Hebrew Scripture – An Informed Faith

Why Jesus never did, and never would, ride a horse! (for Palm Sunday, Lent 6)

It’s a good guess that you, like me, would have heard it said, on more than one occasion, that “Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem to protest against the Jews, to tell them that he would not be the military king that they desired”. According to this view, Jesus chose to ride into Jerusalem on a donkey, rather than a horse, to signal that he was a man of peace, and also that he would not be acting in the way that the Jews were expecting the Messiah to act.

I’ve discussed this claim quite a lot with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, whose knowledge of classical and Jewish texts has been most helpful in informing this blogpost. In what follows, I want to demolish that claim. Jesus never did, and never would, ride a horse. Nor would the Messiah, in Jewish thinking, be expected to ride a horse, a mighty weapon of war.

Horses were highly valued in the Roman Empire, which was the dominant power in the region at the time when Jesus lived. Horses were valuable both in warfare and in domestic life. They provide efficient and (relatively) quick means of communication along the extensive road system that the Romans built to link all the parts of their Empire, both for the upper classes who could afford them, and within the imperial communications system operating from Rome.

Horses were used for entertainment, in chariot races. And they were important animals in the military strategy that the Romans had developed, as a second line of attack behind the infantry. The foot-and-horseback nstrategies developed by the Romans enabled them to conquer far-flung regions and add them to their burgeoning Empire.

See

https://imperiumromanum.pl/en/article/horses-in-ancient-rome/

and

Famous Horses in Rome’s Chariot Races

Within Israelite society, we encounter a different approach to horses. The hilly, rocky terrain of Israel must have contributed to this; but there are more factors at work. The Psalmist sets out the basic problem: “Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding, whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you” (Ps 32:9). The horse is wild, unruly, unstable. Indeed, in the foundational story of Israel, the horse is enmeshed with the enemy, Egypt; “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea” is the song of both the prophet Miriam (Exod 15:21) and her brother Moses (Exod 15:1).

Accordingly, the Psalmist sings, “Some take pride in chariots and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God” (Ps 20:7), and indicates that “a king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength; the war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save” (Ps 33:16–17). The story of the Exodus hovers not far away from each of these assertions. And it begs the question: with this heritage and tradition, why would Jesus even consider riding on a horse to enter Jerusalem?

In the long historical saga of Israel, the great King Solomon is praised for his wisdom; the Lord God grants him “a wise and discerning mind; no one like you has been before you and no one like you shall arise after you” (1 Ki 3:12). However, in that same speech by God, we hear also that “I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honour all your life; no other king shall compare with you” (1 Ki 3:13). So as the story continues, Solomon is revealed as a man who appointed a large administrate infrastructure, accrued immense wealth, raised a huge army, and built a lavish Temple for the Lord God, as well as a grand Palace for himself (1 Ki 4—7).

To support this grandeur, Solomon, we are told, “had forty thousand stalls of horses for his chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen” (1 Ki 4:26). In a later story, it was noted that “King Solomon excelled all the kings of the earth in riches and in wisdom”, that “the whole earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom”, and that “every one of them brought a present”, including horses and mules (1 Ki 10:23–25).

The effect of this was that Solomon had accumulated “fourteen hundred chariots and twelve thousand horses” (1 Ki 10:26), and a note is made that “Solomon’s import of horses was from Egypt and Kure”, at a price of 600 shekels of silver for a chariot and 150 shekels for a horse (1 Ki 10:29; also 2 Chron 1:17). As the work of a labourer was paid with between two and ten shekels per month, both chariots and horses were very expensive commodities.

These descriptions of Solomon demonstrate the grandeur of his court and the profligate nature of his spending. Horses were integral to his means of gaining and holding power, even though a word of the Lord commands that the one set as king over the people “must not acquire many horses for himself, or return the people to Egypt to acquire more horses” (Deut 17:16). Solomon, in his wisdom, disobeyed this word of the Lord—although we recognise, of course, that whilst the speeches in Deuteronomy are placed on the lips of Moses, the actual scroll dates from a much later time—perhaps the time of Josiah (Solomon’s 13th great-grandson!).

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Horses were obviously crucial in Solomon’s grand expansionary venture, enlarging the extent of Israel through his military and political nous. The value of horses in warfare is clear from the way that the Lord God describes them in his “speech from the whirlwind” in Job (chapters 38–39). The horse is known for its might; it leaps “like the locust” and snorts majestically; “it paws violently, exults mightily, and goes out to meet the weapons”, all the while being fearless, raging fiercely, as it smells the battle and hears “the thunder of the captains” (Job 39:19–25).

When the trumpet sounds, calling the army into battle, the horse exclaims heach, a Hebrew word regularly translated simply as “aha!” (Job 39:25). Brown, Driver and Briggs note that this word is an “interjection (onomatopoetic) expressing joy”. Perhaps the horse thrives on the battle! But this a somewhat ironic use of the term, which generally has a pejorative sense. When the word appears in psalms, it clearly expresses ridicule, being used as a taunt of derision (Ps 35:21; 40:15; 70:3).

Nahum describes with poetic vigour “the crack of whip and rumble of wheel, galloping horse and bounding chariot, horsemen charging, flashing sword and glittering spear, piles of dead, heaps of corpses, dead bodies without end” (Nah 3:2–3). However, to the Psalmist, “the horse is without understanding”, for “its temper must be curbed with bit and bridle” (Ps 32:9), and the rider must always be ready with a whip (Prov 26:3). A later writer noted wistfully that, just as an “unbroken horse turns out stubborn, [so] an unchecked son turns out headstrong” (Sir 30:8).

As we have noted, in Israelite piety, “the war horse is a vain hope for victory” (Ps 33:17); although “the horse is made ready for the day of battle, the victory belongs to the Lord” (Prov 21:31) and the delight of the Lord “is not in the strength of the horse” (Ps 147:10). The horse exemplifies the folly of sinful Israel—those who “turn away in perpetual backsliding … do not speak honestly … no one repents of wickedness … all turn to their own course, like a horse plunging headlong into battle” (Jer 8:5–6). Such behaviour clearly undergirds the divine lament that “my people do not know the ordinance of the Lord” (Jer 8:7).

Indeed, a story told of the time when the people were in Exile in Persia, the scroll of Esther, has a scene in which a Jew, Mordecai, is clothed with royal robes and a royal crown and, seated on a horse from the royal stables, is led through the open square of the city, with a proclamation that he is to be obeyed (Esther 6:6–11).

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Earlier in the saga of Israel, recounting how the people of Israel came to take control of the land of Canaan, the “very many horses and chariots” of King Jabin of Hazor and the alliance of kings which he had gathered to stand against Joshua (Josh 11:1–5) proved not to be a barrier to the forces assembled by Joshua. The instructions to “hamstring their horses and burn their chariots with fire” are, it is said, executed precisely by Joshua and his “fighting force”, as he takes Hazor, “the head of all those kingdoms” (Josh 11:6–15)—a strategic victory in the conquest of the land.

Nevertheless, prophets employ references to horses both to indicate the power of the Lord (Isa 43:16–17; Jer 51:20–23). It is a horse bearing a rider “of frightening mien” who vanquished Heliopolis as he prepares to sack the Temple (2 Mac 3:25–28), thereby demonstrating “the sovereign power of God (2 Mac 3:28). Much later, in a Christian apocalypse, a series of horses appear to deliver vivid messages: a white horse “to conquer”; a red horse with “a great sword”, to wage war; a black horse, whose rider “held a pair of scales in his hand”; and a pale green horse “whose rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed with him” (Rev 6:1–8).

Later still, another white horse appears, whose rider leads an army to do battle with “the beast and the kings of the earth with their armies” (Rev 19:19). This climactic battle ends with “the beast” and “the false prophet” thrown into “the lackey of fire that burns with sulfur” and the others slaughtered to provide carrion for the hovering birds (Rev 19:20–21). The imagery is potent; the account is not, of course, intended to be either literal history or specific predictive prophecy.

It is a prophecy of Zechariah, writing during the period of return to the land of Israel after Exile in Babylon, that is then applied to Jesus by the writer of two of the Gospels, as he enters Jerusalem. In this prophecy, the victorious ruler does not ride a horse; he comes riding on a donkey. Zechariah, centuries earlier than Jesus, had informed the exiles returning to Judah that a ruler would soon come to usher in universal peace; “his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth” (Zech 9:10). This ruler arrives, “triumphant and victorious … humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Zech 9:9).

Indeed, the prophet declares that the king riding on a donkey “will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem” (Zech 9:10). The peaceful ruler will use force to rebut and destroy the weapons of warfare—chariots and horses. Thus the prophecy is seen to be particularly applicable to Jesus; it is cited at Matt 21:4–5 and John 12:14. So under no circumstances would Jesus, wishing to fulfil this prophecy, intending to place himself as the one chosen by God to bring in the kingdom, give consideration to riding on a horse. That would send all the wrong signals.

So we should not think that he considered this as an option. Nor would his followers, or the faithful people of Israel in the crowd that welcomed him as he enters the city, have thought that Jesus would appear riding on a horse. Not at all!!! So I hope this speculative idea doesn’t find its way into any sermons, this Palm Sunday!

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For further posts on the Palm Sunday story, see

https://johntsquires.com/2020/04/01/towards-palm-sunday-matt-21-riding-on-a-donkey-or-two-as-the-crowd-shouts-hosanna/

https://johntsquires.com/2020/04/02/towards-palm-sunday-matt-21-waving-branches-spreading-cloaks/

https://johntsquires.com/2020/04/03/towards-palm-sunday-matt-21-acclaiming-the-king-anticipating-the-kingdom/

Flesh and bones, spirit and life (Ezek 37, Psalm 130, Rom 8, John 11, Lent 5A)

On the Fifth Sunday in Lent, the scripture passages offered by the lectionary revolve around a central theme: life in contrast to death. It’s not every Sunday that all four passages line up to provide a clear and obvious focus on a single theme. For more than half of the Sundays in the year, the Hebrew Scripture, Epistle, and Gospel each follow their own course, and any overlap of theme is accidental, not planned. For Sundays in Advent, Christmas, and Lent, as well as key days like Pentecost, Trinity, and the Reign of Christ, the thematic overlap is intentional. This week we have just such a Sunday!

Death is at the heart of the story of Lazarus that forms the Gospel passage for Sunday (John 11:1–45). Initially, Jesus is told “he whom you love is ill” (John 11:3), but when he arrives in Bethany, Martha accosts him with “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (11:21)—an accusation repeated by her sister Mary (11:31); and then comes a graphic description provided by Martha as they draw near to the tomb: “already there is a stench because he has been dead four days” (11:39).

The emergence of Lazarus from the tomb marks a climactic moment, for the family in Bethany and many of their neighbours (11:44–45), but also for the chief priests and Pharisees, who together determine to put Jesus to death (11:53). The seventh sign recounted in this Gospel is the most significant miracle of Jesus, but also the deed that determines the fate of Jesus. Soon after this event in Bethany, he says, “I have come to this hour” (12:27), the hour when “I am lifted up from the earth, [when I] will draw all people to myself” (12:32), the hour when the Father will “glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you” (17:1). The death of Jesus is to be, paradoxically, the complete fulfilment of his mission (19:30)—the pathway into life eternal (3:16; 10:28; 17:3).

This climactic movement, of death moving to life in Bethany, resonates with the words of the prophet Ezekiel and also the writings of the apostle Paul that are offered for this coming Sunday. Ezekiel confronts the signs of death: “The Lord set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry” (Ezek 37:1–2). Paul considers the state of humanity: “to set the mind on the flesh is death … the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Rom 8:6–8).

So, death is in view in these three readings. It is no wonder that the psalm we are offered alongside them speaks a cry of deep despair: “out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord” (Ps 130:1). The depths of the earth were the place where sinful people went (Ps 63:9; Isa 14:15), following the lead of the Egyptians who pursued the Israelites and “went down into the depths like a stone” (Exod 5:4–5; Neh 9:11; Isa 63:11–13). There, in the depths, God’s anger burned (Deut 32:22).

However, those banished to the depths were able to be brought back from the depths by God’s decree (Ps 68:22; 71:20; 86:13), so the cry of the psalmist from the depths is followed by the plea, “Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!” (Ps 103:2). As the prophet Micah affirms, God’s steadfast love will rescue those who “lick dust like a snake,

like the crawling things of the earth”, and will indeed “cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” (Mic 7:17, 19). So the psalmist affirms, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope” (Ps 103:5).

Just as Lazarus emerges from the tomb where his dead body was laid, so Ezekiel foresees a wondrous revival amongst the dead bones of the people of Israel: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act,” says the Lord” (Ezek 37:11). The vision he sees emac s that dramatically. Likewise, Paul glimpses that same hope: “if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you” (Rom 8:11).

Both prophet and apostle hold to the hope enacted in the Gospel and articulated by the psalmist: “Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem. It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 103:7–8).

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Ezekiel was both a prophet and a priest (Ezek 1:3). He had been exiled to Babylon during the siege of Jerusalem by King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon (599 BCE; see 2 Kings 24:10–17). His prophetic activity was thus undertaken entirely in exile. He addresses both those in exile with him in Babylon, and also those left behind in Judah. His prophecies continue through the period when the people in Judah were conquered and taken to join Ezekiel in exile (587 BCE; see 2 Ki 25:1–21), and then for some time after that.

A dramatic vision opens the book, in which “the glory of God” appears in the form of a fiery, flaming chariot (1:4–28). Priestly attention to detail marks the account of this vision, whilst contains multiple allusions to other scriptural stories. The bright cloud and flashing fire evokes the scene on Mount Sinai, when God gave Moses the Law (Exod 19:16–19); the “burning coals of fire” (1:13) remind us of the burning coals in the scene of the call of Isaiah (Isa 6:6); and “the bow in the cloud on a rainy day” evokes the sign of the covenant made with Noah (Gen 9:12–17). In seeing this vision, Ezekiel has had a life-transforming experience!

Ezekiel is impelled to play his role as a prophet by “the hand of the Lord” (1:3; 3:22; 8:1; etc); indeed, he says, “the spirit lifted me up” (3:12). That same spirit continues to lift him up with regularity (8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5) to show him vision after vision. More than this, Ezekiel declares that “the spirit entered me” (3:24), a process which he promises will be experienced by Israel as a whole (36:26–28)—for the Lord says he will “pour out my spirit upon the house of Israel” (39:29).

This emphasis on the renewing spirit of God is seen, most dramatically, by Ezekiel when he is taken by the spirit into “the middle of a valley … full of bones” (37:1) and sees a vision that he conveys in what must be his most famous oracle. What Ezekiel sees in this valley of dry bones is the work of God, as God puts sinews and flesh and skin on the bones, and breathes into the bodies so created, so that they live (37:5–6, 8, 10).

The vision indicates what God will do: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil” (37:14). The end of the exile, it seems, is in sight. This passage is often interpreted in a Christian context as a pointer both to the resurrection of Jesus, and also to the general resurrection; indeed, its appearance on the Fifth Sunday in Lent means that it complements, and indeed illuminates, the dramatic story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life, as he approaches the tomb, and cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:38–44).

For Ezekiel, however, this vision is not a far-into-the-future prediction (foretelling), but a word of hope to the people in their immediate situation (forthtelling). Indeed, the very next section of this chapter reports a proclamation of Ezekiel which is quite directly forthtelling. The two sticks that he takes (37:16) stand for Judah and Israel; as he joins the sticks, so he points to the return of these peoples from their exile, their return “to their own land”, and a cleansing which will mean “they shall be my people, and I will be their God” (37:21–23, 27).

That final phrase is a common covenantal affirmation made by God (Lev 26:12; Ruth 1:16; Jer 7:23; 11:4; 24:7; 30:22; 31:1, 33; 32:38; Ezek 11:20; 14:11; 36:28; Zech 2:11; and Hos 1:10–11, overturning Hos 1:9). The reunited people shall have one king (37:24) and they will observe “an everlasting covenant” (37:26).

So the dramatic story that the prophet Ezekiel reports from his vision set in the middle of a valley full of dry bones is intended to speak directly into the life of the covenant people of God, the people of Israel, offering them hope despite their current circumstances.

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Paul also was commissioned for his task through a vision—reported in graphic terms by Luke, who makes the moment into a grand call-and-commissioning scene (Acts 9:3–8; 22:6–11; 26:12–18), but mentioned only briefly, in general terms, in passing by Paul himself (1 Cor 9:1; and perhaps Gal 1:1, 12). Of course, Luke was not present for this event, so he shaped in along the lines of classic call-and-commissioning narratives that existed in earlier Jewish writings. (I have explored this in detail in my commentary on Acts in the Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, 2003).

That vision turned Paul from persecutor of the followers of Jesus to an apostle fervently declaring “the good news of Jesus Christ” as far as possible, “from Jerusalem and as far around as Illyricum” (Rom 15:19). (Illyricum was a Roman province that covered the coastal area of the Balkans, northwest of Macedonia stretching towards Italy.) Paul delivers this good news in person to many communities, but he sets it out at length in his letter to believers in Rome, which he had not yet visited.

Paul is embued with the same hope that the psalmist and the prophet demonstrate. He rejoices with the Thessalonians that they share with him in “hope in our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thess 1:3), tells the Galatians that “through the Spirit, by faith, we eagerly waits for the hope of righteousness” (Gal 5:5), and reminds the Corinthians that “faith, hope and love abide” (1 Cor 13:13). In a subsequent letter to believers in Corinth, he asserts that “he who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to secure us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again” (2 Cor 1:10)

Paul reports to the Romans that “we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (Rom 4:2) and that it is “in hope that we were saved” (Rom 8:24). He affirms that it is “by steadfastness and the encouragement of the scriptures, we might have hope” (Rom 15:4), notes that scripture promises that “the root of Jesses shall come … in him the Gentiles shall hope” (Rom 15:12), and so characterises God as “the God of hope” (Rom 15:13). He shares in that strong hope which is sung by the psalmist and spoken by the prophet, and which is acted out in the Gospel reading for this Sunday.

Depths and heights, sea and dry land (Psalm 95; Lent 3A)

As we move through the season of Lent, in my own congregation we are meeting for daily prayers where the focus is on being “in the wilderness”. It’s a theme that is inspired by the Gospel from the First Sunday in Lent, when Jesus is led “into the wilderness” where he was tested. It is a story about becoming prepared for what lies ahead; Jesus would enter, after that wilderness time of engagement with The Tester, into the public ministry which is recorded in each of the Synoptic Gospels, when “he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons” (Mark 1:39).

As we journey through that (symbolic) wilderness during Lent, the scripture passages offered by the lectionary invite attention to key moments in the story of Israel (the Hebrew Scripture passages) and key encounters that Jesus had (the narratives from John’s Gospel), as well as a series of theological discussions from Paul (in his letter to the Romans).

And then we have the Psalms. This coming Sunday, Psalm 95 invites further reflection on God’s ways during this wilderness journey. It is a celebratory psalm, beginning “let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise … let us come into his presence with thanksgiving “ (Ps 95:1–2). The song continues in that same vein for a number of verses, celebrating God as “a great God” (v.3), creator of “the depths of the earth, the heights of the mountains … the sea … and the dry land” (vv.4–5), honouring him worshipfully as “our maker” (v.6) and inferring that God is the shepherd of all his people (v.7).

The celebration of God’s creative capacities in the the middle section of this psalm draws on themes which are regularly sounded by the Psalmist. God is celebrated as the “maker of heaven and earth” (Ps 134:3), the one who created “all mortals” (Ps 89:47), indeed all creatures (Ps 104:24–30), even “the north and the south” (Ps 89:12), “sun and moon, shining stars and highest heavens” (Ps 148:3–5). Second Isaiah evokes God as “creator of the ends of the earth” (Is 40:28) whilst Third Isaiah looks to God’s new creation, “new heavens and a new earth” (Isa 65:17–18).

In Proverbs, Wisdom marks off each of the elements noted in the psalm (depths and heights, sea and dry land) when she declares that “the Lord created me at the beginning of his work … when there were no depths, I was brought forth … before the mountains had been shaped … when he assigned to the sea its limit … when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker” (Prov 8:22–30).

The depths of the earth were the place where sinful people went (Ps 63:9; Isa 14:15), following the lead of the Egyptians who pursued the Israelites and “went down into the depths like a stone” (Exod 5:4–5; Neh 9:11; Isa 63:11–13). There, in the depths, God’s anger burned (Deut 32:22). However, those banished to the depths were able to be brought back from the depths by God’s decree (Ps 68:22; 71:20; 86:13), so in one psalm we hear the cry, “out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice” (Ps 130:1), and the prophet Micah affirms that God “will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” (Mic 7:19).

The heights are where the Lord God set the people once they had made their home in Israel, “atop the heights of the land … [where] he fed [them] with the produce of the land” (Deut 32:13; similarly, Isa 49:9; 58:14; Ezek 34:14). It is a place of security (2 Sam 22:34; Ps 18:33); indeed, “on the heights” is where Wisdom is to be found (Prov 8:2) and the Temple was built on the (relative) heights of Mount Zion, and so it is from “the holy height” that God looks down over the people (Ps 102:19).

However, for the prophet Jeremiah, “the bare heights” is the location for God’s judgement (Jer 12:12; 14:6). It is evident that, “on the heights”, the sinful people have “polluted the land” (Jer 3:2) and “perverted their way” (Jer 3:21). Accordingly, “a hot wind from me [comes] out of the bare heights in the desert … I speak in judgement against them” (Jer 4:11), for “on the bare heights the Lord has rejected and forsaken the generation that provoked his wrath” (Jer 7:29).

Just as the depths and the heights were parts of God’s good creation, so too the sea was integral to God’s creative works: “yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great” (Ps 104:25). Yet the sea was a threatening place for the people of Israel, accustomed to life on the land, planting grapevines and herding sheep in “the land of milk and honey”. The sea of reeds was the place of destruction for Egypt (Ps 114:1–8), although it was also the location of salvation for Israel, as is celebrated in David’s song of praise (2 Sam 22:1–4, repeated at Ps 18:6, 12–19).

The dangers of the sea which the Israelites escaped are detailed in Psalm 124, recalling the threat of floods sweeping them away, torrents rising over them, raging waters submerging them. That psalm concludes, with a sigh of relief, “our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth” (Ps 124:8). In the sea lurks the great sea monster, Leviathan (Job 3:8; Ps 104:26) of whom Job muses, “who can confront it and be safe” (Job 41:11). Only the Lord is able to subdue Leviathan (Ps 74:14; Isa 27:1).

For sailors, the sea could be a place of great danger (Ps 107:23–31)—the story of Jonah attests to this (Jon 1:4–17), as does the final trip of Paul as he is taken as a prisoner to Rome (Acts 27:14–20). Yet the power of the roaring sea, as majestic as it is, pales into insignificance beside the majesty of the Lord on high (Ps 93:3–4).

Just as the sea was a place of danger, so the dry land was a place of safety—as evidenced by the way the story of crossing the sea of reeds is told (Exod 14:21; Neh 9:11; Ps 66:6) and when Jonah is vomited up onto dry land by the fish (Jon 2:10). However, when the Psalmist finds themselves in “a dry and weary land where there is no water”, a prayer is offered to God because “my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you” (Ps 63:1). When linked with “the wilderness”, “the dry land” receives blessing from God, who will “make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water” (Isa 41:18) and “pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground” (Isa 44:3).

This opening section of the psalm might be seen to be a reworking of the creation narrative, crafted by the priests in the Exile, which is placed at the beginning of the Torah to signal its fundamental importance (Gen 1:1–2:4A). The deep” is initially covered by darkness, when “the earth was a formless void” (v.2), before God creates light. A dome is placed “in the midst of the waters” in order to separate the waters (v.6), and then God decrees, “let the waters under the dome be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear” (v.9). These were the fundamental building blocks for the intricate and complex creation which then evolved.

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After this celebration of creation—depths and heights, sea and dry land—there follows in Psalm 95 an exhortation directly to the people to “listen to his voice” (v.7b). The exhortation to listen is repeated often in Hebrew Scripture, in narratives (Exod 23:22; 1 Sam 15:1; 1 Ki 11:38), in works of wisdom (Job 37:2; Ps 81:11, 13; Prov 1:33; 8:32), and by various prophets (Isa 1:10; Jer 11:4; Ezek 40:4; Hos 4:1; 5:1; Joel 1:2; Amos 3:1; 4:1; 5:1; 7:16; 8:4; Mic 1:2; 3:9; 6:1; Mal 2:1–3).

The fundamental instruction to Israel throughout the long speech attributed to Moses in Deuteronomy is, “hear, O Israel” (Deut 5:1; 6:3; 9:1; 13:11; 20:3; 27:9); even the heavens and the earth are commanded to “give ear … hear the words of my mouth” (Deut 32:1). The Preacher advises, “to draw near to listen [to God] is better than sacrifice offered by fools” (Eccles 5:1), and The Sage instructs, “listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom for the future” (Prov 19:20).

Isaiah’s instruction to “listen to the teaching of our God” (Isa 1:10) is reiterated in both Second Isaiah (Isa 42:23; 46:3, 12; 48:12; 49:1; 51;1–7) and Third Isaiah (Isa 55:2–3; 66:6). Jeremiah is instructed to report God’s message to the people, “listen to my voice and do all that I command you” (Jer 11:4) recurs in later oracles (Jer 17:24–27; 26:1–6; 28:7).

The advice to Ezekiel, that “the house of Israel will not listen to you, for they are not willing to listen to me” (Ezek 3:7) leads to God’s severe warning, “I will act in wrath; my eye will not spare, nor will I have pity; and though they cry in my hearing with a loud voice, I will not listen to them” (Ezek 8:18; see also 13:19; 20:8; 20:39). Eventually, however, Ezekiel is commanded, “look closely and listen attentively … declare all that you see to the house of Israel” (Ezek 40:4)—which is precisely what he then does (Ezek 44:5–45:25; 46:1–18).

The instruction to listen is, of course, picked up by Jesus in his teachings (Mark 4:3, 9, 23; 7:14; 8:18; Matt 13:3, 16–17; 15:10; Luke 6:27; 8:8, 18, 21; 11:28; 13:32; 18:6; John 5:24; 8:47; 10:3, 16, 27; 14:24). At the Transfiguration, the disciples are instructed to “listen to him” (Mark 9:7; Matt 17:5; Luke 9:35).

The psalm as a whole ends on a sombre note, with a warning of God’s testing of Israel (vv.8–10) and a declaration that God’s punishment will stand (v.11). The note of exuberant celebration that marked the opening verses has dimmed. Yet the overall mood of the psalm is one of joyful appreciation of God’s creative works. It is a good reminder for us, to celebrate God’s creation, as we move though our (metaphorical) wilderness journey during Lent.

On the Pharisees: “to help the people to understand the Law”

History has been rather unfair to the Pharisees, and our view of them has been coloured by the way they are presented in the Gospels. Most of the evidence we have from New Testament times outside of the bible does suggest that the Pharisees on the whole did live as they taught, and that they were holy, compassionate and righteous men.

Flavius Josephus, a first century Jewish writer in the Roman court, describes the Pharisees as “affectionate to each other” and people who “cultivate harmonious relations with the community.” (Josephus, Jewish War book 2, with references to the Pharisees at 9-10, 122, 137–42, 152–53, 162–66). He has a positive appreciation of their function—and particularly contrasts them with the priestly Sadducees, whom he saw as boorish and elitist (as, indeed, many of his contemporaries might well also have thought).

It was not uncommon for the laws to be interpreted in various ways. The Pharisees had one interpretation, Jesus had another. This was normal Jewish behaviour. The Pharisees participated actively in this process through the roles that they had in towns and villages. Indeed, in later Jewish writings (such as the Mishnah and then the Talmud), there are many examples of one rabbi disputing with another in very vigorous ways. This was par for the course for the Pharisees and their successors, the rabbis.

Christianity has inherited a tradition of regarding the Pharisees as ‘legalistic’ or ‘hard-hearted’ (and many other stereotyped names in common use in the church). This tradition does not take into account the context in which the Gospels were written, and the tense relationship that existed between the early Christians and the various Jewish factions from which many of their numbers came. Originally, these early groups considered themselves as part of Judaism, which was a many-faceted faith. Many problems faced the early Christian communities, who were often persecuted by both gentile and Jewish authorities.

To understand the Pharisees, we need to understand that the central story of the people of Israel—the Exodus from Egypt—revolves around the holiness of God. Moses encountered God on holy ground (Exod 3:1–6); after he led the people through the parted waters, Miriam sang in praise of God’s holiness (Exod 15:11) and Moses then brokered the establishment of a covenant which recognised Israel as “a priestly kingdom and a holy nation” (Exod 19:5-6).

The various books of law which follow next in the Torah state that, just as God is holy, so the people of Israel are to be holy people (Lev 11:44–45; 19:2; Num 15:40-41; Deut 7:6; 14:2; 26:18-19; 28:9). One of these, the book of Leviticus, provides many specific details regarding what it means to live in accord with the Holiness Code of Israel (Lev 17—26). Many of these chapters detail the requirements necessary to ensure holiness at table, in eating food in accordance with the regulations provided; this was to be a regular and consistent sign of the holiness of Israel at each and every meal (Lev 11).

The oldest surviving copy of the Holiness Code,
found in the scroll known as the Paleo—Hebrew Leviticus scroll.

Central to this code was the building of a Temple to worship God; it was in the Holy of Holies within this Temple that God was believed to reside (Exod 26:31–37; Lev 16:1–2) and all activities associated with the Temple required preparation that ensured that the holiness of the place would not be breached. The prophet Isaiah, whilst in the Temple, experienced a vision of God: “holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts” (Isa 6:3), and the Psalms often assert the holiness of God in his temple (Ps 11:4; 24:3–4; 48:1; 99:1–5,9).

Those who ministered to God within the Temple, as priests, were to be especially concerned about holiness in their daily life and regular activities (Exod 28—29; Lev 8—9). Another way in which a commitment to holiness was regularly demonstrated by the people of Israel was in the practice of Sabbath rest—a practice uncommon in other societies of the day. The seventh day was to be a day of rest in remembrance of God’s rest after six days of creation (Exod 20:8–11); it was a holy day (Exod 31:12–17; Lev 23:1–3).

The scribal Pharisees specialised in the interpretation of Torah and in the application of Torah to ensure that holiness was observed in daily living. In contrast to the Sadducees, the Pharisees were very popular amongst the ordinary Jewish folk. This may well have been because they undertook the highly significant task of showing how the Torah was relevant to the daily life of Jewish people. The story of Ezra, told in Nehemiah 8, gives an example of this in practice, referring especially those who “helped the people to understand the law” (Neh 8:7).

Whilst the priests upheld the Torah as the ultimate set of rules for operating the Temple, the Pharisees showed how the Torah could be applied to every aspect of daily life as a Jew. Most Jews went to the Temple only rarely—and found it to be an expensive enterprise when they got there! But in seeking guidance for daily life, the people were greatly helped by those skilled interpreters of Torah, the scribes and the Pharisees. Josephus comments that the Pharisees were usually held in high regard by the ordinary people of the day.

Since nine out of every ten persons could not read, the importance of scribes—literate, educated, and sympathetic—could not be underestimated. Whilst the Pharisees clustered around towns in Judea, the scribes were to be found in the synagogues of villages throughout greater Israel, and indeed in any place where Jews were settled. Their task was to educate the people as to the ways of holiness that were commanded in the Torah. It was possible, they argued, to live as God’s holy people at every point of one’s life, quite apart from any pilgrimages made to the Temple in Jerusalem.

Over time, the Pharisees and scribes developed particular methods for interpreting the Torah; many of these methods are reflected within the New Testament, as it seems that Paul, each of the Gospel writers, and even Jesus himself, were familiar with such methods of interpretation. Associated with this, the Pharisees and scribes devoted much time to verbal discussion of the written texts of Torah. Later written accounts of these oral debates reflect the intensity of fervent debate that apparently took place; so, too, do many accounts of Jesus in debate with the scribes and Pharisees (see especially Luke 11:37–54; Matt 23:1–36).

Thus, the accumulated body of these oral discussions and debates was accorded a certain authority in its own right. Eventually, the claim was made that the oral teachings were of similar importance to the written text; the Pharisees were said to have had an “oral Torah” alongside the written Torah. Debate over this matter is reflected in texts such as Mark 7 and Matt 15.

*****

Remember, it is unfair to continue the stereotype found in both older academic Christian scholarship and in popular Christian tradition—the stereotype that the Judaism of the time of Jesus was a harsh, legalistic, rigid religion—precisely because of the claimed “hardness of heart” of the Pharisees in their debates with Jesus. This stereotype was particularly developed by German scholars in the midst of the growing antisemitism in 19^th and early 20^th century Germany, culminating in the Shoah or Holocaust.

This stereotype has been heightened by an unquestioning acceptance of the New Testament caricature of the Pharisees as hypocritical legalists who made heavy demands but had no soul commitment to their faith. It was claimed that they were the leaders of a static, dying religion. This stereotype has been completely demolished in recent decades—both through the growing interaction between Christian and Jewish scholarship, and also through a more critical reading of the relevant primary texts.

Blessings and greatness: a promise for the ages (Gen 12; Lent 2A)

This year during the season of Lent, the Gospel readings offer a series of narratives which describe encounters that Jesus had (largely from the Gospel according to John). In parallel to those stories, in the Hebrew Scripture readings, the lectionary offers a sequence of passages telling some of the key moments in the story of Israel (from Genesis, Exodus, 1 Samuel, and Ezekiel),

This sequence of key moments in the story of Israel offers a series of vignettes of faithful people from the past—our ancestors in the faith who stand as role models to encourage us, centuries later, in our own journey of faith. They are figures which are worth holding up for our reflection and consideration. These stories each have the function of an aetiology—that is, a mythic story which is told to explain the origins of something that is important in the time of the storyteller.

The online Oxford Classical Dictionary defines the term as follows: “Aetiology in religion and mythology refers to an explanation, normally in narrative form (hence ‘aetiological myth’), of a practice, epithet, monument, or similar.” Whilst telling of something that is presented as happening long back in the past, the focus is on present experiences and realities, for “such explanations elucidate something known in the contemporary world by reference to an event in the mythical past”.

See https://oxfordre.com/classics/display/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-7050;jsessionid=3DB38C42C54D01E1CBFA8682FB55DA4C

The ancestral narratives of Israel (Gen 12–50), as well as the series of books known as “the historical narratives” (Exodus to 2 Kings, Ezra—Nehemiah) are all written at a time much later that the presumed events which they narrate. The final form of the books as we have them most likely date to the Exile or post-exilic times, although pre-existing sources would have been used for many of these stories. (There are specific references to earlier written documents—now lost to us—scattered throughout 1—2 Kings.)

Those older stories were remembered, retold, and then written down, because they spoke into the present experiences of the writers. Common scholarly belief is that the stories found in Gen 12–50 were originally oral tales, that were collected together, told and retold over the years, and ultimately written down in one scroll, that we today call Genesis.

*****

For this coming Sunday, we are offered the account of the calling of Abram, who journeys into a new future (Gen 12:1–4a, Lent 2A). This has been a key passage for Jews throughout the centuries; Abram is remembered and honoured as “the father of the nation”—indeed, as “the father of all nations”; and this passage claims that it was God’s intention to grant the blessing of abundant descendants to Abram and his wife, to fulfil this promise.

The passage is found after the opening 11 chapters, which are often labelled the “Primeval History”, since they recount the creation of the world and the sequence of events which were fundamental for understanding human existence (such as human sinfulness and conflict, the expansion of humanity, the great flood, the growth of tribal entities, and the diversification of languages).

The passage also stands at the head of those stories, originally oral, which were collected because they revealed much about the nature of Israel as a people and as a nation. These chapters tell stories about the patriarchs and their wives (Abram and Sarai, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Leah and Rachel). This particular passage introduces key themes for the people of Israel.

A word of caution: the lectionary stops in the middle of verse 4: “Abram went, as the LORD had told him; and Lot went with him”. To be fair, however, we need to read beyond the point where the lectionary ends this passage; that selection indicates that Abram took Lot with him, but the narrative actually continues, indicating that Abram travelled with his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot, “and all the possessions that they had gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran; and they set forth to go to the land of Canaan” (Gen 12:5).

The lectionary is, sadly, blatantly sexist at this point: it includes the names of the two leading males, Abram and Lot, but fails to note that they travelled with their spouses, Sarai and the (always unnamed) wife of Lot; and indeed there is reference to the presence of many others with them in their journey, which would undoubtedly have included both males and females within the extended family grouping. We need to read this ancient aetiology with a contemporary critical awareness. Certainly, the faith of Abram and Sarai and their extended family is a key message conveyed by this passage.

The story explains four important aspects of life and faith for the people of ancient Israel and on into contemporary Judaism: the land is given to this people, the people (of Israel) will become “a great nation”, the name (of Abram) will be blessed, and the descendants of Abram, “all the families of the earth”, will likewise be blessed. These four points—land, people, name, descendants—loom large throughout the history of Israel. Indeed, they maintain their potency into the present age—and need to be read and understood with political and cultural sensitivity today.

*****

The story makes it clear that the land of Canaan was given by God to Abram and his descendants. As the story continues beyond the section offered by the lectionary, “they set forth to go to the land of Canaan. When they had come to the land of Canaan, Abram passed through the land to the place at Shechem, to the oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. Then the LORD appeared to Abram, and said, ‘To your offspring I will give this land.’ So he built there an altar to the LORD, who had appeared to him.” (Gen 12:5–7).

Laying claim to the land of Canaan us a thread that runs through Hebrew Scripture. The promise of land is repeated in the covenant with Abram: “your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates, the land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites, and the Jebusites” (Gen 15:18–21). The long list of names of those inhabiting this land indicates the extent to which this promise would prove to be disruptive for these peoples.

The promise to Abraham was confirmed to Isaac (Gen 26:3) and to Jacob (Gen 28:13), and the full extent of the promised land was set out in Exodus 23:31, “from the Red Sea to the sea of the Philistines, and from the wilderness to the Euphrates”. By the time of the United Kingdom, it is said that “Solomon was sovereign over all the kingdoms from the Euphrates to the land of the Philistines, even to the border of Egypt” (1 Ki 4:21).

The disruption to the inhabitants from the invasion and colonisation by the incoming Israelites is told in detail through the book of Joshua, when the people enter the land and cause havoc for the inhabitants; and the book of Joshua, indicating how the “settlement” of the land required centuries of battles and conflicts.

When first the northern kingdom, then the southern kingdom each went into Exile, the yearning to return to the land was strong. When Jeremiah buys a field in his hometown of Anathoth from his cousin Hanamel (Jer 32:1–15), 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” (Jer 32:15).

Ezekiel, speaking for God, declares that the people “shall know that I am the Lord their God because I sent them into exile among the nations, and then gathered them into their own land. I will leave none of them behind; and I will never again hide my face from them, when I pour out my spirit upon the house of Israel, says the Lord God” (Ezek 39:28–29).

As a sign of his confidence that God will maintain his commitment to Israel, Ezekiel tells in detail his vision of the new temple that would, he believed, be built in the land (40:1–43:27), as well as the role of the Levitical priests in that temple (44:15–31) and various provisions that would be in force after the return to the land (45:1–46:24).

Third Isaiah predicts that “your people shall all be righteous; they shall possess the land forever” (Isa 60:21); he speaks of a time when “they shall bring all your kindred from all the nations as an offering to the Lord, on horses, and in chariots, and in litters, and on mules, and on dromedaries, to my holy mountain Jerusalem, says the Lord” (Isa 66:20). The focus on the land is a strong thread running throughout Hebrew Scripture.

*****

The claim that the people of Israel have made for their land has been contentious throughout history—not least in the last 80 years, since the post-WWII settlement re-established the modern state of Israel in this precise area. This return of the Jews to their homeland after World War Two was implemented with little concern for what it would mean for the people who had long lived in the area—those now identified as the Palestinians.

The term Palestinian is ancient term, being used by the Greek historian Herodotus five centuries before the common era (BCE) to designate “a district of Syria, called Palaistinê” between Phoenicia and Egypt” (Histories 1.105). The term was subsequently used by numerous Greek and Roman writers.

In the early 2nd century CE, the term “Syria Palestina” (literally, “Palestinian Syria”) was given to the Roman province of Judea, which had been the area ruled over by kings of the Southern Kingdom after the time of Solomon. This occurred after the uprising led by Bar Kochba—so the designation was for a land which no longer had many Jewish inhabitants.

In putting down the Jewish uprising, the Romans had also removed Jews from Jerusalem and the surrounding rural areas, which they renamed Colonia Aelia Capitolina. Aelia came from Hadrian’s nomen designating his gens, Aelius, while Capitolina indicated that the city formerly known as Jerusalem was dedicated to Jupiter Capitolinus, to whom a newly-built temple was dedicated.

So the contest between ‘Israel’ and ‘Palestine’ was an ancient enmity which was revived and intensified from 1948 onwards. The homeland had been given to the Jews in the aftermath of the Shoah, also called the Holocaust, perpetrated by Nazi Germany and its sympathisers. For Palestinians, yet he establishment of the Nakba, a period in which the displacement of many local populations has taken place. Unfortunately, and unjustly, this continues even today under the Israeli Government’s policy of continuing to establish new settler areas.

So whilst the passage about Abram and Sarai setting off, exuding hope and demonstrating trust in God’s promise, is a fine reminder of the need to have trust in Hod and to set our in faith in new directions in our discipleship, it is also now a fraught and contested word, given how it has been used to justify events millennia later. Let us speak of this passage with care.

*****

I am so pleased that my own church, the Uniting Church in Australia, has been thinking about our relationship with the Jewish People for a number of decades now, a nd that has included giving careful consideration to issues surrounding the land—both historical claims and current realities.

In 1997, a working group (of which I was a member) had presented a Statement to the national body of the church, the Assembly, in which these matters had been canvassed. The Assembly agreed to invite Uniting Church bodies and members to give consideration to these matters:

7.9 that the Jewish people have a particular historical, cultural, emotional and spiritual bond with the land of Israel, which is a central element of the Jewish faith, and which is inextricably bound to the history of the Jewish People;

7.10 that the historic roots, rights and aspirations of the Palestinian people must be properly acknowledged;

7.11 that from a properly informed position, and in the light of the moral tradition of Christianity, it can be appropriate for the Uniting Church to have and express a view about both Israeli and Palestinian policies and actions;

7.12 that the search for a just and lasting peace for all states and peoples in the Middle East merits prayerful engagement on the part of all Christians

See https://www.jcrelations.net/statements/statement/inviting-the-members-of-the-uniting-church-in-australia-to-ongoing-dialogue.html

In obedience to that guidance, whilst I was a member and, for a time, co-convenor of the Uniting Church’s National Dialogue with the Jewish Community, I took part in many vigorous discussions relating to these issues. I listened and learnt, as well as speaking, in those discussions.

In 2009, the Assembly received and adopted a full Statement on Jews and Judaism in which it reiterated “that the State of Israel and a Palestinian State each have the right to live side by side in peace and security”. See https://assembly.uca.org.au/rof/resources/learn-more/item/download/1109_09f709cccf49d83607c92e31d650d581

In 2011, following the work of another working group (of which I was also a member), the President and General Secretary issued an invitation to Uniting Church members “to consider taking peaceful action toward a resolution to the conflict”; it included a comprehensive set of suggested actions, including prayers, advocating with MPs, inviting speakers, supporting a relief or development project in the West Bank or Gaza, and supporting a boycott of goods produced in the illegal Israeli settlements in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. This was published under the heading of A Prayer for Peace, at https://assembly.uca.org.au/images/Ministries/ROF/images/stories/A_Prayer_For_Peace_Information_PageED.pdf

*****

Abram and Sarai stepped out in faith. That is a wonderful role model for us to emulate. Where they went, and what their descendants did, has given us pause for consideration. How do we venture into the new in ways that do not damage others?

Scripture debate and disputation in the wilderness (Matt 4; Lent 1A)

My earlier contention was that the story we are offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, the first Sunday in Lent (Matt 4:1–1), should be read as a story of testing, not tempting. See

https://johntsquires.com/2023/02/23/testing-not-temptation-in-the-wilderness-matt-4-lent-1a/

***

Which leads to the question, what is it, that Jesus is being tested about? How does this story contribute to our understanding of what God was wanting, and planning, to do through the public activities of Jesus, in Galilee and then in Jerusalem?

The devil, as “the tester”, utilised scripture as the basis for the trial that Jesus is undertaking. And this, it must be said, is thoroughly predictable—given that we are dealing with a text from the first century of the common era, emerging out of the context of faithful Judaism, telling the story of a faithful Jewish man, Jesus, and his earliest circle of followers, all Jewish men and women. They all express the piety and faith of the Judaism of the time, for that was their religion and their culture.

Scripture sits at the heart of Jewish life and faith. Young Jewish boys, like Jesus, were taught to read the Hebrew text of scripture, and to memorise it. They were grounded in Torah, the books of the Law, which set out the way of life, the way of faithful living, that they were to follow. They needed to know this, to have it deep within their hearts. That would have been the upbringing experienced by Jesus.

As they grew older, these Jewish boys were taught the next stage, the midrashim, the teachings which provided explanation and application of the laws and stories embedded in Torah. There were two types of midrashim. The first was haggadah, which was telling stories; the Jewish teachers, the Pharisees, who became acknowledged over time as the rabbis, were excellent at telling stories, and Jesus learnt well from their examples.

The second was halakah, which was discussion and debate about how best to interpret and apply the laws found in Torah. It is this latter form of teaching that we encounter, in the story of the forty days in the wilderness. The back and forth between the person on trial—Jesus—and the person charged with testing and probing his case—the accuser—is couched entirely in terms of sacred scripture. Each time an accusation is put before Jesus, the accuser quotes a passage of scripture. And each time the person on trial—Jesus—responds, another text from sacred scripture is quoted.

Think about that for a minute: both the accuser and the accused are citing scripture, arguing on the basis of what is found in the tradition and heritage and sacred story of the people of Israel. They are both engaged in this task, to get to the heart of the matter; to penetrate to the essence of the issue, through exploration of scripture and its relevance to Jesus and his mission.

This is typical Jewish midrashic argumentation. This is the way that, throughout the centuries, Jews have sought to encounter the truths of scripture—through discussion and debate, by one person posing a proposition and then another person arguing back in counter-proposition, through the adding of additional scripture passages into the argument, in a process of refining, sharpening, and clarifying the intent of the initial scripture text.

This was par for the course for ancient Jews. This is still the way that faithful Jews engage with scripture. My years as a member of the Uniting Church Dialogue with the Jewish Community immersed me into precisely this culture on a regular basis. It was quite an experience! To us polite, constrained Westerners, it seems like an unruly mess. To Jews, schooled in this process since their early years, it is natural, and results in deep and profound understandings of scripture.

*****

The specific scripture texts that are cited in the course of this testing are significant. They are the same in each extended version that we have (Matt 4, and Luke 4), albeit cited in a different order. And each of the three testing moments, with the associated scripture texts that are cited, relate to key moments in the story of Israel in the wilderness during their forty years of wandering. (I am indebted to my wife, the Rev. Elizabeth Raine, for this insight.)

Understanding the significance of each testing comes when we look more closely at the passages to which Jesus refers, and explore the resonances and connections that those texts have with other biblical passages. Just as Israel (the child of God) is tested during their forty years in the wilderness, so Jesus (the son of God) revisits those testings in his forty days in the wilderness.

The first moment of testing relates to bread: “command these stones to become loaves of bread”. The story evoked is that concerning the gift of manna which was given to the people of Israel as they sojourned in the wilderness. It is told in Numbers and referred to quite directly in Deut 8:3, the verse which is part-quoted by Jesus in the testing narrative, people do not live by bread alone. Could the mission of Jesus be diverted into concerns about sustenance and immediate survival, rather than longer-term strategies?

The second moment of testing, on the top of a mountain, relates to worship, and the recognition of the special and supreme place of the Lord God. The offer, “all these [kingdoms] I will give you”, is met by another quotation, by Jesus, from the same book: it is the Lord your God you shall fear; him you shall serve (Deut 6:13).

The story of the Golden Calf, told in detail in Exodus 32, sits behind this particular test. It is alluded to, perhaps not quite so directly this time, in Deut 6:14-15, the verses which come immediately after the verse quoted by Jesus. The incident involving the Golden Calf was when Israel “went off the rails”, developing an idol for the focus of their worship, rather than being focussed on God alone. The testing faced by Jesus was for him to gain power and authority in his own right, at the expense of serving the greater call that God had placed on his life.

The words of the tester in this second testing evoke the belief that God is able to allocate power and authority. The words of the tester explicitly resound with the claim made twice about the supreme authority of the Lord God, as reported in Jeremiah: “It was I who made the earth, human being and beast on the face of the earth, by my great power, with my outstretched arm; and I can give them to whomever I think fit” (Jer 27:5); and “Ah, my Lord God! You made the heavens and the earth with your great power and your outstretched arm; nothing is too difficult for you” (Jer 32:17).

The tempter has taken on the persona of God in this test. Jesus forcefully denies this test: it is the Lord your God you shall fear; him you shall serve.

The third and final test, placed on the pinnacle of the Temple, pits the possibility of testing God against the alternative of trusting absolutely in God. The tester’s challenge to Jesus, to “throw yourself down”, and the implication that God would save him (quoting Psalm 91) evokes the response from Jesus, quoting Deut 6:16, you shall not put the Lord your God to the test.

Test God … or Trust God? That was the age-old dilemma for Israel, noted at a number of points in the wilderness stories (for instance, Exod 17:2; Deut 6:16; Ps 106:14). It is one that Jesus himself encounters as the climax, in the Lukan version, of his wilderness testing.

The third Deuteronomy passage cited by Jesus, you shall not put the Lord your God to the test (Deut 6:16), comes immediately after the recital of The Ten Words which were given to Israel, through Moses, on Mount Sinai (Deut 5:1–21). As the scripture reports, Moses instructed the people to trust God by living in accordance with these words, for this was the way to life for them (Deut 5:27, 32–33).

So, to assist them in this enterprise, The Ten Words are then boiled down to One Great Commandment, love the Lord your God (Deut 6:5). This was a commandment which Jesus himself quoted and highlighted in debates with Jewish teachers (Mark 12:28–30; Matt 22:34–37; Luke 10:27). Indeed, in Matthew’s version of such a debate, Jesus identified this Word as “the greatest and first commandment” (Matt 22:38) on which “all the law and the prophets hang” (Matt 22:40).

This prime commitment, to God first and foremost, is what is alluded to by the citation that Jesus makes in his third testing. It is a test to see if he will divert from this singular focus.

This story of testing in the wilderness presents a communal challenge, and requires a communal commitment. The personal identity of Jesus, in the mission to which he is called, is found in the context of the communal identity of the people of Israel, who faced precisely these tests—and failed, in the accounts we have in Hebrew Scripture. The testings of Jesus are a reworking of those ancient testings; he is faced with the same tests—and passes them, in the accounts we have in Christian scriptures. That is the model we are offered through this story.

Tracing the saga of faithful people during Lent (Year A)

This year during the season of Lent, the Gospel readings offer a series of narratives which describe encounters that Jesus had (largely from the Gospel according to John). We hear of Jesus in dialogue with the devil in the desert (Matt 4, Lent 1), a Pharisee in Jerusalem (John 3, Lent 2), and a woman by a well in Samaria (John 4, Lent 3).

We then learn of a blind man to whom Jesus brings the gift of sight (John 9, Lent 4) and a dead man whom Jesus brings back to life (John 11, Lent 5), before we come to the annual retelling of the familiar story of Jesus, riding a donkey, entering the city of Jerusalem, to the cheers of the crowd (Matt 21, Lent 6 or Palm Sunday).

These stories tell of people who mostly, as a result of their encounters with Jesus, have their faith in God strengthened—the Pharisee, Nicodemus, at John 7:50 and 19:39; the woman of Samaria at 4:29, 39; the healed blind man at 9:17, 33; Martha, the sister of Lazarus at 11:27, and presumably Lazarus, as 12:10–11 may indicate; and the joyful crowd, at Matt 21:9–11. I am posting blogs on each of these readings as they come, in sequence, throughout Lent.

Alongside these well-known readings from the New Testament, the lectionary offers another sequence of rich readings from Hebrew Scripture. Starting with the story of the first man and first woman (Gen 2-3, Lent 1), we read in turn of four key moments in the story of Israel. This sequence begins with God’s call to Abram (Gen 12, Lent 2), followed the gift of water given to the Israelites as Moses leads them in the wilderness (Exod 17, Lent 3), and the story of the anointing of David as king (1 Sam 16, Lent 4).

The next moment is set during the Exile in Babylon (Ezek 37, Lent 5), when Ezekiel speaks a prophecy which assures Israel of a hopeful future: “I will put my spirit within you … and I will place you on your own soil” (Ezek 37:14). This reading sits neatly with the account of the raising of Lazarus (John 11) which appears alongside it on Lent 5.

For the celebration of Palm Sunday on Lent 6, there is only one Hebrew Scripture reading—Psalm 118, the psalm which the crowd is singing as Jesus enters Jerusalem: “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (Ps 118:26; Matt 21:9). If, on the other hand, the Liturgy of the Passion is the focus of that Sunday, then the Hebrew Scripture passage is Isaiah 50:4–9a, the third of four songs attributed to The Servant, who declares that “the Lord has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word” (Isa 50:4).

The sequence of key moments in the story of Israel offers a series of vignettes of faithful people from the last—our ancestors in the faith who stand as role models to encourage us, centuries later, in our own journey of faith. They are figures which are worth holding up for our reflection and consideration. These stories each have the function of an aetiology—that is, a mythic story which is told to explain the origins of something that is important in the time of the storyteller.

See https://oxfordre.com/classics/display/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-7050;jsessionid=3DB38C42C54D01E1CBFA8682FB55DA4C

The ancestral narratives of Israel (Gen 12–50), as well as the series of books known as “the historical narratives” (Exodus to 2 Kings, Ezra—Nehemiah) are all written at a time much later that the presumed events which they narrate. The final form of the books as we have them most likely date to the Exile or post-exilic times, although pre-existing sources would have been used for many of these stories. Those older stories are remembered, retold, and then written, because they speak into the present experiences of the writers.

[Evidence for this is found, for instances, in references throughout the two books of Kings to “the Books of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel” (1 Kings 14:19; 15:31; 16:5, 14, 20, 27; 22:39; 2 Kings 1:18; 10:34; 13:8, 12; 14:15, 28; 15:11, 15, 21, 26, 31), “the Books of Chronicles of the Kings of Judah” (1 Kings 14:29; 15:7, 23; 22:45; 2 Kings 8:23; 12:19; 14:18; 15:6, 36; 16:19; 20:20; 21:17, 25; 23:28; 24:5), and “the Book of the Chronicles of Solomon” (1 Kings 11:41). Many stories in other books may well be derived from oral tellings in past times.]

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The sequence of Hebrew Scripture readings in Lent begins with an aetiology which attempts to explain the place of humanity within God’s good creation, as well as offering an explanation for the presence of evil in the world (Gen 2:15–17; 3:1–7, Lent 1A). We need to read such a narrative with critical care; it is not an historical narrative, but it is a myth in the best sense of that word, a story told with creativity to explain aspects of contemporary life (for the writer) which may well hold good for later generations—but which need to be read with awareness of emerging insights in human knowledge over time.

Second in this sequence is the account of the calling of Abram, who journeys into a new future (Gen 12:1–4a, Lent 2A). We need to read beyond the point where the lectionary ends this passage; that selection indicates that Abram took Lot with him, but the narrative actually continues, indicating that Abram travelled with his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot, “and all the possessions that they had gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran; and they set forth to go to the land of Canaan” (Gen 12:5).

The lectionary is, sadly, blatantly sexist at this point: it includes the names of the two leading males, but omits noting that they travelled with their spouses, and indeed the reference to the presence of many others with them in their journey. We need to read this ancient aetiology with a contemporary critical awareness. Certainly, the faith of Abram and Sarai and their extended family is a key message conveyed by this passage.

After Abram and Sarai comes Moses and the people he is leading in the wilderness (Exod 17, Lent 3A). The long saga of the Exodus, the wanderings in the wilderness, the giving of the Law, and the understandings of the details of that Law, receives attention throughout four of the five books of the Torah (Exodus to Deuteronomy).

This particular incident in that long saga focusses on the providential care that the Lord God gives to the people of Israel during those “forty years in the wilderness”. The giving of water in the wilderness at Massah and Meribah (Exod 17) sits alongside the giving of manna and quails in the wilderness of Sin (Exod 16; Num 11). The model to emulate here is the faithful Moses, holding fast to the promise given to him by the Lord God, in the face of the complaining of the people (Exod 16:3, 6–7; 17:2–3, 7; Num 11:1–6; 14:27).

Next in the sequence of faithful people is David, chosen and anointed as king (1 Sam 16, Lent 4A). The passage offered by the lectionary tells of how David, the youngest of Jesse’s eight sons, was chosen by the prophet Samuel for the role of King, even while Saul was occupying that position. David will feature as a key player in the stories about the ensuing years, as “the house of David” is established and Jerusalem is developed as his capital city; and of course his place as the nominal author of the book of Psalms also ensures his leading role on Jewish tradition.

Next in order is the best-known prophecy of Ezekiel, the priest called to be prophet (Ezek 1:3). Ezekiel had been exiled to Babylon during the siege of Jerusalem by King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon (599 BCE; see 2 Kings 24:10–17). His prophetic activity was thus undertaken entirely in exile. He addresses both those in exile with him in Babylon, and also those left behind in Judah. His prophecies continue through the period when the people in Judah were conquered and taken to join Ezekiel in exile (587 BCE; see 2 Ki 25:1–21), and then for some time after that.

Ezekiel had declared that “the spirit entered me” (3:24), a process which he promises will be experienced by Israel as a whole (36:26–28)—for the Lord says he will “pour out my spirit upon the house of Israel” (39:29). This emphasis on the renewing spirit of God is seen, most dramatically, by Ezekiel when he is taken by the spirit into “the middle of a valley … full of bones” (37:1) and sees a vision that he conveys in what must be his most famous oracle (Ezek 37:1–14, Lent 5A). What Ezekiel sees in this valley of dry bones is the work of God, as God puts sinews and flesh and skin on the bones, and breathes into the bodies so created, so that they live (37:5–6, 8, 10).

The vision indicates what God will do: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil” (37:14). The end of the exile, it seems, is in sight. This passage is often interpreted in a Christian context as a pointer both to the resurrection of Jesus, and also to the general resurrection; for Ezekiel, however, it is not a far-into-the-future prediction (foretelling), but a word of hope to the people in their immediate situation (forthtelling).

The sequence ends, of course, with the example of Jesus, riding steadfastly towards the city of Jerusalem (Matt 21:1–11, Lent 6A). That is the city where Jesus knows, and has already revealed, the fate in store for him: “see, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified; and on the third day he will be raised” (Matt 20:18–19).

Why did Jesus continue into the city, knowing this in advance? That’s a fascinating question, worthy of later consideration. For the moment, in this series of passages, we simply note his determined faithfulness and commitment to the task to which he had been called. He is the final figure of faithful commitment in the series that the lectionary takes us through during the season of Lent.

Between a rock and a hard place: a reflection for Ash Wednesday Year A

So here we are, caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock and the hard place are provided, in the lectionary which we follow, by the Sunday readings which bookmark this day, from the last Sunday of Epiphany, before today, and the first Sunday of Lent, after today.

Matthew 17

This is the rock. It is encountered on the top of the mountain. The mountain, of course, was made of rock. And yet, this is not the hard igneous rock, or the more malleable sedimentary rock, which presses against us, from the story. For it was on this mountain, the traditional place of encounter with the Holy One, blessed be he, the place where revelation of the Divine would take place, that the rock of belief in Jesus was shaped, and made manifest, and imprinted on the minds and hearts of the disciples who were there.

For on the top of the rock, Jesus was seen to be a great one, comfortably at home alongside the existing greats of the faith, Elijah the prophet and Moses the Lawgiver. On the mountain was the place of glorious revelation, as a magically translucent light shone forth, from Jesus, over the disciples, conveying penetrating insight, illuminating a divine truth, revealing the essence of Jesus: “This is. my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” He was, then not only among the great ones; he was the great one.

But such revelation, as gloriously indulgent as it might seem, also brings a sharp edge: the confrontation of standing in the very presence of the glory of the Holy One, blessed be He, the challenge of knowing that, once you have seen this reality, your life will be different. There is no turning back. You are now a follower of the man of Nazareth; a man who has the capacity to bring you closer than you ever imagined into the awesome and awful presence of the holy one, blessed be his name. You are marked, charged, and equipped for the life of discipleship by virtue of the vision in the rock which has claimed you as God’s.

That is the rock. What of the hard place?

Matthew 4

The hard place is out in the wilderness, away from the towns, in the desert area which appears, to all intents and purposes, to be harsh, stringent, and utterly challenging to life. It is the place where Israel struggled, complained, and debated, for “a heaps long, long time” (that’s my translation of forty years). And it’s the place where Jesus struggled, debated, and resisted, for “a mighty long time” (that is, in biblical-speak, for forty days).

Of course, it was in the wilderness that Israel came to know its essential identity: a people, beloved by God, rescued from slavery, called into covenant, equipped for the battles of entry into the land, as the great myth from the past declared. “You shall be my people, and I shall be your God”, and so the terms of the covenant were sealed.

And it was in the wilderness that Jesus came to know his destiny and the integrity of his life: as the one who was not the showman, turning stones into bread; as the one who was not the magician, able to levitate, float, defy gravity; and as the one who was not invested with power and authority to trump his greatness over the peoples of the earth. It was in the wilderness that Jesus came to know his identity as the Son of the Holy One, blessed be he; and to know of his mission as the one specifically chosen by that Holy One, blessed be he.

From this time on, says Matthew, Jesus preached his ominous clarion call: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” And the pressing urgency of this message, the confrontation of this call, scratches at our ears and agitates our hearts. How can we not be disturbed by this Gospel? “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

How can we not feel hard pressed, faithfully following the man of Nazareth, yet dazzled by his demanding call, joyously celebrating his transfigured glory, yet humbled by the mission of repentance, to which he insistently invites us.

So Lent offers a time of reflection, perhaps of sacrificial abstinence. A call to follow, knowing that this is no ordinary journey, this is no ordinary man. Each one of us has been stirred, provoked, perhaps upended, by just such a call. We are caught in between a rock and a hard place, between the joy of being in the presence of the transfigured one, and the dawning reality of just what it will mean to repent, to turn around, to engage in the mission. And that is what Lent will offer us, each day, each week, through this period of preparation.

May you be faithful to respond to the call, to experience and endure and appreciate what it means to be squeezed between the rock and the hard place, to dedicate yourself to service as a disciple and to follow the pathway set out by the man of Nazareth.

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This reflection was offered to candidates for ministry in the Perth Theological Hall in March 2017.

Practising righteous-justice: alms, prayer, and fasting (Ash Wednesday)

In the Gospel reading provided for Ash Wednesday each year (Matt 6:1–6, 16–21), the lectionary offers us a part of the long discourse that Jesus gave, on top of a mountain, to his disciples (5:1–7:29). The text infers that he was seeking to avoid “the crowds” (5:1), although by the end of the discourse (known popularly as The Sermon on the Mount) it is clear that this escape had not worked, for “when Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were astounded at his teaching” (7:28).

In the middle section of this long discourse, the section from which this reading comes, the Matthean Jesus instructs his listeners on righteous-justice (6:1–18). The Greek word used in the first verse is dikaiosunē, which some contemporary English translations render as “piety”. The Greek word is rich in meaning (it is a key word both for Jesus and for Paul); in the Septuagint, it often translates tzedakah, a Hebrew word used to describe the quality of God’s just and fair dealings with human beings.

The prophets, for instance, consistently advocated for righteous-justice. “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream”, Amos declares (Amos 5:24). Isaiah laments the state of the city: “How the faithful city has become a whore! She that was full of justice, righteousness lodged in her—but now murderers” (Isa 1:21), and tells a parable ending with the despairing words that God “expected justice, but saw bloodshed; righteousness, but heard a cry!” (Isa 5:7).

Jeremiah reiterates the instruction of the Lord, “act with justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor anyone who has been robbed” (Jer 22:3) and Ezekiel warns, “the righteous turn away from their righteousness and commit iniquity, they shall die for it” (Ezek 18:26). In a vision in which Gabriel appears to Daniel, a period of seventy weeks are given for the people “to finish the transgression, to put an end to sin, to atone for iniquity, to bring in everlasting righteousness” (Dan 9:24).

In his final vision (in the last chapter of the Old Testament, in the order in which it appears in Christian scriptures), Malachi prophesies that “for those who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise … and you shall tread down the wicked” Mal 4:2). An emphasis on righteous-justice is also found in other prophetic works (Hos 10:12; Isa 28:17; 32:16–17; 54:14; Ezek 18:19–29; Dan 9:24; 12:3; Zeph 2:3; Mal 4:1–3; Hab 2:1–4). Righteous-justice was a key factor for the prophets. See also

https://johntsquires.com/2021/08/16/justice-and-only-justice-you-shall-follow/

Many psalms evoke the righteous-justice of God (for instance, Ps 5:8; 7:17; 9:8; 17:15; 33:5; 50:6; 72:1–3; 89:14, 16; 103:17; 119:142; 145:7). Some psalms note that God “watches over the way of the righteous” (Ps 1:6), and “blesses the righteous” (Ps 5:12), and “upholds the righteous” (Ps 37:17). Those who practise righteous-justice “shall be kept safe forever” (Ps 37:28), they “shall inherit the land” (Ps 37:29).

Because “the salvation of the righteous is from the Lord” (Ps 37:39), the psalmist calls for celebration: “rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous, praise befits the upright” (Ps 33:1). “Surely the righteous shall give thanks to your name; the upright shall live in your presence” (Ps 140:13; likewise, 64:10; 68:3; 119:7, 62, 164). And so, the psalmist prays that the righteous-justice of God might be evident in the lives of the people: “judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness, and according to the integrity that is in me” (Ps 7:8).

In a psalm that looks hopefully to a time when God will withdraw his wrath and bring salvation (Ps 85:1–9), we hear the words, “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other; faithfulness will spring up from the ground, and righteousness will look down from the sky” (Ps 85:10–11). These are the qualities of God, which the psalmist yearns to see exhibited also in the lives of the faithful: “righteousness will go before him [the Lord] and will make a path for his steps” (Ps 85:13).

“The Lord rewarded me according to my righteousness” (Ps 18:20, 24); amongst “those who fear the Lord”, “righteousness ensures forever” (112:3, 19). So, “happy are those who observe justice, who do righteousness at all times” (Ps 106:3); “let your priests be clothed with righteousness and let your faithful sing for joy” (Ps 132:9). The psalms overflow with celebrating the righteous-justice of God and calling for actions of righteous-justice to be undertaken by the people.

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In the context it is being used in Matt 6, this word indicates the means by which human beings might give expression to the righteousness which is inherent in God’s being. How do we live in the world in a way that shows we are committed to being the people of God? So its use here refers to how faithful followers of Jesus are to undertake just actions in their lives, not just in performing “acts of piety”. I’m going to use the translation “doing acts of righteous-justice” to convey that sense.

Jesus has already given a strong statement advocating for the importance and priority of doing acts of righteous-justice in the lives of his followers. He declares that God seeks a righteous-justice which “exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees” (5:20)—a passage which we read just a few weeks back. See

https://johntsquires.com/2020/02/06/an-excess-of-righteous-justice-matt-5/

The term also appears in the teachings of Jesus in the Matthean version of two beatitudes about those who “hunger and thirst for righteousness” (5:6) and those who are “persecuted for righteousness’ sake” (5:10); the parallel beatitudes in Luke have no reference to righteous-justice. The term also appears in the well-known exhortation to “strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (6:33), and in the comment concluding the parable of the two sons, that John “came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him” (21:32). (The “you” in question here must be those Jewish leaders referred to at 21:23.)

Here, in these instructions, the emphasis that Jesus brings is to reinforce that such deeds of righteous-justice are to be undertaken without any expectation of reward or admiration. “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven” (6:1); and then, “when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret” (6:3–4).

This followed by “whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret” (6:6), and finally “when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret” (6:17–18). These deeds have value in and of themselves, for they show a person’s inner commitment to the way that Jesus teaches. There is no need of external acknowledgement or reward, for in each case, “your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (6:4, 6, 18).

By focussing on alms (6:2–4), prayer, (6:5–15), and fasting (6:16–18), Jesus does no less than instruct on three forms of traditional Jewish righteous-justice. Texts from the hellenistic period indicate the importance of these actions. Tobit 12:8 states, “Prayer with fasting is good, but better than both is almsgiving with righteousness”. Jesus, as always in Matthew’s book of origins, maintains steadfast and intense commitment to Torah. He is a deeply faithful Jew.

In the Letter of Aristeas, also from the hellenistic period, we find the observation that “nothing has been enacted in the Scripture thoughtlessly or without due reason, but its purpose is to enable us throughout our whole life and in all our actions to practice righteousness before all people, being mindful of Almighty God … the whole system aims at righteousness and righteous relationships between human beings” (Ep. Arist. 168–169). We shall see that this scriptural basis is the case for each of the three forms of doing righteous-justice that Jesus instructs.

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Alms. The first expression of righteous-justice is to give alms (6:2–4). Whilst the precise terminology that we find here appears only in later, hellenistic texts, the fundamental concept involved in giving alms to the poor is very clearly expressed in the Hebrew Bible. “If there is anyone in need among you”, the Deuteronomist has Moses declare, “do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbour; you should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be” (Deut 15:7–8; likewise, 24:14–15). The law of gleaning made secure provision for feeding the poor of the land (Lev 19:10; 23:22; Deut 24:21; and see Ruth 2 and the later rabbinic discussion in tractate Pe’ah of the Mishnah).

The psalmist affirms, “it is well with those who deal generously and lend, who conduct their affairs with justice; for the righteous will never be moved; they will be remembered forever” (Ps 112:5–6), whilst the sage declares in a proverb, “whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and will be repaid in full” (Prov 19:17).

And Job declares his commitment to giving alms, helping to poor, when he says, albeit with a rhetorically exaggerated style, “if I have withheld anything that the poor desired, or have caused the eyes of the widow to fail, or have eaten my morsel alone, and the orphan has not eaten from it … if I have seen anyone perish for lack of clothing, or a poor person without covering, whose loins have not blessed me … then let my shoulder blade fall from my shoulder, and let my arm be broken from its socket” (Job 31:16–22).

Prayer. The second way that righteous-justice can be expressed is prayer (6:5–15). This section is perhaps best known because, whilst instructing his disciples how to pray, the Matthean Jesus offers a distinctive formula for prayer (6:9–13). Although this prayer has become known as the distinctive Christian prayer, a close study of Hebrew Scriptures shows that the concept in each clause (and in almost every case, the precise terminology of each clause) has originated in Jewish thought.

Prayer, of course, was a regular and central practice amongst the Israelites over the centuries. One tractate of the Mishnah, Berakhot (meaning “blessing”) was devoted to instructions for prayer. Hebrew Scripture contains many instances of prayers offered by key figures in Israel. In the wilderness, people ask Moses to pray to the Lord (Num 21:7). When her son in born, Hannah prays with praise and thanksgiving (1 Sam 2:1–10), and then at Mizpah, her son Samuel (now an adult) prays to God on behalf of the people (1 Sam 7:5), and the people ask him to pray to God on their behalf (1 Sam 12:19, 23).

David finds “courage to pray [a] prayer” to God after having been chosen “to build a house” for God (2 Sam 7:27; 1 Chron 17:16–27), and then when the Temple had been built, Solomon prays a long, extended prayer to dedicate the building (1 Kings 8:22–53). Prayer is integral to the life of the people of Israel. At the end of the Exile, Nehemiah fasts and prays for the people (Neh 1:4–11). The prophet Daniel prayed three times a day whilst he was in Babylon, despite orders to the contrary (Dan 6:10–13)—a practice that appears to have been kept by Peter (Acts 3:1; 10:3, 30).

The section on prayer is omitted from the lectionary selection for Ash Wednesday. (Neither does it appear anywhere else in the Revised Common Lectionary.) Why might this be? Perhaps to ensure the focus on this day of penitence stays on almsgiving and fasting—actions which require specific external activity, not simply the internal activity of prayer?

Fasting. The third way of acting with righteous-justice that Jesus teaches is fasting (6:16–21). A fast was a way to signal fidelity to the covenant with God, in the face of personal distress (2 Sam 12:22–23) or when the nation was under attack (2 Chron 20:1–4). Jezebel called for fasting in her scheming to obtain the vineyard of Naboth (1 Ki 21:9–12) and Ezra decreed a fast whilst still in exile, prior to returning to the land (Ezra 8:21–23).

In exile, Queen Esther ordered fasting, which Mordecai carried out (Esther 4:15–17); before he is sent into exile, Jeremiah reported that King Jehoiakim proclaimed a fast for “all the people in Jerusalem and all the people who came from the towns of Judah to Jerusalem” as preparation for hearing the scroll read by Baruch (Jer 36:9–10).

When the people of Nineveh repented in response to the preaching of Jonah, they held a fast (Jonah 3:1–5), while the prophet Joel calls the priests to put on sackcloth and “sanctify a fast” (Joel 1:13–14) and then for all the people to “sanctify a fast” (Joel 2:15–16). These fasts were intended to recall the people to the covenant that they had with the Lord God, and lead them to focus on his they might best live in accordance with lives of righteous-justice that were expected from that covenant.

The call which we hear on Ash Wednesday in the Gospel that is offered (Matt 6:1–6, 16–21) is thus a call that Jesus draws from deep within the wells of his Jewish faith and tradition: a call to be intentional, focussed, and committed in acting in ways that demonstrate the righteous-justice of God, lived out in the lives of faithful believers, especially care for the needy and focussing on our relationship with God. It is a call that sounds with clarity for us at the start of this Lenten season.

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Gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love (Joel 2; Ash Wednesday)

The Hebrew Scripture passage set by the lectionary for Ash Wednesday, the first day in the season of Lent, is part of an extended announcement by the prophet Joel (1:13–2:17), calling the people of Israel to “put on sackcloth and lament” (1:13), “sanctify a fast” (1:14), “blow the trumpet” (2:1) in order to “return to [the Lord] with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning” (2:12). He exhorts the people to offer a prayer to “spare your people, O Lord” (2:17).

The prophet makes this call in the midst of describing the Day of the Lord that is coming—“a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness” (2:1–2). He evokes the traditional imagery of repentance—sackcloth and lament, weeping and mourning, prayer and fasting—as the appropriate responses to that Day, even as he utilises the traditional imagery of the doom that awaits on that Day.

The prophets warned of the Day of the Lord; it will be “darkness, not light” (Amos 5:18), it will come “like destruction from the Almighty” (Isa 13:6), as “a day of distress and anguish” (Zeph 1:14). Joel joins his voice with this parade of doom: “Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain! Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the LORD is coming, it is near—a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes; their like has never been from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come.” (Joel 2:1–2).

Yet the response desired is not meek acceptance, but rather to “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing” (Joel 2:12). “Return to the Lord, your God”, Joel advises, highlighting the central purpose of the role of the prophet, to recall the people from their waywardness and lead them to recommit to the covenant with God, which lies at the heart of the identity of the people of Israel. That’s probably the reason that this passage from centuries before the time of Jesus (let alone our time) is set for Ash Wednesday, when the season of Lent begins.

The tradition about Lent is that it is a time for “giving up”, for restraint and abstention and ascetic practices. However, Lent is also a time for returning; for re-connecting with God, for turning back to depend on God, for returning to the heart of faith. And this passage helps to remind us of that purpose.

The passage also provides a further thought which undergirds the call to “return to the Lord”, and that is what it says about the fundamental nature of God. Joel repeats a mantra that must have been important to the people of ancient Israel; an affirmation about the nature of God, the one who, in the midst of the turmoil of the Day of the Lord, stands firm as the one who is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing” (Joel 2:13).

For, although the Lord is credited as the one who demonstrates his wrath on the Day of the Lord, this divine figure is also one who is willing to step back from the threat of judgement and destruction, who is willing to give a new opportunity to a repentant person, and reach out to them in grace. “Who knows whether he will not turn and relent?”, the prophet asks. And so, he advocates that the people leave “a grain offering and a drink offering for the Lord, your God” (Joel 2:13–14). The process requires maintaining a tangible sign of the intention to return to God: an offering, in ancient Israel, a marking of ashes, on Ash Wednesday, for Christians.

The mantra that Joel offers about God is sounded by another prophet, Jonah; in his prayer to God, begging that God take his life, he affirms that “I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing” (Jonah 4:2).

The same affirmation about God is made in the story of Moses, after the account of the Golden Calf and the smashing of the first set of tablets containing The Ten Words. Here, Moses is instructed to cut two new tablets of stone, in preparation for renewing the covenant. The Lord then passed before him, declaring, “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin (Exod 34:6). This citation, however, does maintain the ominous threat that this same Lord is yet “by no means clearing the guilty, but visiting the iniquity of the parents upon the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation”, so the picture is fuller and more realistic here.

During the time of King Hezeziah (king of the southern kingdom from 715 to 686 BCE, after the reign of Ahaz), after the neglected Temple had been cleansed and sanctified, Hezekiah restored the worship 9f the Lord in the Temple, exhorting the people, “do not now be stiff-necked as your ancestors were, but yield yourselves to the Lord and come to his sanctuary, which he has sanctified forever, and serve the Lord your God, so that his fierce anger may turn away from you” (2 Chron 30:8).

It was a time to “return to the Lord”, and Hezekiah encouraged the people, especially encouraging northerners who had suffered under the Assyrians to return, saying “your kindred and your children will find compassion with their captors, and return to this land; for the Lord your God is gracious and merciful, and will not turn away his face from you, if you return to him.” (2 Chron 30:8–9). That same mantra appears.

Still later, after the southern kingdom had been exiled to Babylon, and then returned to the land and the city, after Ezra had reinstated the Law in Jerusalem and the people had celebrated the Festival of Booths, Ezra prayed at a ceremony to recommit to the covenant, confessing that “our ancestors acted presumptuously and stiffened their necks and did not obey your commandments; they refused to obey, and were not mindful of the wonders that you performed among them; but they stiffened their necks and determined to return to their slavery in Egypt” (Neh 9:16).

Ezra continued in praise of God: “you are a God ready to forgive, gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and you did not forsake them.” (Neh 9:17). Again, we hear that central affirmation about God, who is also described as “the great and mighty and awesome God, keeping covenant and steadfast love” (Neh 9:32).

It’s a mantra that appears in a number of Psalms. In one, a fry for divine help, we hear, “you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Ps 86:15). Here, the psalmist pleads, “turn to me and be gracious to me; give your strength to your servant; save the child of your serving girl; show me a sign of your favour, so that those who hate me may see it and be put to shame, because you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me” (Ps 86:16–17).

In another, a thanksgiving in praise of God’s steadfast love, we hear the familiar refrain, that “the Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love (Ps 103:8). This psalm continues, “He will not always accuse, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as the heavens are high above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far he removes our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him.” (Ps 103:9–13).

In another psalm of praise, the psalmist exults, “Great are the works of the Lord, studied by all who delight in them. Full of honour and majesty is his work, and his righteousness endures forever. He has gained renown by his wonderful deeds; the Lord is gracious and merciful. He provides food for those who fear him; he is ever mindful of his covenant.” (Ps 111:2–5).

And in still another psalm of praise, the psalmist affirms, “the Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love; the Lord is good to all, and his compassion is over all that he has made.” (Ps 145:8–9). It is this aged, gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love, to whom we turn on this Ash Wednesday, seeking to return to our foundational commitment.

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