today’s Catholic, 18 Nov 2014, at 

Christ the King

The article continues, “The institution of this feast was, therefore, almost an act of defiance from the Church against all those who at that time were seeking to absolutize their own political ideologies, insisting boldly that no earthly power, no particular political system or military dictatorship is ever absolute. Rather, only God is eternal and only the Kingdom of God is an absolute value, which never fails.”

The scriptures, as a whole, puncture the pomposity of powerful kings, and subversively present Jesus as the one who stands against all that those kings did. This festival provides a unique way of reflecting on the eternal kingship of Jesus. It offers a distinctive way for considering how the kingship bestowed upon David has been understood to last “forever”.

Indeed, if you had listened carefully to the Gospel reading, you would have heard the interaction between Pilate and Jesus, on this very matter. When Jesus is brought before the Roman Governor by the priests who had religious authority in Jerusalem, Governor Pilate asks him a direct question: “So, you are a king?”. I hear the question in this way: “So, Jesus, you think you are a king, do you?” 

Pilate, in this way of understanding his question, seems quite sceptical about such a claim, because the priests have brought their prisoner Jesus to him, indicating that he was “a criminal”, and seeking to have the Roman authority pass a sentence of death upon him. “Are you the King of the Jews?”, Pilate had asked Jesus—to which Jesus replies with his own question, “do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” The prisoner from Galilee knows that the Roman Governor is really just following the line presented to him by the Jerusalem priests.

Pilate’s response to this is to observe that “your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me”, so there must be an issue of some sort here. “What have you done?” is the naive question that Pilate then poses; Jesus answers, “my kingdom is not from this world”. In this response, Jesus seems to be accepting that he is a king—but not a king in the form that the rulers of the nations would recognise. It is no wonder that Pilate seems not to grasp the point. How can this bedraggled Galilean be a king over a kingdom “not from this world”.

So he presses the point. “So you are a king, then?” Jesus will not give a straightforward answer. He will not say, “yes, I am a king”; nor will he deny it, “no, of course I am not a king”. Rather, he diverts the focus, from the political reality of kingship, to the esoteric philosophical concept of “truth”. “For this I came into the world”, Jesus says, “to testify to the truth; everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” 

The implication is that he was not planning to lead a political uprising that would use force try to take over control of the land from the Romans; so Pilate should not have any fears on that account. Rather, says Jesus, “I came into the world to testify to the truth”.

Which draws from Pilate his most famous words, “What is truth?” According to the author of John’s Gospel, this trial scene morphed into a philosophical discussion—a development quite unexpected, and indeed, quite unrealistic. Which means, I think, that the whole scene is filled with irony. 

The first point of irony is when the Jewish priests, whose nation once did boast a king, tell the Roman Governor, “we have no king but the emperor”. The second irony is when the Roman Governor, whose nation had banned kings and despised this autocratic form of government, questions Jesus, “are you the king of the Jews?”. And the third moment of irony comes when Galilean prisoner, dressed with a crown of thorns around his head a purple robe on his shoulders, passes by the opportunity to give a clear answer and instead asserts, “my kingdom is not from this world”. 

From our point of view, as people of faith, many centuries later, we could well consider this ancient account quite strange. From our perspective, informed by centuries when deeper theological understandings have been developed and complex doctrine has been articulated, we may well see Jesus as God’s chosen human being, imbued with divine powers, enthroned as the King over all the earth. 

Why, we sing of him in this way: “Jesus shall reign where’er the sun does his successive journeys run”, “At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow”, “King of kings and Lord of lords”, “Come, Thou Almighty King … come, and reign over us”, “Rejoice, the Lord is King: your Lord and King adore!”, “Glory, glory, glory to the King of kings” … and many more.

So it is deeply embedded in our collective understanding that Jesus is, indeed, King who reigns over all, whose power and dominion covers the whole earth. And yet, in this passage, offered to us for the very festival of The Reign of Christ, the words of scripture invite us to reconsider: the nature of the Reign that Jesus envisages is radically different from the kind of reign that kings—and queens—have demonstrated throughout history. 

He is, as Graham Kendrick’s song so powerfully expresses it, our Servant King, who came as a “helpless babe”, who “entered our world … not to be served but to serve, and give [his] life that we might live”; for “This is our God, The Servant King, [who] calls us now to follow him, to bring our lives as a daily offering of worship to The Servant King”.

On this day, this festive celebration of the Reign of Christ, let us commit to following him not along the pathway of power, authority, prestige … but rather in service, with humility, through compassion, standing firm for justice, holding fast to a righteous way of living. For this is our king, the one who reigns, and this is the path that he calls us to walk.

Project Reconnect is a ministry of The Hunter Presbytery of the Uniting Church in Australia which provides a weekly worship resource for congregations, including a video sermon and a video all-age address, with music resources and discussion starters. See https://projectreconnect.com.au

To watch my sermon, see

24th November 2024 (Year B – Reign of Christ Sunday) “A Kingdom not of this World”

God offers a new covenant (Narrative Lectionary for the Reign of Christ, Pentecost 27C; Jer 36, 31)

The covenant is a key theme of the Hebrew Scriptures. God’s commitment to covenant takes us deep into the abiding relationship between God and God’s people. That covenant had been offered initially to Noah, and to all living creatures (Gen 9), before it was subsequently renewed (and reshaped) by being offered to Abraham (Gen 15, 17), as mentioned here (Ps 105:9). That same covenant is renewed with Isaac (Gen 17) and then with Jacob (Israel) (Gen 35), and later is extended to Moses and the whole people (Exod 19), and later still to the people again through Jeremiah (Jer 31). It is this last reference to the covenant which forms the basis for the Narrative Lectionary passages for this coming Sunday.

Jeremiah was called to be a prophet at an early age (Jer 1:4–10); some commentators consider him to be in his early 20s, while others note that the distinctive Hebrew word used in this passage indicates he was in his teens. When he heard God declare to him, “I appointed you a prophet to the nations”, the NRSV translation says that the young man replied, “Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy” (1:6). 

Actually, when they say he replied, “Ah”, he was using a Hebrew word that actually means “alas” or “woe is me” (see also 4:10; 14:13: 32:17; and also Joel 1:15). Strong’s Concordance says this is “a primitive word expressing pain”—so, more like “ouch!!!” So perhaps it’s better to think of his response as more like “oh no, oh no, oh nooooo—I couldn’t possibly do that! no way at all!!”. Jeremiah just did not want this gig at all. See my sermon on this passage at

Yet Jeremiah faithfully carried out the task committed to him; it is thought that he was active from the mid-620s in Judah, through into the time of exile in Babylon, from 587 BCE onwards—that is, over four decades—although Jeremiah himself was exiled, not into Babylon, but into Egypt (Jer 43:1–7).

The task he was given when called to be a prophet was to declare the coming judgment of God on the people of Israel, for continuing to ignore their covenant commitments. The Lord tells him, “I will utter my judgments against them, for all their wickedness in forsaking me; they have made offerings to other gods, and worshiped the works of their own hands” (1:16). As encouragement, he urges the young man to “gird up your loins; stand up and tell them everything that I command you” (1:17).

So Jeremiah is given a daunting task. “Woe is me”, he declares (4:13)—or sometimes, “woe to us”—which become common phrases in Jeremiah’s oracles (4:31; 6:4; 10:19; 13:27; 15:10; 22:13; 23:1; 45:3; 48:46). It is the same term that we find in Isaiah’s call (Isa 6:5) and oracles (Isa 24:16), Hosea’s declarations (7:13; 9:12), Micah’s prophecies (Mic 7:1), and Ezekiel’s utterances (Ezek 13:18; 16:23; 24:6, 9). All lament the imposition of divine justice in ways that wreak havoc amongst the people. 

Yet in the midst of his despair, Jeremiah sees hope: “the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will restore the fortunes of my people, Israel and Judah, says the Lord, and I will bring them back to the land that I gave to their ancestors and they shall take possession of it” (30:3). In this context, Jeremiah indicates that the Lord “will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah … I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (31:31–34). 

The renewal of the covenant was not a new idea in the story of Israel. God had entered into covenants with Abraham, the father of the nation (Gen 15:1–21) and before that, in the story of Noah, with “you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you … that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of the flood” (Gen 9:8–11). The covenant given to Moses on Mount Sinai (Exod 19:1–6), accompanied by the giving of the law (Exod 20:1–23:33), is sealed in a ceremony by “the blood of the covenant” (Exod 24:1–8).

The covenant with the people that Moses brokered is renewed after the infamous incident of the golden bull (Exod 34:10–28), then under Joshua at Gilgal, as the people enter the land of Canaan after their decades of wilderness wandering (Josh 4:1–24). It is renewed again in the time of King Josiah, after the discovery of “a book of the law” and his consultation with the prophet Huldah (2 Chron 34:29–33), and it will be renewed yet again after the exiled people of Judah return to the land under Nehemiah, when Ezra read from “the book of the law” for a full day (Neh 7:73b—8:12) amd the leaders of the people made “a firm commitment in writing … in a sealed document” which they signed (Neh 9:38–10:39).

However, the particular expression of renewal that Jeremiah articulates will prove to be critical for the way that later writers portray the covenant renewal undertaken by Jesus of Nazareth (1 Cor 11:25; Luke 22:20; 2 Cor 3:6–18; Heb 8:8–12). Especially significant is the claim that this renewed covenant “will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke” (Jer 31:32), for God “will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (31:33). It is a covenant which has “the forgiveness of sins” at its heart (31:34)— precisely what is said of the “new covenant” effected by Jesus (Matt 26:28; and see Acts 5:31; 10:43; 13:38; 26:18).

To signal his confidence in this promised return, Jeremiah buys a field in his hometown of Anathoth from his cousin Hanamel (32:1–15). The narrator notes that “the army of the king of Babylon was besieging Jerusalem, and the prophet Jeremiah was confined in the court of the guard that was in the palace of the king of Judah, where King Zedekiah of Judah had confined him” (32:2–3). Nevertheless, the purchase serves to provide assurance that the exiled people will indeed return to the land of Israel; “houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land” (32:15). 

Jeremiah exhorts the people to “give thanks to the Lord of hosts, for the Lord is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!” (33:11), because in the places laid waste by the Babylonians, “in all its towns there shall again be pasture for shepherds resting their flocks … flocks shall again pass under the hands of the one who counts them, says the Lord” (33:12–13). As the people return to the land, the Lord “will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land” (33:15). The title “Son of David” is later applied to Jesus in three Gospels (Mark 10:47–48; Matt 1:1; 12:23; 15:22; 21:9, 15; Luke 18:38–39).

A Byzantine icon of Jeremiah the prophet

As Jeremiah was “prevented from entering the house of the Lord” (36:5), he dictated his prophecies to a scribe named Baruch (36:4) and instructed Baruch to “read the words of the Lord from the scroll that you have written at my dictation” (36:6). The scroll is important, for it conveys a message that “great is the anger and wrath that the Lord has pronounced against this people” (36:7).

Baruch does read from the scroll to “all the people in Jerusalem and all the people who came from the towns of Judah to Jerusalem” (36:9–10);  eventually, the scroll makes its way into the inner court, where it is read to the king (36:20–21). In response, piece by piece, King Jehoiakim methodically burns the scroll (36:23–26), so Jeremiah repeated the process with Baruch (36:32). This sequence of events is included in the selection of verses proposed by the Narrative Lectionary, presumably to give the specific narrative context for the oracle about “the new covenant” which is the primary theological focus for this coming Sunday.  

Subsequently, the prophet was imprisoned in the court of the guard  (37:11–21) and then in a cistern (38:1–6), before being rescued from the cistern, on the king’s orders, by Ebed-melech the Ethiopian (38:7–13). Life was certainly not easy for Jeremiah the prophet! Eventually, the city of Jerusalem is taken captive by the Babylonians (39:1–3), members of the royal family are slaughtered (39:6), the king is blinded and taken into exile (39:7), the city is plundered and destroyed (39:8), and “the rest of the people who were left in the city” were taken in the deportation to Babylon, with the exception of just “some of the poor people who owned nothing” (39:9–10). The misery of Jeremiah is shared right across the population.

In one final twist, the Narrative Lectionary suggests reading the verses from ch.36—the capture of the city and the exile to Babylon—before ch.31—the promise of a new covenant. This reversal of order is an interpretive ploy to infer that, despite the misery and trials of Jeremiah, his message offered hope to his people. It’s a hope that would not be made manifest for the exiles for five decades. In a Christian context, as we have seen, it’s a hope that is seen to be fulfilled in Jesus. And perhaps the context of this coming Sunday being the Festival of the Reign of Christ, it’s an orientation that points to the enduring reign of Christ, in contrast to the limited rule of Zedekiah of Judah, and indeed of Nebuchadrezzar of Babylon.

In due time Hannah conceived and bore a son (1 Samuel 1; Pentecost 26B) 

The lectionary does some curious things. Sometimes it offers us passages which have been chopped up into small bits, excerpts from a longer narrative. Sometimes it leaves out just a verse or two, usually because it seems to be expressing something “difficult” or “distasteful” to modern sensibilities. Many times, it provides us week-after-week of stories about men, and leaves out so many of the stories in the Bible about women. 

We have experienced all of this over the last five months, since the Festival of Pentecost, as we have read and heard stories and poems and songs: twelve weeks of narrative telling of the days of the prophets Samuel and Nathan, with the kings Saul, David, and Solomon; and then eleven weeks largely of poetry from the Wisdom Literature.

Now, for the last-but-one Sunday in the long season stretching out after Pentecost, the lectionary does another strange thing. It takes us right back to the beginning of the narrative sequence, to the story which tells of the arrival of Samuel into the world. We meet Hannah right at the start of this passage, as the childless wife of Elkanah, whose other wife, Peninnah, had been blessed with children,  both sons and daughters.

A depiction of Hannah, Peninnah, and Elkanah,
from a 15th century illuminated manuscript

In a culture where children were seen as blessing from the Lord, this left Hannah in a difficult situation. Although Elkanah gave Hannah “a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb” (1 Sam 1:5), nevertheless Peninnah “used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb” (1:6)—to the extent that “Hannah wept and would not eat” (1:7).

We are presented with these individuals in a narrative which appears to be an historical account of a real ancient family. However, the nature of the text is somewhat different. Jewish scholar Lillian Klein argues that Peninnah “is probably a literary convention, a foil for the independence and goodness of Hannah, and should be regarded as such”. She proposes that “Peninnah represents a woman who accepts social paradigms without examining them, thus acting out the type of jealousy between co-wives known from the matriarchal texts of Genesis.” See her article in the Jewish Women’s Archive at 

https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/peninnah-bible

When we began reading the stories from the book of Samuel, back in June, I proposed that these stories were not to be regarded as  “history” as we know it today. Rather, they are ancient tales told and retold, passed on by word of mouth and then written down, because of their enduring significance for the people of ancient Israel. Scholars call such stories “myths”, meaning that they convey something of fundamental importance. (We might best define myth as “a traditional story, usually associated with the time of origins, of paradigmatic significance for the society in which it is told”.)

See more on the nature of these stories at 

How can we preach on passages in the Bible that are myths?

and on the sequence of stories told in Genesis and Exodus, at 

“In you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen 12; Pentecost 2A)

Identifying the stories in the narrative books of the Hebrew Scriptures, including the story of Hannah, as “myths” does not mean they are “not true”—rather, it means that we need to read them, not as historically accurate accounts, but as stories which convey fundamentally important ideas. These stories were valued by people of ancient times. They may well offer us, in our own times, insights and guidance of value.

So we read and ponder these stories from old once again, in our time, because we believe that there is wisdom and guidance in the dynamics we see at work in this ancient society. We pay attention to them because we believe that the same Spirit who anointed the kings, and who called and equipped the prophets, is the very Spirit who today meets us, calls us, and equips us.

A portrayal of Hannah from the series by photographer
James C. Lewis, in which he depicts biblical characters
as they were—as “persons of colour”.

“In due time Hannah conceived and bore a son”, the narrator informs us (1 Sam 1:20a).  The name of the child, in typical biblical narrative style, is Samuel, which she explains as given because “I have asked him of the Lord” (1:20b). After he is born, Hannah sings a wonderful song, praising God for how God has been at work. In this song, she gives thanks for the birth of her son, and praises God especially for God’s care for “the poor”, as she sings how the Lord “raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap” (1 Sam 2:8; also Ps 113:7). Hannah is so grateful for all that God has done, that she offers Samuel to the Lord; “as long as he loves, he is given to the Lord”, she declares (1 Sam 1:28).

My wife has preached a fine sermon on Hannah and her place in this story, for Project Reconnect. See 

Hannah prays and sings (1 Samuel 1–2; Pentecost 26B)

For a comparison of the Song of Hannah (1 Sam 2) with the later Song of Mary (Luke 1), see

Magnificat: the God of Mary (Luke 1) is the God of Hannah (1 Sam 2) (Advent 4C)

The child born to Hannah, Samuel, will grow and develop to become a most important figure in the story of Israel. When Samuel was an adult, he served as the “court prophet” alongside the first two kings of Israel—Saul, whom he anointed (1 Sam 10:1) and then David, whom he also anointed (1 Sam 16:13). He spoke wise words concerning the appointment of a king in Israel, warning the people about what such a powerful leader would do:

“He will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots; and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. He will take your male and female slaves, and the best of your cattle and donkeys, and put them to his work. He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves.” (1 Sam 8:11–17).

And that, of course, is what successive kings did—especially the third king, Solomon, whose empire was extensive and whose army and court required massive resources to support them. Samuel was a wise prophet, indeed!

Both psalmists and prophets declared that the king was charged with the responsibility of leading Israel and ensuring that there was justice in the land. “Give the king your justice, O God”, the psalmist sings (Ps 72:1), so that they might rule with justice and righteousness (Ps 99:4; Prov 29:4). Isaiah looks to the time when “a king will reign in righteousness, and princes will rule with justice” (Isa 32:1; see also Jer 23:5). But the particular calling of the prophet, chosen and anointed by God, was to speak the word of God to the people—and, when required, to the king. This was a weighty responsibility!

A portrayal of Samuel from the series by photographer
James C. Lewis, in which he depicts biblical characters
as they were—as “persons of colour”.

We are told that as the young Samuel grew up, “the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground; and all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord” (1 Sam 3:20–21). As prophet, Samuel was to listen to what God says to him, and then to speak forth the word of the Lord to the people of his society—and in particular, to speak truth to the king and to recall them to the centrality of their role, to ensure that God’s justice was a reality in Israelite society (Isa 42:1–4; 61:1–2;  Mic 3:8). 

So the story we hear this Sunday stands as a foundational tale for all that transpired in Israel over the coming centuries: in periods of growth and abundance, in periods of conflict and turmoil, through exile and return, through rebuilding and restoring Jerusalem and the Temple. 

Samuel played a pivotal role at the beginning of this sequence; his story, and his words, have been remembered, repeated, recorded, and read over the centuries, because they still speak to us of the importance of justice and integrity in society.

The pattern of Samuel’s life was set from his early years: he would need to summon inner strength, demonstrate commitment to the cause, use clarity of speech, and model integrity of life. He presumably learnt much of this from his own mother, whose dedication in her actions, along with the words of her song, demonstrate these qualities in abundance. The stories from the early years of Samuel’s life (1 Sam 1–3) are remembered in order to instruct those who hear them in later generations, to listen and to obey, to be brave and focussed. And so we, in our time, are to hear the story, reflect on it, and respond appropriately.

For more on the child Samuel, and his call, see

Speak, for your servant is listening (1 Sam 3; Pentecost 2B)

Hannah prays and sings (1 Samuel 1–2; Pentecost 26B)

This is a sermon on this week’s lectionary passages, written and preached for Project Reconnect by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine. It was used in the resources they distribute for Sunday 17 November 2024, the 26th Sunday after Pentecost. For information about Project Reconnect, see the end of this blog.

*****

The two books of Samuel are named after the prophet God used to establish monarchy in Israel. Samuel anointed both Saul and David, Israel’s first two kings. Along with Moses and Elijah, Samuel ranks as one of the most important prophets of Israel.

The two books of 1 and 2 Samuel are a composite of several sources. Along with Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, and 1 and 2 Kings, they belong to the tradition of Deuteronomic history thought to have been written between 900 and 550 BCE.

For a woman in this ancient world, not to produce children brought shame and misery on her. In 1 Samuel 1:6-7, Penninah, the second wife of Elkanah, torments Hannah for being barren (“because the Lord had closed Hannah’s womb, her rival kept provoking her in order to irritate her…. her rival provoked her till she wept and would not eat”). At a time when children were considered to measure blessings, wealth and happiness, Peninnah’s tormenting of Hannah was as much about power as it was about Hannah’s failure as a woman to provide her husband with any offspring.

The ancient world, like the world today, had many people in pain, a pain often caused by this kind abuse, involving the exercise of status and power over another person. So the book of 1 Samuel begins with a woman in this type of pain; this comes at a time when Israel was at a dark point in her history, just having emerged from the period of the Judges where “everyone did whatever they thought was right in their eyes.”

Seeing his wife’s distress, Elkanah tries to comfort her by reminding her of his love, asking her, “Am I not better to you than ten sons?” Unsurprisingly, however, this does not console Hannah. As well-meaning as Elkanah is, his devotion could not replace the worthless feeling inside Hannah at her failure to become a mother. On their annual trip to the house of the Lord at Shiloh, Peninnah continues to mock Hannah; soon their arrival, Hannah takes herself to the temple and prays so fervently that Eli, the priest,  thinks she was drunk. She promises the Lord that if he would give her a son, she would dedicate him to the Lord and he would be a Nazarite from birth.

Eli confronts Hannah about her supposed drunkenness and she explains the real heart of the matter. Eli tells her to go in peace and Hannah leaves with his blessing that the Lord may grant her prayer.

Unsurprisingly, the next thing we hear is that the Lord remembers Hannah and in due time, she conceives and thengives birth to a son; naming him Samuel, which appears to mean “the Lord has heard her”.

At the appropriate time, once Samuel is weaned, Hannah returns to dedicate him to the service of God. Hannah, by fulfilling her vow to dedicate her first-born, Samuel, to God’s service (1 Samuel 1:27–28) is later rewarded by the birth of five other children whom she and her husband could keep for themselves (1 Samuel 2:20–21).

Hannah sings a wonderful song here in gratitude for what the Lord has done for her, and later Christian interpreters consider this song to be a model for the Magnificat, the song that Mary the mother of Jesus sings whilst visiting her cousin Elizabeth(Luke 1). In Hannah’s song of praise in response to Samuel’s birth and dedication to the Lord, she praises God’s grace and justice, just as Mary later does. She proclaims that God shatters the bows of the powerful, while filling the hungry with bread, that God gives life and raises the poor, while also bringing the wealthy low. It is a song of the reversal of power and status. And what Hannah sang long ago, Mary echoed centuries later.

Interestingly, such a reversal of suffering and status in Israel’s history has often been shown to come from a baby. The opening chapters of Exodus tells us of the birth of a baby boy who should have been murdered, but instead was preserved in the house of Pharoah and who goes on to lead his people from slavery to freedom. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, God promises to send a sign of hope to those in exile – and the signwill be that a young woman bears a son. Then when Israel was under Roman occupation, a baby is promised that will bring peace to the world, free people from their sin and give them hope – Jesus Christ.

Like Hannah, when we have faith that God is at work in our world, and that God will find ways to overcome the abuses of power and status, we can find signs of hope in the brokenness around us and within us.

Like Elkanah’s family, every human community and family has its share of power plays and conflicts. Like Hannah demonstrates, often the best thing to do is not  retaliate, but try and find comfort in the presence of God and the hope and calmness that can bring. This was certainly demonstrated by Jesus, the baby born to bring hope and peace and forgiveness into the world. As John van de Laar says on his websiteSacredise, 

“Every person, and every community, has been hurt by someone else, or some other group. Our natural human inclination is to try and hurt them back, to even the score. But the way of cross is the way of absorbing the violence and pain, and responding in love, forgiveness and acceptance. As hard as this is, it is the Kingdom view to which we are all called.”

The church is the place where kingdom values should be modelled, and those values should be showing a different m way of living – an upside down way where power, wealth and status become meaningless and where all are equal before God. It is a powerful message because it is a message of hope that disrupts the ways of power and status. It is a vision of a different way of organising the world. It is a word of justice and justice is powerful as a motive for those who have lived with injustice.

And by following Hannah and Mary and Jesus and those who embodied Kingdom values, we too can work and pray and sing to turn the world into a place of peace and justice.

Project Reconnect is a ministry of The Hunter Presbytery of the Uniting Church in Australia which provides a weekly worship resource for congregations, including a video sermon and a video all-age address, with music resources and discussion starters.

https://projectreconnect.com.au

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