The Hebrew Prophets – An Informed Faith

Justice rolling down like waters, righteousness like an ever-flowing stream (Amos 1, 5; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 22)

Discussion of the Narrative Lectionary passage from Amos

The prophet Amos lived in the northern kingdom of Israel during the reign of Jeroboam II, the thirteenth king of Israel, who reigned for four decades (786–746 BCE; see Amos 7:10). It was a time of prosperity, built on the trading of olive oil and wine with the neighbouring nations of Assyria to the north and Egypt to the south. Jeroboam, however, is remembered as a king who oversaw multiple acts of sinfulness during his years on the throne.

Most infamously, he replicated the sin of Aaron, who oversaw the creation of a golden calf during the time that the people of Israel were awaiting the return of Moses from his time on the top of Mount Sinai (Exod 32). Jeroboam had the city of Shechem built, as a direct challenge to the centrality of Jerusalem; and he had two golden claves built and installed, one at Bethel, the other at Dan (1 Ki 12:25–30).

For these and other persistent sins during his 22 years as king, reported at 1 Ki 12:31–33 and 13:33–34, Jerobaom incurred the divine wrath, such that God determined that “ the house of Jeroboam [was to be] cut it off and destroyed from the face of the earth” (1 Ki 13:34). Later passages in this book refer to “the sins of Jeroboam” (1 Ki 14:16; 15:30; 16:2, 19, 31; 2 Ki 10:29, 31; 13:2, 6, 11; 14:24; 15:9, 18, 24, 28; 17:22) and “the way of Jeroboam … and the sins that he caused Israel to commit, provoking the Lord, the God of Israel, to anger by their idols” (1 Ki 16:26).

So although the Temple in Jerusalem was the focus for religious activity in the southern kingdom (Judah), Jeroboam had established a number of religious sites in the northern kingdom. Amos warns about the sites at Dan, Bethel, Gilgal and Beersheba (Amos 5:5; 8:14). At these places, not only was the Lord God worshipped, but idolatrous images were used in worship services (5:26). Amos is trenchant in his criticism of the worship that the people offer (5:21–27); embedded in this crisis is a doublet of poetry, words most often associated with Amos: “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (5:24).

Indeed, it is the perpetration of social inequity within Israel that most causes him to convey the anger of divine displeasure. He admonishes the rich for the way that they mistreat the poor: “they sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals—they who trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth and push the afflicted out of the way” (2:6–7); “you trample on the poor and take from them levies of grain” (5:11).

Again, Amos rails: “you trample on the needy and bring to ruin the poor of the land … buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat” (8:4, 6). In a biting oracle, he criticises the “cows of Bashan who are on Mount Samaria” for the way they “oppress the poor, crush the needy” (4:1).

Bashan was the mountainous area to the northeast of Israel (Ps 68:15), which rejoiced in majestic oaks (Isa 2:13) and extensive pasture lands (1 Chron 5:16). The luxurious lifestyle of these people can well be imagined. The reference to “winter houses … summer houses … houses of ivory … and great houses” (3:15) is telling. Luxury and opulence is evident amongst the wealthy.

So, too, is the description of “those who lie on beds of ivory, and lounge on their couches, and eat lambs from the flock, and calves from the stall; who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp, and like David improvise on instruments of music; who drink wine from bowls, and anoint themselves with the finest oils” (6:4–6). The extravagance of the wealthy is obvious, juxtaposed against the plight of the poor, as we have noted.

Amos indicates that God had given Israel a number of opportunities to repent, “yet you did not return to me” (4:6, 8, 9, 10, 11). God pleads for Israel to “seek me and live” (5:4), “seek the Lord and live” (5:6), “seek good and not evil, that you may live” (5:14).

But this is all in vain; ultimately, the prophet insists, the Lord God will bring on the day of the Lord—a day of “darkness, not light, and gloom with no brightness in it” (5:18–20). God is determined; “the great house shall be shattered to bits, and the little house to pieces” (6:11); later, he insists again, “the dead bodies shall be many, cast out in every place” (8:3).

In so many reports of prophetic activity, it is justice which is the heart of their message—God’s justice; the justice which God desires for the people of God; the justice which God speaks through the voice of the prophets; the justice that God calls for in Israel; the justice that provides the measure against which Israel will be judged, and saved, or condemned.

Moses himself was charged with ensuring that justice was in place in Israelite society. One story told of the time after the Israelites had escaped from Egypt places Moses as a judge. Whilst in the wilderness of Sin, being visited by his father-in-law Jethro, we learn that “Moses sat as judge for the people, while the people stood around him from morning until evening” (Exod 18:13).

Noticing that Moses was overwhelmed by the volume of matters requiring adjudgment, Jethro suggested—and Moses adopted—a system whereby appointed men who “judged the people at all times; hard cases they brought to Moses, but any minor case they decided themselves” (Exod 18:14–16). The charge given to these men is clear: they are to give a fair hearing to every member of the community, and they “must not be partial in judging: hear out the small and the great alike; [do] not be intimidated by anyone, for the judgment is God’s” (Deut 1:16–17).

Prophets coming after Moses thus inherited this responsibility to ensure that justice was upheld within society. The most famous prophetic word of Amos is, as we have noted, his call for “justice and righteousness” (Amos 5:22). Micah asks the question, “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice?” (Mic 6:8), while through the prophet Hosea, the Lord God promises to Israel, “I will take you for my wife in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy” (Hos 2:19).

Isaiah ends his famous love-song of of the vineyard by declaring that God “expected justice” (Isa 5:7) and he tells the rebellious people of his day, “the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him” (Isa 30:18). He proclaims God’s judgement on those who “turn aside the needy from justice … and rob the poor of my people, that widows may be your spoil, and that you may make the orphans your prey!” (Isa 10:1–2).

Other prophets join their voices to Isaiah’s declaration. Ezekiel laments that “the sojourner suffers extortion in your midst; the fatherless and the widow are wronged in you” (Ezek 22:7). Jeremiah encourages the people of Jerusalem with a promise that God will allow them to continue to dwell in their land if they “do not oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow” (Jer 7:5–7).

Second Isaiah foresees that the coming Servant “will bring forth justice to the nations” (Isa 42:1) and knows that God’s justice will be “a light to the peoples” (Isa 51:4). The words of Third Isaiah continue in this prophetic stream, for this anonymous prophet begins his words with a direct declaration, “maintain justice, and do what is right” (Isa 56:1). He goes on to articulate his mission as being “to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners” (Isa 61:1), thereby demonstrating that “I the Lord love justice” (Isa 62:8).

This commitment of Amos and many of the prophets resonates also with the psalmist, who praises “the God of Jacob … who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry … [who] sets the prisoners free, [who] opens the eyes of the blind, [who] lifts up those who are bowed down [and] loves the righteous, [who] watches over the strangers [and] upholds the orphan and the widow” (Ps 146:5, 7–9). See

https://johntsquires.com/2023/05/14/father-of-orphans-and-protector-of-widows-psalm-68-easter-7a/

In the sound of sheer silence (1 Kings 19; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 21)

On the passage about Elijah in 1 Ki 19 proposed by the Narrative Lectionary

In the passage which the Narrative Lectionary places before us this coming Sunday (from 1 Kings 19), we come to Elijah; one of the key prophetic figures whose deeds are recounted in the books of the Kings or whose words are collected within the Hebrew Scriptures under the catch-all second section of Nevi’im (Prophets).

Elijah, famous for being described as “a hairy man, with a leather belt around his waist” (2 Ki 1:8), was first introduced as Elijah the Tishbite, meaning he came from Tishbe in Gilead (1 Ki 17:1), a place whose precise location has occasioned some debate. See

This initial portrayal of Elijah is nested within the accounts of that long period of time when Israel was ruled by kings, when prophets functioned as the conscience of the king and the voice of integrity within society. The distinctive dress of Elijah perhaps sets him apart from the court of the kings, where a more “civilized” dress code was presumably operative. Nevertheless, Elijah does have some engagement with the kings who ruled at the time he was active: Ahab, and then Ahaziah. Indeed, his distinctive dress points to his emboldened attitude towards those kings.

Elijah operated during the period when Ahab ruled Israel; he figures in various incidents throughout the remainder of 1 Kings—most famously, in the conflict with the prophets of Baal which came to a showdown on Mount Carmel (1 Ki 18), and then later in his confrontation with Ahab and his wife Jezebel, over the matter of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Ki 21). Like Jesus, Elijah was no shrinking violet!

Elijah first appears in the narrative of the various kings, seemingly out of nowhere, just after King Ahab had taken as his wife Jezebel, daughter of King Ethbaal of the Sidonians, who presumably influenced him to begin his worship of Baal (1 Ki 17:31–33). In the same way, at the end of his time of prophetic activity, Elijah simply disappears from sight soon after Kong Ahaziah died. Elijah hands over his role to his successor, Elisha, and as “a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them”, Elijah ascends in a whirlwind into heaven (2 Ki 2:1–15).

In the book we know as 1 Kings, the compiler of the Deuteronomic History (which stretches from Deuteronomy through Joshua and Judges to Samuel and then Kings) reports many incidents which attest to the courage and power of Elijah. The boldness of Elijah is evident in the confrontations that he has with various rulers; this is made clear, centuries later, to the followers of Jesus, in the earliest account of his life, when John the baptiser is depicted as a fiery desert preacher, calling for repentance, just as Elijah had called the kings to account (Mark 1:1–8).

In a later account of Jesus, there is a clear inference connecting John with Elijah when Jesus notes, “Elijah is indeed coming and will restore all things; but I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but they did to him whatever they pleased” (Matt 17:11–12).

Then, in his sermon in Nazareth (Luke 4:16–30), Jesus refers to the first reported miracle of Elijah, when he provided a widow in Zarephath with food and oil that “did not fail”, even though the land was in drought (1 Ki 17:1–16). In subsequent incidents in 1 Kings, Elijah raises a dead son (17:17–24), directly confronts King Ahab with his sins (18:1–18), and famously stares down the prophets of Baal in a mountaintop showdown (18:19–40), leading to the breaking of the drought (18:41–46).

During the rule of Ahab, Elijah had also most famously heard the Lord God “not in the wind … not in the earthquake … not in the fire”—but rather in something else, which the NRSV renders as “the sound of sheer silence” (1 Ki 19:11–12). This incident is, as noted, the story set before us by the lectionary this coming Sunday. We need to ponder what is being conveyed through the symbols employed in this story.

The three means by which God is said not to have appeared to Elijah reflect the very same means through which Moses, and the people of Israel, did experience the manifestation of the Lord God in their midst. When the escaping Israelites arrived at the Sea of Reeds, according to one version of this archetypal story, “the Lord God drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land; and the waters were divided” (Exod 14:21).

The people later celebrated the defeat of the Egyptians who were pursuing them: “you blew with your wind, the sea covered them; they sank like lead in the mighty waters” (Exod 15:10). The wind was a sign of God’s presence, and an agent of divine protection—indeed, it was the very same “wind from God” which “swept over the face of the waters” at the beginning of creation (Gen 1:2). But for Elijah, the Lord God was “not in the wind”.

Then, as they had travelled through the wilderness, the people were accompanied by a blazing fire, another sign of divine presence: “the Lord God went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night” (Exod 13:21). The fire signalled the divine presence.

Indeed, the very same flaming fire had been manifested to Moses when he was but a mere shepherd in Midian; “the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed” (Exod 3:2). What follows is the account of the call of Moses; God tells him “I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (Exod 3:10). The fire had been the assurance to Moses that it was the Lord God who was present. But for Elijah, the Lord God was “not in the fire”.

The same element of fire was present when Moses and the people ultimately arrived at Mount Sinai in the wilderness of Sinai (Exod 19:1–2). “Mount Sinai”, so the account goes, “was wrapped in smoke, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently” (Exod 19:18). Associated with this there was “thunder and lightning, as well as a thick cloud on the mountain, and a blast of a trumpet so loud that all the people who were in the camp trembled” (Exod 19:16).

The scene at Sinai surely reflects the experience of an earthquake; the same phenomenon that prophets would later interpret as a sign of divine presence—indeed, divine judgement. “You will be visited by the Lord of hosts”, Isaiah subsequently tells the people of his time, “with thunder and earthquake and great noise, with whirlwind and tempest, and the flame of a devouring fire” (Isa 29:6).

Still later, Zechariah describes how “the Mount of Olives shall be split in two from east to west by a very wide valley”, and instructs the people, “you shall flee as you fled from the earthquake in the days of King Uzziah of Judah; then the Lord my God will come, and all the holy ones with him” (Zech 14:4–5).

Nahum reflects on the jealous and avenging nature of God, declaring that “his way is in whirlwind and storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet; he rebukes the sea and makes it dry, and he dries up all the rivers; the mountains quake before him, and the hills melt; the earth heaves before him, the world and all who live in it” (Nah 1:2–5).

This dramatic motif continues on into later apocalyptic writings (Isa 64:1; 1 Esdras 4:36; 2 Esdras 16:12). The prophets and their apocalyptic heirs knew clearly that this whole dramatic constellation of events revolving around an earthquake was a sign of divine presence. But for Elijah, the Lord God was “not in the earthquake”. He was heard in something quite different.

What did Elijah hear? The Hebrew phrase in verse 12 is qol d’mamah daqqah. The King James Version translated this as “still small voice”. More recent translations have provided variants on how these words might be translated. Alternatives that are found include “the sound of a low whisper” (ESV), “a gentle whisper” (NIV, NLT), “a soft whisper” (CSB), or “the sound of a gentle blowing” (NASB). These reflect variations on the kind of nuance that the KJV was offering.

However, the NRSV option of translating this phrase as “the sound of sheer silence” is more confronting: the presence of God is sensed in the absence of sound; any communication from the deity comes, not in audible sounds, but in the utter absence of any sound. It is a striking paradox!

And in the context of the developing story of 1 Kings, the paradox is strong. Earlier, the prophet had stood firm against the might of Baal, the foreign god whom Ahab and Jezebel had prioritized in the life of Israel (1 Ki 18:17–40). When “the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal and the four hundred prophets of Asherah who eat at Jezebel’s table” gathered on Mount Carmel, they failed to obtain any response from their god, the god of storms. No matter how intensely the pleaded, all they heard was “no voice, no answer, no response” (18:29).

Elijah, by contrast, prays to the Lord God and the fire of his god fell on the sacrificial altar; it consumed “the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench” (18:38). The victory was absolute and complete; the storm god had been defeated. And yet, the deity who accomplished this would communicate most personally and intimately with his chosen prophet, “not in the wind … not in the earthquake … not in the fire”, but rather in “a sound of sheer silence” (19:11–12). What a deliciously powerful irony!

Elijah was his own, distinctive man, with his own, distinctive encounter with God. He experienced God in a way quite different from what was experienced by Moses and the people of Israel. He experienced God in a way that stood apart from his contemporaries who were priests and prophets of Baal. For that reason, whilst the Lord God of Elijah stands over and against the Baal of Ahab and Jezebel, so too Elijah stands alongside and apart from Moses as a different, but equally great, leader of the people.

Do not judge by appearances (1 Samuel 16; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 19)

A discussion of the Narrative Lectionary passage from 1 Samuel 16

The narrative passage proposed by the Narrative Lectionary for this Sunday (1 Sam 16:1–13) comes from the period of time when Israel was ruled by a king. The story of the choosing of the first king, Saul, is told in 1 Sam 9; his rule runs through this narrative until the last chapter of this book, 1 Sam 31.

As I have noted before, although these narratives have the appearance of being historical, they are actually ancient tales which were told and retold, passed on by word of mouth and then written down, because of their enduring significance for the people of ancient Israel. Scholars call such stories “myths”, meaning that they convey something of fundamental importance. (We might best define myth as “a traditional story, usually associated with the time of origins, of paradigmatic significance for the society in which it is told”.)

See more on the nature of these stories at

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

The picture of Saul, the first man chosen to be king in Israel, demonstrates the flaws of this system of leadership. His reign was characterised by turbulence and opposition; as early as chapter 13 there are signs of the problems that there were in his leadership. After defeating the Philistines, and being impatient for the prophet Samuel to arrive, he went ahead with a burnt offering, in contradiction to the command of God. “You have done foolishly; you have not kept the commandment of the Lord your God, which he commanded you”, Samuel berates the king (1 Sam 13:13). This is not the behaviour expected of a person leading the chosen people of God!

The prophet Samuel foreshadows the coming turmoil under Saul’s leadership, telling him that “the Lord would have established your kingdom over Israel forever, but now your kingdom will not continue” (1 Sam 13:14). In the passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (1 Sam 16:1–13), we learn that because the rule of Saul is fraught with difficulties, a significant change is on the cards.

Pushed by the words of the prophet Samuel, Saul confesses his sin (1 Sam 15:24, 30). Samuel announces to him that “the Lord has rejected you from being king over Israel” (15:26) and declares, quite dramatically, “the Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this very day, and has given it to a neighbour of yours, who is better than you” (15:28).

The narrator of this story engages in an interesting theological exploration at this point. Samuel is clear about God’s intentions: “the Glory of Israel will not recant or change his mind; for he is not a mortal, that he should change his mind” (15:29). This God had explicitly chosen Saul, who said he was “only a Benjaminite, from the least of the tribes of Israel, and my family is the humblest of all the families of the tribe of Benjamin” (9:21).

God had chosen David, this least and most humble person, to serve as ruler over the people, to “save my people from the hand of the Philistines” (9:16). He would rule form40 years—the biblical,way of saying “for an awfully long time”—and exert great power. We might note that this “least-become-greatest” dynamic prefigures some of the teaching of Jesus, a descendant of David, a millennia later.

Samuel, exercising his prophetic leadership, had assured the people, “there is no one like him among all the people” (10:24); but some in the crowd were doubtful, saying, “how can this man save us?”, and they despised him (10:27). Paradoxically, these men had insight into the character of Saul which the Lord God himself failed to perceive at this time.

However, a little later, the narrator of this story muses that “the Lord was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel” (15:35). This is regret, but seemingly not quite a full change-of-mind. It does, however, paint the divine in a rather human way; an action undertaken that does not bear fruit for us as anticipated can indeed generate regret.

Elsewhere in Hebrew Scriptures, the matter of a change-of-mind for the divine is explored. Jeremiah instructs the people, “amend your ways and your doings, and obey the voice of the Lord your God, and the Lord will change his mind about the disaster that he has pronounced against you” (Jer 26:13). In the tale of Jonah, when God saw the repentance of the people of Nineveh, “God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it” (Jon 3:10).

The prophet Amos petitions God, such that “the Lord relented concerning this; ‘it shall not be,’ said the Lord” (Amos 7:3, 6). And in the story of the Golden Bull, Moses implores God to “turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people”, and so the Lord repents (Exod 32:12–14).

We might wonder: is the regret that the narrator perceives in the divine (1 Sam 15:35) strong enough to chasten God in future actions, so that there will be no need for a divine change-of-mind?

For more on this topic, see

God changed God’s mind (Jonah 3; Epiphany 3B)

As Saul relinquishes his role, Jesse steps onto the stage; one of his eight sons will sit on the throne. It has been a bitterly-fought transition, and Samuel was saddened by the course of events. But the voice of God pushes him on, to step into his role in the transition taking place; and so the prophet faithfully anoints Saul’s successor.

We should remember that, in the a Christian canon, the two books that tell of the rule of Saul and then David are named, not after those kings, but after the prophet, Samuel—who held and exercised great power, as the story shows, in that he is attuned to God’s voice and speaks God’s words to the people. We saw this dynamic clearly articulated in the earlier narrative (1 Sam 3) on the Sunday after Trinity Sunday (Pentecost 2).

So Samuel follows God’s advice: “do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Sam 16:7). This verse is often quoted by people of faith when reflecting on the importance of inner conviction and commitment to God.

This narrative portrays a God who sees and deals with the heart of human beings (v.7). The heart is important to God because of its directional role: “the good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45). In like manner, Proverbs 4:23 states “keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life”.

There is a danger here, of course; the outward actions of people are indeed important, and the claim that God’s focus is solely on our “heart” can be deceptive. Both our inner nature and our outer actions are significant; they each point to our faith and express our discipleship.

Indeed, it is worth remembering that, in the Hebrew language—the language in which this narrative was written—the word translated as heart is לֵבָב, lebab. It’s a common word in Hebrew Scripture, and is understood to refer to the mind, will, or heart of a person—words which seek to describe the essence of the person. It is sometimes described as referring to “the inner person”. The word appears 248 times in the scriptures, of which well over half (185) are translated as “heart”. It has a strong connotation of indication “the whole of a person’s being”. That’s what God is focussed on; that’s where faith is shown and discipleship is lived out.

For more on this, see

Love with all that you are—heart and soul, completely and entirely (Deut 6 in Mark 12; Pentecost 23B)

So Jesse brings his sons before Samuel. But which son is it to be? Samuel first offers a sacrifice to God (15:2–5), in the expectation that what he does next will be in accord with the will of God. Samuel had his own ideas, based on appearances; God reprimands him, now telling him to focus on the heart—the very core of the being of the chosen one, the whole of that person’s being (16:7). After receiving all of Jesse’s sons in order (16:8–10), Samuel exercises his prophetic discernment, selecting the youngest son, David, to be the new king (16:11–13).

God confirms this choice by gifting David with the spirit: “the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward” (16:13). Openness to new ways and new possibilities has led to this defining moment.

Ironically, when Samuel first sees David, the narrator introduces him with the description, “he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome” (16:12)—precisely the elements of “outward appearance” that we were told earlier that the Lord does not consider. Even the careful crafter of this story gets caught!!

Judging Israel; undoing creation (Jer 4; Pentecost 14C)

“A hot wind comes from me out of the bare heights in the desert toward my poor people, not to winnow or cleanse— a wind too strong for that. Now it is I who speak in judgment against them.” (Jer 4:11–12)

We’ve been following the words of Jeremiah over the last three weeks. He has had some very stern messages to deliver. Perhaps this helps us to see the origins of the term “Jeremiad”. The Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms defines it as “either a prolonged lamentation or a prophetic warning against the evil habits of a nation, foretelling disaster”. The second sense (a prophetic warning) comes directly from the way that the prophet Jeremiah spoke about, and to, the people of Israel in his time.

Jeremiah was, indeed, a voice of doom and gloom. At his calling, the Lord God informed him, “I will utter my judgments against them, for all their wickedness in forsaking me; they have made offerings to other gods, and worshiped the works of their own hands”. He then admonished the young Jeremiah, telling him to “gird up your loins; stand up and tell them everything that I command you”, before putting the very fear of God into him with the warning, “do not break down before them, or I will break you before them” (Jer 1:16–17). That’s stern stuff!

But is this going too far? I think today we would want to call to account the speaker of these words, to remind them not to abuse the power that they have in this relationship, and to be mindful of the vulnerability of the young person to whom they are speaking! (A friend who worked for the then Department of Community Services said years ago that Yahweh would these days be notified to the department if he spoke and acted in this way!)

So Jeremiah remains faithful to his call, through all the challenges and difficulties this brought him. For four decades he is relentless is calling the people of his day to account for their sins: “the house of Israel and the house of Judah have broken the covenant that I made with their ancestors” (11:10); “we have sinned against the Lord our God, we and our ancestors, from our youth even to this day; and we have not obeyed the voice of the Lord our God” (3:25).

In the passage set before us by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, the prophet reports God’s anguish about Israel: “my people are foolish, they do not know me; they are stupid children, they have no understanding; they are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good” (4:22). In despair, God decides to use a foreign power to bring Israel to their senses. He tells the prophet, “I am now making my words in your mouth a fire, and this people wood, and the fire shall devour them. I am going to bring upon you a nation from far away, O house of Israel, says the Lord” (5:14–15). Thus Jeremiah foretells the invasion of the Babylonians (see 2 Ki 25).

Jeremiah senses that God has fixed the course to be taken: “they have taught their tongues to speak lies; they commit iniquity and are too weary to repent. Oppression upon oppression, deceit upon deceit! They refuse to know me, says the Lord … Shall I not punish them for these things? says the Lord; and shall I not bring retribution on a nation such as this?” (9:5–6, 9). National disgrace awaits them, as they submit to a foreign power.

Eventually, from his exile in Egypt, and as others from his nation are taken north into exile by the invading Babylonians, Jeremiah tells the Israelites, “It is because you burned offerings, and because you sinned against the Lord and did not obey the voice of the Lord or walk in his law and in his statutes and in his decrees, that this disaster has befallen you, as is still evident today” (44:23). He has been resolute in his condemnation of the sinful people. He is now, sadly, vindicated. And so God decrees, “I am going to watch over them for harm and not for good; all the people of Judah who are in the land of Egypt shall perish by the sword and by famine, until not one is left” (44:27).

I must confess that it seems quite easy, at the moment, to slip into a simplistic interpretive pattern and apply these words—spoken long again against a sinful nation—to the very nation, today, who still bears the same name as those ancient people: Israel. The sins of the modern nation of Israel are manifold. Established as a refuge for a persecuted people, the nation has turned persecutor. Given land in recognition of the way they had been disposed and dispersed, the landholders sought more and more land, building settlements on Palestinian land, erecting a strong, impenetrable wall to keep “them” from “us”.

In a series of battles, they have waged war to ensure their safety and security. Besieged by leaders of organisations arrayed against them, they have continued to shoot, bomb, and destabilise such “terrorist” groups. Yet what is happening in Gaza today is no longer able to be distinguished from genocide—the very same genocidal actions that the Jewish people experienced almost a century ago. The sins of the nation appear (at least to me) to be clear, persistent, and utterly repugnant. Jeremiah’s words to ancient Israel—“I am determined to bring disaster on you, to bring all Judah to an end” (44:11) could well be the words of God to the modern nation of Israel.

Can we simply apply to condemnation of Jeremiah to modern Israel? It’s tempting; but it’s not responsible interpretation. And it leaves open the door to the accusation—repeated often, now—that this is antisemitic. I don’t believe it is antisemitic, because such criticisms are directed against the policies and practices of the modern nation-state of Israel, and what they result in, and not against all Jews everywhere, simply for being Jewish. So we need to steer clear of this kind of simplistic equation. The criticisms are political and pragmatic, not based on religion or ethnicity.

For my analysis of the current situation involving Israel, Hamas, Gaza, and Palestine, see

Israel, the West Bank, and Hamas: a prayer for peace, and a yearning for justice

and

Significant days, reflecting Shoah, Independence, Nakba, and 7 October.

All of this is in the book of Jeremiah: denunciation after denunciation of the people, warnings of divine punishment, and oracles portending imminent exile and absolute destruction. We can’t get away from that.

However: the passage that the lectionary offers for this coming Sunday raises the stakes even higher. In this passage (Jer 4:11–12, 22–28), the wrath of God is directed not just to Israel, but to all creation. The looming catastrophe is not just national; it is global, cosmic in its scope.

To be sure, the passage reports God’s anguish about Israel, as we have noted: “my people are foolish, they do not know me; they are stupid children, they have no understanding; they are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good” (4:22).

But then comes a most remarkable sequence of sentences, in which the whole of creation seems to be in view. “I looked on the earth, and lo, it was waste and void; and to the heavens, and they had no light”, God is saying. “I looked on the mountains, and lo, they were quaking, and all the hills moved to and fro. I looked, and lo, there was no one at all, and all the birds of the air had fled. I looked, and lo, the fruitful land was a desert, and all its cities were laid in ruins before the Lord, before his fierce anger” (4:23–26).

Writing on this Jeremiah passage in With Love to the World, the Rev Dr Anthony Rees, Associate Professor of Old Testament in the School of Theology, Charles Sturt University, notes: “This is a remarkably evocative passage. It begins with a hot wind, a symbol of judgement (as in Jonah 4). It moves quickly to a promise of destruction from the North (Dan and Ephraim); it almost seems that God is cheering on those who would do Judah harm.”

But there is more than just evocative poetry here. It seems to me that the words of Jeremiah might be describing the end result of a process that is happening in our own time. Since the start of the Industrial Revolution, and continuing apace into the 21st century, the damage that human beings have been causing to the planet has been increasing with noticeable impacts seen in so many areas: global warming, more intense extreme weather events, more frequent extreme weather events, the diminishing of the ice caps at the poles of the earth, the warming of the oceans’ temperature, rising sea levels impacting particularly islands in the Pacific, the bleaching of the Great Barrier Reef, and so many more things that can be attributed to human-generated climate change.

In our own household, in just the past five years, we have seen a searing bushfire come within a few kilometres of our suburb, and then a massive downpour lead to rising floodwaters that reached the other side of the road on which we live. Climate change is real, and close. We are well on track, as many scientists are saying, to see a planet with a radically altered ecosystem.

The view from our front yard:
Gordon, ACT, January 2020 (*top*),
during the severe bushfire in the ACT;
Dungog, NSW, May 2025 (*bottom*),
during the east coast flooding

Anthony Rees continues his reflections on Jer 4: “Judah is destroyed, the people and land laid waste on account of childish stupidity and ignorance. A remarkable image is then seen: the earth is described as waste and void, the very same description given of the earth in Gen 1:2 before God’s creative activity begins.”

The passage in Jeremiah has God narrating his view of the systematic undoing of his work as the Creator, as that has been set out in the narratives of Gen 1 and Gen 2, and in the poetry of Psalms 8, 19, 65, 104, and 148. God sees that the earth was once again “waste and void” (Jer 4:23a), as it was in the beginning (Gen 1:2). All that the landscape showed was a ravaged wilderness, for no longer did the earth bring forth vegetation: “plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it” (Gen 1:12; 2:8–9; and see Ps 65:11–13; 104:14–15, 27 –28). Rather, what God sees is that “the fruitful land was a desert, and all its cities were laid in ruins” (Jer 4:26).

In the heavens there is no light (Jer 4:23b), thus undoing God’s early creative work (Gen 1:3, “let there be light”; and Ps 8:3; 19:4b—6; 148:3). Hills and mountains were shaking (Jer 4:24); the stability they provided, the unshakeable foundation of the earth, has been undone (Ps 65:6; 104:5, 8; 148:9). All the birds have fled (Jer 4:25), undoing the work of God reported at Gen 1:21–22 (and see Ps 8:8; 104:12; 148:10b).

Anthony Rees notes, “Jeremiah looks to the heavens and the light is gone. God’s creative work has been undone on account of human failure. And again, human failure has consequences that go beyond our species: mountains sway, birds flee, arable land is turned to desert. What good news is there to be found here? What image of hope?”

The relevance for today of Jeremiah’s poetic “vision” that undoes the vision of creation expressed long ago by priests and poets is striking. And his perception that it is human sinfulness that is at the root of this is noteable. We know what we need to do to slow the rate of change, so that the climate remains within an inhabitable range. We know what we need to do to stop pumping gases into the air that are changing the way the planet works. We know what changes we need to make to our way of living—a whole host of changes, large and small—but we lack the will to do so. Our national policies continue to favour the industries that contribute most to the degradation of our environment. Our daily practices show minimal change, if that, in so many households.

Anthony Rees concludes, “Perhaps we might best read this text as a warning, and commit ourselves to working in ways that maintain relationship with God, our neigbours, and the rest of the created order.” It is certainly a timely word, given our critical situation. How do you respond to Jeremiah’s mournful poetry? What changes can you make? What lobbying can you undertake? What advocacy can you commit to do? Are we always going to be condemned to be, like ancient Israel, those who “are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good”?

I am a potter shaping evil against you (Jer 18; Pentecost 13C)

The passage from Jeremiah proposed by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Jer 18:1–11) is the third in a series of eight passages, taken from various sections of the work, that we read and hear during this long season “after Pentecost”. It’s a well-known passage because of the way it uses the common figure of a potter working his clay to form a vessel for domestic use. The potter spoils his work, so he starts again and works another vessel (vv.1–4).

The image of a potter is used elsewhere in Hebrew Scripture. It appears in an oracle by the prophet Isaiah (Isa 29:13–16). He poses a question to God: “You turn things upside down! Shall the potter be regarded as the clay?” (29:16). This is the very oracle whose words are used by Paul in his words to the Corinthians: “the wisdom of their wise shall perish, and the discernment of the discerning shall be hidden” (Isa 29:13; 1 Cor 1:18–19).

Paul also uses the clay element of the imagery when he later tells the Corinthians that “we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us” (2 Cor 4:7). Paul is referring to his preaching of the message about Jesus, who gives “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God” in his face (2 Cor 4:6).

We also find the potter—clay imagery used by the later unnamed prophet whose words are included in the second section of the book of Isaiah. He speaks of “the one coming from the north” who “shall trample on rulers as on mortar, as the potter treads clay” (Isa 41:21–29, see v.25). He later instructs the people not to question the intentions of God. Those who do so should remember they are “earthen vessels with the potter”; he warns them, “does the clay say to the one who fashions it, ‘What are you making’? or ‘your work has no handles’?” (45:9–13, see v.9). The image of the potter represents the sovereign power of God to act as God wishes and intends. That’s how Paul also understands it in 1 Cor 1.

In the passage offered to us for this coming Sunday, the prophet Jeremiah uses this image specifically to warn Israel that, since the people have become, in effect, “spoiled goods” because of their entrenched idolatry (Jer 18:8), the Lord God can be of a mind to discard them as unwanted. As the potter, God has unfettered freedom to mould and shape the clay exactly how he wills.

Mixing metaphors, Jeremiah then turns to the horticultural imagery employed in the opening scene of the book (“I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant”, 1:10). So, he declares, God can decide to “pluck up and break down and destroy” the sinful nation (18:7), just as God may decide on another occasion to “build and plant” a nation (18:9).

In both instances, however, the Lord God retains the sovereign right to exercise a change of mind. If an evil nation repents, “I will change my mind about the disaster that I intended to bring on it” (18:8). Conversely, if a faithful nation, planted by God, turns to evil, “I will change my mind about the good that I had intended to do to it” (18:10). Although Christians have been taught to think of God as unchangeable, eternally the same—under the influence of the stark declaration of Heb 13:8—the testimony of Hebrew Scripture is actually that God can, and did, and will, change God’s mind.

See

God changed God’s mind (Jonah 3; Epiphany 3B)

So the message for Israel is clear: “I am a potter shaping evil against you and devising a plan against you”, says God; and so the plea to the people is “turn now, all of you from your evil way, and amend your ways and your doings” (18:11). The notion that God can act with evil intent is perhaps a claim that later Christian theology reacts against; after all, don’t we have the devil, Satan himself, to be responsible for all that is evil intent the world?

Yet in the world of ancient Israel, a near-contemporary of Jeremiah articulates the twofold nature of God’s sovereign actions. It comes with the territory of claiming that the Lord God is the only God—the beginnings of monotheism. “I am the Lord, and there is no other; besides me there is no god”, says the unnamed prophet of Second Isaiah. As a consequence, he reports the claim of God: “I form light and create darkness, I make weal and create woe; I the Lord do all these things” (Isa 45:5–7). There is no hiding behind Satan as the instigator of evil; for this prophet, as for Jeremiah, the Lord himself is able to act with evil intent.

Yet God does call for Israel to repent (Jer 18:11). However, their stubborn refusal to repent (18:12) leads to more recriminations from God (18:13–17), and their plotting against the prophet (18:18) leads him to plead with God (18:19–23), culminating in his strident words, “Do not forgive their iniquity, do not blot out their sin from your sight; let them be tripped up before you; deal with them while you are angry” (18:23).

The prophet’s anger matches—and perhaps even inflames—the divine wrath. So God commands the prophet to “buy a potter’s earthenware jug …. go out to the valley of the son of Hinnom at the entry of the Potsherd Gate … break the jug in the sight of those who go with you … [and declare] so will I break this people and this city, as one breaks a potter’s vessel, so that it can never be mended” (19:1–13). In this way the Lord God stands resolute against the sinful nation, who have “stiffened their necks, refusing to hear my words” (19:15). And so the scene that has begun with a command to go to the potter’s house ends with a smashed pot and wrathful words of vengeance.

On the thread of divine wrath running through scripture, see

The Day, The End: themes in The Prophets

and

Coming to grips with the judgement of God (Luke 12 and Isaiah 5; Pentecost 10C)

A good question to ponder, though, is this: God calls Israel to repent. They need to remain faithful to the covenant. Yet Israel refuses to repent. They depart from their covenant commitment. So God acts as God has promised, to bring punishment upon them. Is this acting in an “evil” way? Or is God simply being good to God’s word?

Writing about this passage and others offered on other days this week in the daily Bible study guide, With Love to the World, the Rev. Dr Anthony Rees, Associate Professor of Old Testament in the School of Theology, Charles Sturt University, comments that “the readings this week demonstrate something of the complexity inherent in reading Jeremiah. Emerging from a chaotic, traumatic world, the texts shows the wounds of that experience, so that hope and hopelessness exist side by side. Chronology breaks down, suggestive of the challenge presented by the trauma of being unable to ‘think straight’”.

The disrupted nature of this book as a whole is well-documented. The chronological disjunctures throughout the 52 chapters can be seen when we trace the references to various kings of Judah: in order, we have Josiah in 627 BCE (Jer 1:2), jumping later to Zedekiah in 587 BCE (21:1), then back earlier to Shallum (i.e. Jehoahaz) in 609 BCE (22:11), Jehoiakim from 609 to 598 BCE (22:18), and Jeconiah in 597 BCE (22:24).

The book then returns to Zedekiah in 597 BCE (24:8), then back even earlier to Jehoiakim in April 604 BCE, “the first year of King Nebuchadrezzar of Babylon” (25:1)—and then further haphazard leaps between Zedekiah (chs. 27, 32-34, 37–38, and 51:59) and Jehoiakim (chs. 26, 35, 45) as well as the period in 587 after the fall of Jerusalem when Gedaliah was Governor (chs. 40–44). It is certainly an erratic trajectory if we plot the historical landmarks!

Rather than a straightforward chronological progression, the arrangement of the book is more topical, since oracles on the same topic are grouped together even though they may have been delivered at different times. This topical arrangement is easy to trace: 25 chapters of prophecies in poetic form about Israel, 20 chapters of narrative prose, and six chapters of prophecies against foreign nations.

Early in the opening chapters, as Jeremiah prophesies against Israel, he reports that God muses, “you have played the whore with many lovers; and would you return to me?” (3:1). The idolatry and injustices practised by the people of Israel have caused God concern. Throughout the poetry of the prophetic oracles in chapters 1—25, God cajoles, encourages, warns, and threatens the people. The passage proposed for this Sunday sits within this opening section of oracles.

There are various theories as to how the book was put together; most scholars believe that someone after the lifetime of Jeremiah has brought together material from collections that were originally separate.

Indeed, A.R. Pete Diamond concludes that “like it or not, we have no direct access to the historical figure of Jeremiah or his cultural matrix”; we have “interpretative representations rather than raw cultural transcripts”, and thus he argues that the way we read this book should be informed by insights from contemporary literary theory, and especially by reading this book alongside the book of Deuteronomy, as it offers a counterpoint to the Deuteronomic view of “the myth of Israel and its patron deity, Yahweh” (Jeremiah, pp. 544–545 in the Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, 2003).

So whereas Deuteronomy advocates a nationalistic God, Jeremiah conceives of an international involvement of Israel’s God. Commenting on this, Anthony Rees observes: “In this famous passage the covenant obligations which govern Judah’s relationship with God are given a broader understanding. Any nation can avoid divine punishment by turning from evil. Likewise, a nation that turns to evil stands condemned by God.”

Prof. Rees then draws an interesting conclusion. “Perhaps this relativizes Judah’s relationship with their God”, he proposes. “However, they maintain something the other nations lack: knowledge. Repeatedly God affirms that they are the only people amongst the nations who have been known by God and know God.”

In a later oracle, when God is considering to bring Israel back out of exile, into their land, he says, using familiar imagery, “I will build them up, and not tear them down; I will plant them, and not pluck them up” (Jer 24:6).

He continues, “I will give them a heart to know that I am the Lord; and they shall be my people and I will be their God, for they shall return to me with their whole heart” (24:7). This is the fruit of knowledge: to be completely faithful to the Lord God.

And then, in yet another oracle—and this one so well-known because of how it is used in the New Testament—the prophet reports God’s intention to make “a new covenant” and to “put my law within them and … write it on their heart”. In this situation, “no longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord’, for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest” (Jer 31:31–34). This knowledge is at the heart of the covenant. As the psalmist sings, “this I know, that God is for me” (Ps 56:9b). Or, as the Sunday school song goes, “Jesus loves me, this I know”.

So Prof. Rees concludes: “This is the great tragedy of [Israel’s] failure, and our own, that we know, and yet still follow our own plans that run contrary to the desires of God. Still, here we have the prophetic call to turn, to amend our ways and to live into that which, and whom, we know.” It is a call that stands, still, in our own time. How do we respond?

You defiled my land and made my heritage an abomination (Jer 2; Pentecost 12C)

Last week we began reading and hearing sections of the long book of Jeremiah. Of the first three major prophets, First Isaiah (the actual Isaiah the prophet) fills 39 chapters. The book of the exilic prophet Ezekiel is 48 chapters long; Jeremiah’s book has a mammoth 52 chapters. (The only book longer is Psalms, with an unbeatable 150 chapters.)

Jeremiah makes a most substantial contribution to Israelite society and Hebrew Scripture. It is good, I believe, that we have eight consecutive weeks, no less, to consider what he had to say. (And in the middle of that, the lectionary inserts Lamentations—a work traditionally associated with Jeremiah, even if not actually written by him.)

A depiction of the prophet Jeremiah, from the *Icons of the Bible* collection by photographer James C. Lewis
see https://elizabethokoh.com/in-conversation-with-james-c-lewis-international-photographer-awakening-a-generation/

We need to allow Jeremiah and his fellow prophets to speak their prophetic words without rushing all-too-quickly to say that they are “predicting Jesus” in what they say (a common misuse of Hebrew Scripture texts); or, indeed, that we say something like, “well that’s how it was back then, but things changed when Jesus came, and it’s now all different—we don’t need these texts any more”. That is the bad heresy of supercessionism (which the church, sadly, has perpetrate and advocated for at various times in its history).

On supercessionism, see https://johntsquires.com/tag/supersessionism/

So it’s best that we hear each passage, week by week, and seek to understand each of them in their own own integrity, paying due attention to the particular historical, cultural, religious, and sociological contexts in which it was first spoken and/or written. So my commentary on each Jeremiah passage will seek to focus in this way as we explore what is offered by the lectionary.

Jeremiah 2 comes immediately after the narrative of the call of the young Jeremiah (1:4–10) and the initial words of the Lord that he hears, pointing to the disaster that is looming as the Assyrians press down from the north onto the kingdom of Israel (1:11–19). Jeremiah reports the stern condemnation of the Lord God, who makes note of “all their wickedness in forsaking me”; he cites, in particular, making offerings to other gods and worshipping idols (“the works of their own hands”) (1:16).

Into this situation, the prophet is commanded to speak three oracles (2:1–3; 4–9; 10–13), perhaps originating at different times, but brought together here for a strongly theological purpose. The lectionary chooses to offer just the second and the third oracles; the first, a brief reminiscence of how disaster has come upon the once-faithful nation (2:1–3), sets the scene for the fiercer words of the following two oracles.

“I remember the devotion of your youth, your love as a bride”, the Lord God has sung (2:2); yet “your ancestors … went far from me”, he accuses, noting that “they went after worthless things, and became worthless themselves” (2:2, 5). Israel has not exhibited the fidelity expected; they have not kept the marital vow to “love and cherish”, in our modern terms.

So in this second oracle (2:4–9), the Lord condemns Israel in the strongest of terms; even though he brought them “into a plentiful land to eat its fruits and its good things”, their transgressions were such that, as he declares, “you defiled my land, and made my heritage an abomination” (2:7). An abomination!—strong words, indeed.

For more on “abominations” in Hebrew Scripture, see

On incense and injustice, of assemblies and abominations (Isaiah 1; Pentecost C9)

All knowledge of the Law which was given to guide the people has been lost (2:8). There is, it seems, no longer any hope that the people can maintain their part of the covenant agreement. Their lives are lived in disdain and rejection of all God has hoped for them—all that their ancestors had committed to in the covenant.

We might well infer, then, that judgement is inevitable. The stridency of punishment for such an “abomination” is reminiscent of the punishments promised when the “abominations” of sexual misconduct are canvassed in Torah (see Lev 18:1–23). There, any such actions will have the result that “the land will vomit you out for defiling it” (18:28) and “whoever commits any of these abominations shall be cut off from their people” (18:29).

In these two results—the loss of the land and disconnection from the people—we see the severing of two of the foundational promises recorded in the ancestral saga, when Abraham was promised both a land, and a great nation, in response to his obedience (Gen 12:1–2).

With no land, and a fractured people, this ancestral promise is in tatters. For many more verses, words of condemnation of the idolatrous state of Israel pour forth: “have you not brought this upon yourself by forsaking the Lord your God, while he led you in the way?” (2:17); “on every high hill and under every green tree you sprawled and played the whore” (2:20); “where are your gods that you made for yourself?” (2:28); “on your skirts is found the lifeblood of the innocent poor” (2:34); “you have played the whore with many lovers” (3:1); “you have the forehead of a whore, you refuse to be ashamed” (3:3). The Lord God is incessant in his denunciations.

Yet God does not wish for this situation to continue. At the end of this lengthy tirade, the prophet poses the question of God: “will he be angry forever, will he be indignant to the end?” (3:5). The answer to this comes in the very next oracle: a call for repentance, with the divine assurance that “I will not look on you in anger, for I am merciful, says the Lord; I will not be angry forever” (3:12), followed by the promise that “I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will feed you with knowledge and understanding” (3:15). The lengthy oracle of judgment does indeed lead to the possibility of forgiveness and restoration (3:15–18).

And so the fundamental dynamic of the whole long book of oracles spoken by Jeremiah is set forth. Intense, persistent, excoriating condemnation; followed by soothing, loving assurances of grace. For chapter after chapter. Decade after decade. Through all manner of trials. Until the prophet words of the prophet cease (Jer 51:64).

By offering this passage for preachers in the 21st century, the lectionary invites us to consider how these ancient words from so long ago, in such a different cultural context, might yet still speak to us as “the word of the Lord”. In writing in With Love to the World about the passages from Jeremiah in the lectionary, the Rev. Dr Monica Melanchthon, Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible at Pilgrim Theological College in the University of Divinity, asks some pertinent questions:

How do you go about applying the role of the ancient Israelite prophet to your own life and experience?

What aspects of Jeremiah’s call speak to you the most? Why?

How might the sins of the Israelites in Jeremiah 2 be parallel to modern day Christian living?

and then, How might this text guide your reactions to prophetic warnings in the current world?

Elisha and Naaman (2 Kings 5; Pentecost 4C)

During the long season after Pentecost in Year C, the lectionary includes a range of stories and oracles from the prophetic texts of Hebrew Scripture. The first three come from the books bearing the title of Kings—although the contents of these two books canvass more than the kings of Israel; prophets figure prominently at key points in the story.

Two of these passages are well-known because Jesus refers to them in the sermon he delivered at Nazareth: Elijah and the widow at Zarephath, and Elisha and the Syrian army commander, Naaman. Elijah is sent to a faithful woman, who perhaps typically remains unnamed; Elisha is sent to faithful man, identified by name as Naaman (Luke 4:25–27).

Both characters demonstrate trust in the stories told about them. The woman trusted Elijah when he said, “first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son” (1 Ki 17:13). She did this, and there was enough for her and her son, and for Elijah “for many days … the jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail” (2 Ki 17:15–16).

The army commander (eventually) trusted Elisha when he said, “go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean” (2 Ki 5:10). After an initial reluctance, Naaman did as the prophet said, and he was healed; “his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean” (2 Ki 5:14).

The woman, who was not an Israelite (Zarephath is in Sidon, a Gentile territory) is of low social status; the army commander, of course, is a high status person, even if he is a foreigner, as a Syrian. Jesus alienates his audience in Nazareth by focussing his attention on God’s merciful care for foreigners like the widow of Sidon and the soldier of Syria, regardless of their social status—and on the way each one of these foreigners modelled trusting obedience. As Luke reports, his audience was not impressed!

See more at

Jesus, the widow of Sidon and the soldier of Syria: representatives of the community of faith (Luke 4:25–27; Epiphany 4C)

We hear the second of these stories this coming Sunday: the encounter between the prophet Elisha and the general Naaman is what is in the Hebrew Scriptures passage proposed by the lectionary. The story comes after Elisha has taken on the role of prophet in the kingdom of Israel, following on from Elijah. Elisha asked Elijah to grant him a double share of his spirit (2 Ki 2:9); Elijah agreed, and after Elijah departed, a company of prophets declared “the spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha” (2:15).

So, as I noted in last week’s blog post, Elisha performs miracles that replicate those performed earlier by Elijah; but he does more than Elijah, with an abundance of miraculous deeds. This particular miracle is given more space than any other miracle that either prophet performs.

The early and substantive miracle of Elijah, his reviving the widow ‘s son (1 Ki 17), is told in eight verses; the story of Elisha and Naaman (2 Ki 5) takes up fourteen verses, but the story continues for another thirteen verses, detailing the consequences for Elisha’s servant Gehazi after his intervention into the sequence of events.

The lectionary, of course, does not offer all of the elements of this long narrative. We hear, firstly, the opening two verses which introduce Naaman and his situation; we then skip to verse 6, to hear the course of events leading to the healing of Naaman. Whilst verse 2 also introduces a young Israelite girl who had been taken captive to serve Naaman’s wife, we do not hear her role in the narrative offered by the lectionary (vv.3–5). The lectionary, unfortunately, is good at minimising or informing female characters in the stories it includes.

As for Naaman, we learn much and observe much during the course of events. Naaman is introduced in a distinctive way. He is a “mighty warrior”, a commander “of the army of the king of Aram”—that is, a foreigner—who was “in high favour with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram” (5:1). Aram was a province in Syria, to the northeast of Israel, with Damascus as a key city. The province is perhaps best known through the fact that its name forms the basis of the language which came to be the dominant tongue across the Middle East: Aramaic.

See https://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/daily/ancient-cultures/ancient-near-eastern-world/what-is-aramaic/#gf_1

In the days of Israel’s kings and prophets, foreigners were inevitably regarded as enemies, to be fought, subdued, and held captive. The regular battles recorded throughout the books of Samuel and Kings attest to this, and many psalms also reflect this deep-seated antagonism.

One psalmist sings “rise up, O Lord, in your anger; lift yourself up against the fury of my enemies” (Ps 7:9), another affirms that “surely God is my helper … he will repay my enemies for their evil” (Ps54:4–5), while yet another celebrates at length: “you made my enemies turn their backs to me, and those who hated me I destroyed. They cried for help, but there was no one to save them … I beat them fine, like dust before the wind; I cast them out like the mire of the streets” (Ps 18:40–42).

In the NRSV, no less than ten psalms have been given titles which include the words “Deliverance from Enemies” (Pss 4, 5, 10, 13, 31, 35, 59, 70, 140, 143). It was a standard element, it would seem, that was to be found in temple worship and in the prayers of faithful people, as these psalms attest.

This is one factor that helps explain the intractability of national relationships in the Middle East today; centuries of antagonism and conflict have led to hatred and demonising of the “other”. There is no clear and simple way back from this deeply-ingrained perspective, held by Jew and Arab alike.

In the context provided by these psalms, the celebration of Naaman as a military commander whose victory was enabled by the Lord God of Israel is striking. Whether Naaman was an historical person or not cannot be determined; his actual existence is as secure, or as fragile, as the existence of any other figure in the narratives found in the grand saga of Israel in these biblical books. There are no known references to him in sources outside the biblical texts.

To be sure, the story, first told by storytellers and then passed on through the growing oral tradition, would have struck a distinctive note in ancient Israel, given this ingrained antagonism towards foreigners—especially those in military service. By the time the Deuteronomic History was compiled and published, the Israelites had already experienced the beneficence of Cyrus, King of Persia. Under Cyrus—declared by the Lord in Second Isaiah to be “my shepherd [who] shall carry out all my purpose” as the Lord’s anointed (Isa 44:28, 45:1)—Israel had experienced a positive action by a foreign ruler. Naaman’s victory, empowered by the Lord God, would have had a resonance with that experience for this who heard, or read, his story.

But Naaman is also introduced as a mezora, a person affected by the skin disease tzaraath (2 Ki 5:1). This latter term is traditionally rendered as “leprosy”, but it is clear that it was not at all what today we know as Hansen’s disease, a highly-contagious disease in which a bacterial infection can damage some or all of a person’s skin, nerves, eyes, and their respiratory tract. Biblical leprosy was, rather, a disfiguration of a person’s skin—usually manifested in white patches of skin—which rendered a person ritually unclean. There are a range of prescriptions for dealing with this disease in Lev 13–14.

Naaman’s condition renders him unclean in Israelite society. It is his his slave girl (taken into service from her home in Israel) who suggests to him that he might visit “the prophet who is in Samaria”, for “he would cure him of his leprosy” (5:3). Naaman goes to Elisha with the blessing of his king, whose army had previously been at war with the Israelite army (1 Ki 20, 22); now, however, Israel was battling the Moabites to the south (2 Ki3), so Aram was a beneficent neighbour.

The process that Elisha sets for Naaman to follow is symbolically rich and practically powerful. “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean” (5:10), the prophet commands him. The “seven times” signals a perfect, completed process, typical of Israelite practices (“seven times” appears four times in the ritual of Lev 14, and another five times in other ritual elsewhere in Leviticus).

Summary of Lev 13, from https://www.2belikechrist.com/articles/leviticus-13-summary-in-5-minutes

This process is far simpler than the required ritual for Israelites: Leviticus prescribes a far more complex process. It begins with an investigation by the priest to determine whether the person is in fact unclean (Lev 13, with multiple options for consideration set out in the first 46 verses, and then 13 further verses relating to clothing and houses!)

If the disease is still active, a purification process then ensues in which “two living clean birds and cedarwood and crimson yarn and hyssop” are to be brought to the priest, who will then slaughter one bird and “take the living bird with the cedarwood and the crimson yarn and the hyssop, and dip them and the living bird in the blood of the bird that was slaughtered over the fresh water” (Lev 14:4–6). This blood is then sprinkled seven times on the one who is to be cleansed of the leprous disease; “then he shall pronounce him clean, and he shall let the living bird go into the open field” (Lev 14:7).

A further process is then required, with the person to be healed washing, shaving, living apart for a week, shaving again, and then taking another collection of items for this ritual: “two male lambs without blemish, and one ewe lamb in its first year without blemish, and a grain offering of three-tenths of an ephah of choice flour mixed with oil, and one log of oil” (Lev 14:10). Another ritual of sacrifice follows, with detailed instructions given (Lev 14:11–20). It is complex!

The response of Naaman, in the light of this complex process expected of Israelites, is striking. He is impatient! He had actually been expecting an instantaneous cure, and wondered why he could not simply was in a river closer to his home (2 Ki 5:12). In his anger, he dismisses Elisha as weak and ineffective (5:11–12). But after an intercession from his servants, he dutifully obeys, and the result (after seven immersions) is dramatic: “his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean” (5:14). Naaman returns to Elisha, to praise the God who has enabled the prophet to heal him and to offer a gift (5:15).

Why does the lectionary end the section of the text offered for this Sunday (5:1–14) before the following verse? Surely to end the section with the climactic confession, “I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel” would have been quite powerful! Perhaps it stops abruptly to avoid the apparently embarrassing words of Naaman, “please accept a present from your servant” (v.15b). This was to be expected in the patron—client society of antiquity; is it felt a little crass for modern ears, or does it unhelpfully suggest that grateful parishioners today should shower their ministers with gifts in gratitude? (That would be contrary to the Code of Ethics that I am bound to operate by.)

Or perhaps because the last part of this verse introduces a whole new act in the story of Naaman and Elisha? The suggestion of a gift for the prophet, his stern refusal (vv.16–18) and his final word of peace (v.19), all lead on into the final part of the long story told in this chapter. It takes us to Gehazi, the interfering servant of Elisha, and the consequences of his actions which are recounted in vv.20–27. Again, the lectionary ignores this part of the story; but its inclusion in the Deuteronomic History indicates that it had significance for the Israelites in subsequent years, and especially in the years after the Exile, when this lengthy document was put into a final form.

Elisha, in the end, is required to pronounce judgement over the miscreant servant. Gehazi intervenes, seeking additional money from Naaman—who willingly gives more than what is asked for. “Please give them a talent of silver and two changes of clothing”, the servant begs; Naaman responds by giving him “two talents of silver in two bags, with two changes of clothing” (5:22–23). So gratified was the Syrian for his healing that he gave in abundance.

But Elisha knows what his servant has done; “did I not go with you in spirit when someone left his chariot to meet you?”, he says (5:26). And so the story ends with a clear reversal: “the leprosy of Naaman shall cling to you, and to your descendants forever”, the prophet tells his servant (5:27). And so it does. The man who was once leprous is now healed, for “his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean” (5:14); whereas Gehazi now bears the stigma of Naaman’s leprosy, and as he departs from Elisha, “he left his presence leprous, as white as snow” (5:27).

In later Jewish tradition, the figure of Gehazi serves as a type for those who are avaricious in their dealings with others, as Gehazi was. An article in the Jewish Encyclopedia describes how he is portrayed in the Babylonian Talmud: “When Naaman went to Elisha, the latter was studying the passage concerning the eight unclean “sheraẓim” (creeping things; comp. Shab. xiv. 1).

“Therefore when Gehazi returned after inducing Naaman to give him presents, Elisha, in his rebuke, enumerated eight precious things which Gehazi had taken, and told him that it was time for him to take the punishment prescribed for one who catches any of the eight sheraẓim, the punishment being in his case leprosy. The four lepers at the gate announcing Sennacherib’s defeat were Gehazi and his three sons (b.Soṭ 47a).”

Gehazi is also identified as one of four individuals who deny the resurrection of the dead and have no portion in the world to come (b.Sanh 90a). See https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/6557-gehazi

In a Christian context, we might also note that the dynamics of this story in 2 Kings 5 foreshadow the dynamics of true faith spoken of by a later teacher in Israel: “whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” (Mark 9:35); “the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like” (Luke 22:26); “blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled; blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh … woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry; woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep” (Luke 6:21,25). What a pity the lectionary has omitted this potent conclusion to a well-known story.

The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha (2 Kings 2; Pentecost 3C)

In the Hebrew Scriptures passage that the lectionary sets before us this coming Sunday (in 2 Kings 2), we read about the transition from Elijah the prophet to Elisha the prophet. This is an important moment in the story, as it moves on from the words and deeds of Elijah the Tishbite, later remembered as the great “prophet like fire [whose] word burned like a torch” (Sirach 48:1) and as one who had “great zeal for the law” (1 Macc 2:58).

Whilst Elijah remained in his heavenly abode, it was considered that he would ultimately return from that place “before the great and terrible day of the Lord”; he would come “to turn the hearts of the people of Israel” so that the Lord God “will not come and strike the land with a curse” (Mal 4:5–6). But in the meantime, who would follow him in the earthly realm to declare the word of the Lord and to signal the power of the Lord God by performing miracles, as Elijah had done? This transition story offers the answer.

In the book we know as 1 Kings, the compiler of the Deuteronomic History reports many incidents which attest to the courage and power of Elijah. In his sermon in Nazareth, Jesus refers to the first miracle of Elijah, when he provided a widow in Zarephath with food and oil that “did not fail”, even though the land was in drought (1 Ki 17:1–16). In subsequent incidents in this book, he raises a dead son (17:17–24), confronts King Ahab (18:1–18) and famously stares down the prophets of Baal in a mountaintop showdown (18:19–40), leading to the breaking of the drought (18:41–46).

Elijah later condemns Ahab over his unjust seizure of the vineyard of Naboth (21:17–29) and then stands before Ahab’s son, King Ahaziah, to condemn him to death (2 Ki 1:2–16); a death “according to the words of of the Lord that Elijah had spoken” which is promptly reported (2 Ki 1:17). During the rule of Ahab, Elijah had also most famously heard the Lord God “not in the wind … not in the earthquake … not in the fire”—the standard elements involved in a theophany since the time of Moses (Exod 19:1–6)—but rather in “the sound of sheer silence” (1 Ki 19:11–12). Elijah was his own, distinctive man, with his own, distinctive encounter with God.

Then, immediately after that encounter, Elijah the Tishbite, from Gilead, called Elisha son of Shaphat, a farmer ploughing his fields, to be his chosen disciple (1 Ki 19:19–21). All of these stories serve as the background to the story that we face on this Sunday’s readings, when Elijah “ascended in a whirlwind into heaven” (2 Ki 2:11) and leaves behind his prophetic mantle, which Elisha then took as his own (2 Ki 2:12–14). From that moment, as “the company of prophets who were at Jericho” declared, “the spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha” (2 Ki 2:13–15).

Indeed, Elisha had rather brashly requested of Elijah, “please let me inherit a double share of your spirit” (2:9). Elijah had responded, “you have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not” (2:10). Sure enough, as Elisha subsequently watches as “a chariot of fire and horses of fire” take Elijah and he ascends “in a whirlwind” (2:11), Elisha is watching, indeed crying out a description of the spectacle: “father, father! the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!” (2:12). He will surely be doubly blessed. The narrator makes sure we know that Elisha could see Elijah departing, commenting that “when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces” (2:12).

Elisha knows he had the blessing of Elijah when his first action after the departure of his mentor was to pick up the cloak (or mantle) that Elijah had left behind, and immediately uses it to enact a miracle (2:13–14)—replicating what Elijah had just done (2:8). It seems that a distinctive cloak, or mantle, was worn by prophets over the years; although cloaks were common garments—worn, for instance, by Ezra (Ez 9:5) and Job (Job 1:20)—it is thought the cloak or mantle worn by Samuel (1 Sam 15:27) and Elijah (1 Ki 19:13) was a sign of their prophetic role. That certainly seems the case with Elisha (2 Ki 2:8, 12).

Now, Elisha is not exactly my favourite prophet. After all, look at what he did when some small boys taunted him because of his distinctive hairline. They jeered at him, calling him “bald head”; in response, he cursed them and, presumably to enact the curse, “two she-bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys” (2 Kings 2:23–24). As a particularly alopecic person myself, this does not particularly endear this prophet to me. Why did his sensitivity about his follicularly-challenged head justify this incredibly excessive response to the games of children?

However, the compiler of the Deuteronomic History sees otherwise. Elisha is honoured as a prophet who is able to perform miracles, who confronts kings, and who declares the word of the Lord forthrightly and without fear. He replicated the last miracle of Elijah (2 Ki 2:8) by striking a steam of water with his newly-acquired mantle, so that “the water was parted to the one side and to the other” (2:13–14). He made good the bad water in Jericho (2:19–22), then spoke the word that made the water flow again in Judah (3:13–20), replicating another miracle of Elijah when he caused an earlier drought in Israel to end (1 Ki 18:41–45).

He later supplies an impecunious widow with an abundance of oil to save her from her debtors (2 Ki 4:1–7) and then raises from the dead the son of a Shunnamite woman (4:8–37). These two miracles replicate actions performed earlier by Elijah (1 Ki 17:8–16, 17–24). Elisha’s miraculous deeds continue as he supplies food to end a famine in Gilgal (2 Ki 4:38–41), feeds a hundred men (4:42–44), and then heals the Syrian army commander Naaman (5:1–19), a story that we will focus on in worship the Sunday after this coming one. And as Elijah had challenged the kings of his day, so Elisha confronts the king of his time (2 Ki 6).

Still more miracles are reported, before Elisha became ill and died (13:14–20). Yet even in death, his miraculous powers continued; the narrative reports that as the Moabites invade the land each spring, “as a man was being buried, a marauding band was seen and the man was thrown into the grave of Elisha; as soon as the man touched the bones of Elisha, he came to life and stood on his feet” (13:21). Whilst Elijah had not died—his ascension into heaven was most certainly while he was still alive (2 Ki 2:11–12)—Elisha had died, but his power to perform miracles lived on (2 Ki 13:21).

In his long “hymn in honour of our ancestors”, Jesus, son of Sirach lavishes praise on Elisha. “When Elijah was enveloped in the whirlwind”, he writes, “Elisha was filled with his spirit. He performed twice as many signs, and marvels with every utterance of his mouth. Never in his lifetime did he tremble before any ruler, nor could anyone intimidate him at all. Nothing was too hard for him, and when he was dead, his body prophesied. In his life he did wonders, and in death his deeds were marvelous.” (Sirach 48:12–14). He was, by all accounts, a worthy successor to Elijah. I may have to allow him that, despite his hyper-sensitivity about his hairstyle.

In the sound of sheer silence (1 Kings 19; Pentecost 2C)

In the passage which the lectionary places before us this coming Sunday (from 1 Kings 19), we meet the first of a number of prophetic figures whose deeds are recounted in the books of the Kings or whose words are collected within the Hebrew Scriptures under the catch-all second section of Nevi’im (Prophets).

The first of these prophetic figures is the Elijah the Tishbite, who was introduced as coming from Tishbe in Gilead (1 Ki 17:1), a place whose precise location has occasioned some debate. See https://www.biblegateway.com/resources/encyclopedia-of-the-bible/Tishbite

Elijah is later described as “a hairy man, with a leather belt around his waist” (2 Ki 1:8). This initial portrayal of Elijah is nested within the accounts of that long period of time when Israel was ruled by kings, when prophets functioned as the conscience of the king and the voice of integrity within society. The distinctive dress of Elijah perhaps sets him apart from the court of the kings, where a more “civilized” dress code was presumably operative. Nevertheless, Elijah does have some engagement with the kings who ruled at the time he was active: Ahab, and then Ahaziah. Indeed, his distinctive dress points to his emboldened attitude towards those kings.

In the book we know as 1 Kings, the compiler of the Deuteronomic History reports many incidents which attest to the courage and power of Elijah. The boldness of Elijah is evident in the confrontations that he has with made clear, centuries later, to the followers of Jesus, in the earliest account of his life, when John the baptiser is depicted as a fiery desert preacher, calling for repentance, just as Elijah had called the kings to account (Mark 1:1–8). In a later account of Jesus, there is a clear inference connecting John with Elijah when Jesus notes, “Elijah is indeed coming and will restore all things; but I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but they did to him whatever they pleased” (Matt 17:11–12).

An icon of the Prophet Elijah and Saint John the Baptist from the Monastery of the Prophet Elias (Elijah) in Preveza, Greece

What did Elijah hear? The Hebrew phrase found in verse 12 is qol d’mamah daqqah.

The King James Version translated this as “still small voice”. More recent translations have provided variants on how these words might be translated. Alternatives that are found include “the sound of a low whisper” (ESV), “a gentle whisper” (NIV, NLT), “a soft whisper” (CSB), or “the sound of a gentle blowing” (NASB). These reflect variations on the kind of nuance that the KJV was offering.

And in the context of the developing story of 1 Kings, the paradox is strong. Earlier, the prophet had stood firm against the might of Baal, the foreign god whom Ahab and Jezebel had prioritized in the life of Israel (1 Ki 18:17–40). When “the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal and the four hundred prophets of Asherah who eat at Jezebel’s table” gathered on Mount Carmel, they failed to obtain any response from their god, the god of storms. No matter how intensely they raised their frenzied pleas, all they heard was “no voice, no answer, no response” (18:29).

Appropriating prophetic passages in the season of Epiphany (Epiphany 4C to 7C)

Every Sunday throughout the Christian year (save for the six Sundays in the season of Easter), the Revised Common Lectionary provides a passage from Hebrew Scripture as the First Reading in the set of four readings for that Sunday. (During Easter, a passage from Acts stands as the First Reading, providing stories from the early years of the movement which Jesus founded.)

Each year, during the season of Epiphany, the First Readings relate to the prophetic figures of ancient Israel. In Year C (this year), they are drawn from the books of Isaiah and Jeremiah. I think we need to be wary how we hear and interpret these prophetic passages. There is often a temptation to hearvthesemoldermreadings and argue that, because of what the Gospel passage says, they have now been “ fulfilled” in Jesus.

That’s a danger that we should work carefully to avoid—for if we simply take Hebrew Scriptures as providing the “set up” which is being “fulfilled” in Jesus, we are running the risk of an inappropriate appropriation of the older texts. It’s a path that can lead us to a supercessionist attitude towards Hebrew Scriptures and, by extension, to Judaism. (By supercessionism I mean “the belief that Christians have replaced Jews in the love and purpose of God”.) This post is designed to steer us in a different direction.

Each year, the Feast of Epiphany includes Isaiah 60:1–6 as the First Reading. In this passage, the prophet foresees that “nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn” (Isa 60:3); he specifies that when they come to the light of the Lord, “they shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord” (Isa 60:6). The reason for reading this on Epiphany is obvious—it correlates well with the story in Matthew of when the magi came to visit Jesus, and “they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh” (Matt 2:11).

The first Sunday after the Feast of Epiphany is always the day on which the Baptism of Jesus is recalled. One year (Year B) places the beginnings of the priestly creation account (Gen 1:1–5) alongside this Gospel story. In the other two years, passages from Second Isaiah are offered; for this year, Year C, this is Isaiah 43:1–7, which includes the affirmation, “do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine; when you pass through the waters, I will be with you” (Isa 43:1b—2). The presence of water in both of these passages seems to be the reason for their linking with the baptism of Jesus.

The sequence of passages will continue with selections from Third Isaiah (Isa 62:1–5, Epiphany 2C), First Isaiah (Isa 6:1–13, Epiphany 5C), and two excerpts from Jeremiah (Jer 1:4–10, Epiphany 4C, and Jer 17:5–10, Epiphany 6C). A section of Nehemiah 8 is offered on Epiphany 3C, while the sequence concludes with a story recounting the moment when Joseph revealed himself to his brothers when they had come to Egypt (in Gen 45) on Epiphany 7C.

I think it is noteworthy that two of these passages relate specifically to “call”. For Epiphany 4C, the call of the young prophet Jeremiah is placed alongside the Lukan account of the reception accorded to the young(ish) Jesus when he spoke at the synagogue in his home town. Jeremiah is told by the Lord that the message he will speak to his people will be about “to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant” (Jer 1:10). It won’t be a straightforward task for Jeremiah—as the rest of the book reporting his oracles confirms.

In like manner, Jesus is initially met with amazement “at the gracious words that came from his mouth” (Luke 4:22). However, after he recounts older stories in which he commends the faith of outsiders (a widow of Zarephath, a leper of Syria), the people turn on him, “drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff” (Luke 4:29). The duality of positive and negative responses, evident throughout the ministry of Jesus, is signalled in this early, programmatic incident.

For Epiphany 5C, when the Gospel moves on the recount the call of Simon Peter and those who were fishing with him (Luke 5:1–11), the Hebrew Scripture passage placed alongside this is the narrative of the call of Isaiah (Isa 6:1–13). Simon and his fellow fishermen were beside the lake of Genessaret, while Isaiah was in the Temple in Jerusalem. Both men, however, recognize that they are in the presence of an awesome power. Isaiah cries out, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (Isa 6:5). Simon Peter “fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’” (Luke 5:8).

Isaiah’s commissioning alerts him to the reality that those to whom he speaks will be struck with incomprehension; they will “not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed” (Isa 6:10). His role will be to call for repentance from a sinful people. Simon Peter is given the charge, “from now on you will be catching people” (Luke 5:10). That imagery also refers to the reality that in the prophetic rhetoric of years past, the metaphor of fishing for a human being has indicated the means of carrying out the judgement of God (Jer 16:16–18; Hab 1:14–17; Ezek 29:4–5). See

Fishing for people: not quite what you think! (Mark 1; Epiphany 3B)

The two Hebrew Scripture call narratives thus inform and enrich the Gospel passages that are heard alongside them on those days. A similar dynamic is at work on Epiphany 6C, when the Gospel offers a set of blessings and curses spoken by Jesus (Luke 6:20–26). Alongside this is a pair of sayings, a curse and a blessing, that Jeremiah spoke to Israel: “cursed are those who trust in mere mortals … blessed are those who trust in the Lord” (Jer 17:5–8). Both Jeremiah and Jesus address their contemporaries with a challenge through their words. The challenge is to meet the testing of the Lord (Jer 17:10) and to receive the “great reward” awaiting in heaven (Luke 6:23).

And perhaps the tale of reconciliation told in Genesis 45 dramatically illustrates the central theme of the words of Jesus which are offered on Epiphany 7C: “love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return … be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:35–36). Joseph exemplifies what Jesus teaches.

As I noted above, I think there is always a temptation to hear a passage from the older scriptures, inherited from the ancient stories of Israel, as being “fulfilled” in a story told in the later scriptures, formed by the early Church. This pattern draws on a flat reading of the statement by Jesus that “everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled” (Luke 24:44). It fosters a perspective that sees everything in Hebrew Scriptures as material that Jesus “brought to fulfilment”. It contains an implicit ideology that anything that took place in Judaism was “incomplete” and “in need of fulfilment”. The pathway into supercessionism is clear. For further discussion of supercessionism, see https://johntsquires.com/tag/supercessionism/

By contrast, I think that each of these paired passages can be read in a way that accords greater value to the Hebrew Scripture texts. I am reminded of what Richard B. Hays has written about in his book Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Baylor, 2017). Hays describes what he labels as figural reading, which is to read back from the Gospel into the older texts and see patterns and figures at work that may not have been evident at the time they were created.

The later texts in the New Testament can throw light on the passages in Hebrew Scripture, without insisting that hey “predict Jesus” and are “fulfilled” in Jesus. We can notice, not only how the NT writers shaped their words in ways that drew from Hebrew Scripture passages, but also how the internal dynamics in the later texts both utilise and illuminate those earlier passages, drawing forth from them new levels of meaning.

As the blurb for this book states, “He shows how each Gospel artfully uses scriptural echoes to re-narrate Israel’s story [and] to assert that Jesus is the embodiment of Israel’s God.” I think that is a really helpful way to think about how the paired passages work together, informing and enlightening each other. And that’s an appropriate thing to be looking for in those season of Epiphany—mutual understanding and enlightenment!

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