Wisdom cries out in the street, at the city gates (Prov 1; Pentecost 17B)

“Wisdom cries out in the street; in the squares she raises her voice; at the busiest corner she cries out; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks” (Prov 1:20–21). So begins the passage from Proverbs which the lectionary offers for this coming Sunday—the third passage from the “Wisdom Literature” that comprises much of the third section of the Hebrew TaNaK, the Kethuvim (“The Writings”).

We saw two weeks ago, in the Song of Songs, that the woman singing some of the songs may have been functioning as the vehicle for communicating wisdom to the king, her lover. The passage this week, from the opening chapter of Proverbs, introduces us to the figure of Wisdom herself. She is positioned in a very public place “in the street” (1:20), a location which may perhaps be echoed by the woman in Song of Songs, who declares that “I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves” (Song 3:2).

Many occurrences of “the streets” in Hebrew Scripture depict scenes of terror and anguish, as the Lord God executes his judgement “in the streets” (Isa 5:25; 10:5-6; Jer 6:10-12; 44:6; Lam 2:21; Isa 51:20; and more). Nevertheless, the prophet Jeremiah is commissioned to proclaim his message in the pubic place of the streets (Jer 11:6) and the prophet Zechariah foresees the rejuvenation of the abandoned streets, when “old men and old women shall again sit in the streets of Jerusalem, each with staff in hand because of their great age; and the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets” (Zech 8:4–5). The streets were clearly public places.

In Proverbs, Wisdom speaks out “in the squares” (Prov 1:20); this also is a public location which is echoed at Song 3:2. Again, Jeremiah is commissioned to “run to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem, look around and take note! Search its squares and see if you can find one person who acts justly and seeks truth” (Jer 5:1). Other prophets note the public significance of the squares. Amos foresees that because he has proclaimed the Lord’s message to “hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate … in all the squares there shall be wailing; and in all the streets they shall say, ‘Alas! alas!’” (Amos 5:15–16). Nahum portrays the invasion of Nineveh as being publically signalled as “chariots race madly through the streets, they rush to and fro through the squares” (Nah 2:4).

So Wisdom here in Proverbs—like the woman in the Song—is functioning in a very public place, as the opening couplet of v.20 indicates. The significance of this location is intensified when we consider the second couplet of the next verse: “at the busiest corner she cries out; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks” (Prov 1:21). The street corner may well have been the location for public prayer by some, if the words of Jesus reflect the common practice of “the hypocrites [who] love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others” (Matt 6:5).

A city gate into Jerusalem

However, it is the mention of “the entrance of the city gates” (Prov 1:21) that is most significant. The gates were part of the protective structure surrounding towns and cities; built into the walls at strategic locations, they could be opened to allow for the coming and going of traders and visitors, or they could be closed to keep out enemies and invaders. “Fortress towns” are described in Deut 3:5 as having “high walls, double gates, and bars”. King Asa decreed “let us build these cities, and surround them with walls and towers, gates and bars” (2 Chron 14:7). 

In Jerusalem, the Chronicler claimed that it was the Levites who had responsibility for the gates, as Solomon appointed “gatekeepers in their divisions for the several gates” (2  Chron 8:14); their names, and their duties, are listed at length in 1 Chron 9:17–27. When the southern kingdom was under attack from the Assyrian king Sennacherib in 701, several towns in Judah were invaded (see 2 Kings 18–19; Micah 1:10–16).

Micah laments that “disaster has come down from the Lord to the gate of Jerusalem” (Micah 1:12); the wound inflicted on Judah “has reached to the gate of my people, to Jerusalem” (Micah 1:9). Some time later, the poet-author of Lamentations observes that “the kings of the earth did not believe, nor did any of the inhabitants of the world, that foe or enemy could enter the gates of Jerusalem” (Lam 4:12). The importance of the gates in providing security is clear.

In contrast, when Judith calls out to be let into the city, “the people of her town heard her voice, they hurried down to the town gate and summoned the elders of the town … they opened the gate and welcomed them, then they lit a fire to give light, and gathered around them” (Jud 13:12–13). Opening the gates is a clear sign of welcome to those acceptable to enter. 

What the city gates may have looked like: a
place of entry, a meeting place

Accordingly, the gates of the city became the place where various matters associated with the life of the city took place. When God’s angels arrived in Sodom, Lot was “sitting in the gateway,” apparently serving as a judge (Gen 19:1, 9). In association with the rape committed on Dinah, “Hamor and his son Shechem came to the gate of their city and spoke to the men of their city” (Gen 34:20). The “men of the city” are apparently often to be found in this location.

When David gathered his troops to fight against the uprising led by Absalom, “the king stood at the side of the gate, while all the army marched out by hundreds and by thousands” (2 Sam 18:4). After Absalom was killed, “the king got up and took his seat in the gate; the troops were all told, “See, the king is sitting in the gate”; and all the troops came before the king” (2 Sam 19:8). In a story from much later, Mordecai learned of plans to assassinate the king while “sitting at the king’s gate” (Esther 2:19).

Earlier in the narrative saga of Israel, when a soldier arrived at Shiloh and reported that Philistines had captured the ark of the covenant, Eli was sitting in the gate where “he had judged Israel forty years” (1 Sam 4:10–18). It was already known as a place for the judging of cases by the elders. That this took place at the city gates is clear from the story of Ruth, for Boaz went to the town gate to settle legal matters regarding his marriage to Ruth (Ruth 4:1–11).

Boaz at the city gate

Moses instructs Israel to “appoint judges and officials throughout your tribes, in all your gates that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall render just decisions for the people” (Deut 16:18). Both the NRSV and the NIV render the phrase “in all your towns” as “in all your towns” on the reasonable understanding that each town has its own walls and gates.

Soon after this, one of the laws decrees that parents of a rebellious son who would not submit to their discipline were to “take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place” and there “all the men of the town shall stone him to death; so you shall purge the evil from your midst” (Deut 21:18–21). Such was the nature of justice rendered “ at the gates”.

So finding Wisdom “at the entrance of the city gates” (Prov 1:21) is striking. This is the place where the men of the city would gather, debate, and render justice. In the normal course of events, women would not be found at the gates; their domain was inside the houses with their families. The psalmist sings, “your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house” (Ps 128:3). Luke has Jesus indirectly indicate this when he tells his followers, “there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come eternal life” (Luke 18:29). The wife, along with the rest of the family, is based in the house.

The acrostic poem at the end of the book of Proverbs (which will be our lectionary reading next week) clearly locates the “woman of valour” in the house, from daybreak, when “she rises while it is still night and provides food for her household and tasks for her servant-girls” (Prov 31:15), through the day as “she girds herself with strength, and makes her arms strong” (31:17) to complete the many tasks listed in this poem, right until the darkness comes, when “her lamp does not go out at night” (31:18b). See

The woman of valour (Proverbs 31; Pentecost 18B)

The town gate was the place where business was conducted, and judgment according to law was enacted by men in the ancient Hebrew world. Monetary and legal transactions took place here in the presence of other men—the jtown elders—and it is here that the power plays of this male-dominated society took place. Women’s domain was in the privacy of their home, and any excursions into the public arena would usually be chaperoned by a family male member or older woman.

So the presence of Wisdom, not sequestered in the private space of the house, but rather by herself out in the public space, “in the street … in the squares … at the busiest corner … at the entrance of the city gates” (1:20–21), is quite noteworthy. The prominent biblical scholar, Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, has described Wisdom as “very unladylike, she raises her voice in public places and calls everyone who would hear her. She transgresses boundaries, celebrates life, and nourishes those who will become her friends.” 

What does Wisdom do in this very public space?  She cries out, berating the “simple ones”, demanding, “how long will you love being simple? … how long will scoffers delight in their scoffing and fools hate knowledge?” (1:22). These are strong words. Later, she describes how a “loud and wayward woman” used “smooth words” to seduce “a young man without sense”, one of “the simple ones” (7:6–27).

Like Wisdom, this woman is active in the public spaces, “now in the street, now in the squares, and at every corner she lies in wait” (7:12). Unlike Wisdom, who is “a tree of life to those who lay hold of her” (3:18), who offers “life to those who find them, and healing to all their flesh” (4:22), what this woman offers is “the way to Sheol, going down to the chambers of death” (7:27). 

 

“Give heed to my reproof”, she continues; “I will pour out my thoughts to you; I will make my words known to you” (1:23). To the simple ones, she declares: “simple ones, learn prudence; acquire intelligence, you who lack it” (8:5). For too long, these scoffers “have ignored all my counsel and would have none of my reproof” (1:25, 30); they “hated knowledge and did not choose the fear of the Lord” (1:29). And so, she declares, “they shall eat the fruit of their way and be sated with their own devices” (1:31).

In like manner, one psalmist recognises that “those who carry out evil devices” shall “prosper in their way” in this life; but these people “shall be cut off, but those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land” (Ps 37:7, 9), and so they implore the righteous person, “do not fret”, for “yet a little while, and the wicked will be no more … but the meek shall inherit the land, and delight themselves in abundant prosperity” (Ps 37:8, 10–11). 

This is the faith that sits at the base of the Deuteronomic assertions about blessings and curses in this life, as “those who obey the Lord your God by diligently observing all his commandments and decrees” will indeed receive the blessing, for “the Lord will make you abound in prosperity, in the fruit of your womb, in the fruit of your livestock, and in the fruit of your ground in the land that the Lord swore to your ancestors to give you” (Deut 32:1–14), whilst those who will not so obey God will be afflicted with all manner of illness, pestilence, and destitution, and they “shall become an object of horror, a proverb, and a byword among all the peoples” (Deut 32:15–68; the extended list of curses and their impacts is indeed gruesome!). 

Indeed, the wise words  found in the book of Proverbs declare that “misfortune pursues sinners, but prosperity rewards the righteous” (Prov 13:21); Wisdom herself declares that “riches and honour are with me, enduring wealth and prosperity; my fruit is better than gold, even fine gold, and my yield than choice silver” (8:18–19).

These are the blessings for those who “walk in the way of righteousness, along the paths of justice” (8:20)—the very same righteousness and justice that is conveyed through the teaching of Solomon (1:1–3) and of Wisdom (2:9),  the very same righteousness and justice which is “more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice” (21:3).

This is the same righteousness and justice that the prophets have declared in the streets and on the corners of their society. Amos calls 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). 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).

In the exile, 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).

Later, the words of Third Isaiah begin with a direct declaration, “maintain justice, and do what is right” (Isa 56:1); his mission is “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).

In teaching about Wisdom in the book of Proverbs, Elizabeth Raine has written: “Wisdom functions in the same way as the prophets, standing where prophets and teachers would have stood, at the city gates, a busy place where all manner of business was transacted. However, Wisdom does not cry out in the temples or synagogues, but rather in the public squares, the city gates, at the crossroads where people from all nations are gathered or are passing through.

“She declares that those who incline their minds to her spirit and follow her words in their lives will receive knowledge and wisdom. She also suggests that those who ignore this invitation will be punished, much as the prophets decreed that ignoring the commands they carried from God would also result in punishment.

“The main difference here is that Wisdom speaks these things in her own voice—there is no ‘thus says the Lord’ as we find in the prophets. She does mention ‘the fear of the Lord’, and those who do not choose this, who hate knowledge, will be left to their own devices, something that is presented as very undesirable and inviting calamity.”

Wisdom is indeed a strong, persuasive, significant figure in the Hebrew Scriptures.

You can read the full sermon by Elizabeth at

In the squares she raises her voice: Lady Wisdom in Proverbs (Pentecost 16B)

Look toward heaven and count the stars … so shall your descendants be (Gen 15; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 17C)

This Sunday, the Narrative Lectionary takes us from the story of The Garden of Eden, into the Negeb, where “Abram the Chaldean” (Gen 11:27–28) had become “Abram the Hebrew” (Gen 14:13). In this week’s passage (Gen 15:1–6), Abram experiences a vision which 

In these chapters, the long saga of Israel begins with stories about the ancestors held in highest regard as the mother and father of the nation: Sarai and Abram. The command that they heard is set out at the beginning of their story: “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Gen 12:1). The saga of this couple that is told in the ensuing chapters will reach fulfilment, many centuries later, when their descendants enter the land and settle in Canaan.

This sequence of passages offers us stories which were told, retold, and probably developed over quite some time by the elders in ancient Israel. They are stories which define the nature of the people and convey key values which were important in ancient Israel.  These faithful people from the past stand, for us today, as role models to encourage us, centuries later, in our own journey of faith. They are stories which are worth holding up for our reflection and consideration. 

These stories each have the function of an aetiology—that is, a mythic story which is told to explain the origins of something that is important in the time of the storyteller. The online Oxford Classical Dictionary defines an aetiology as “an explanation, normally in narrative form (hence ‘aetiological myth’), of a practice, epithet, monument, or similar.” 

Whilst telling of something that is presented as happening long back in the past, the focus is on present experiences and realities, for “such explanations elucidate something known in the contemporary world by reference to an event in the mythical past”. 

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

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

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

One of the leaves of the Genesis Apocryphon,
a text found in the Qumran Caves which contains narratives
not found in the biblical text, involving Noah and Abraham.

At the start of the ancestral narratives, Abram sets off, with his extended family: “his wife Sarai and his brother’s son Lot, and all the possessions that they had gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran” (12:5). Haran was a strategic city in the upper reaches of the area we know as the Fertile Crescent, far from the land of Canaan (over 12,000km). The call was to travel that distance, to Canaan. For support and sustenance along the way, Abram and Sarai were called into covenant relationship with God. The formalising of the covenant is reported later in this chapter, at 15:18, with a promise that the descendants of Abram and Sarah will indeed have the land that is specified.

Abram and Sarah had left their homeland with some assured promises from God; they would be parents of a great nation, blessed by God, remembered as having a great name, and that all the nations of the earth would be blessed through them (12:1–3). Those promises were intended to hold Sarai and Abram to the journey, despite all that they might encounter. The end result would make the travails along the way bearable.

However, Abram expresses some doubt that the promises made by God would come to pass (15:2–3). God’s response is to provide further reassurance; the multitude of stars in the sky is testimony to that (15:5). Abraham’s resulting affirmation of faith leads to the famous phrase, so central to Paul’s later argument about righteousness: “he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness” (15:6; see Rom 4:3,9,22).

The ceremony that follows adheres to the traditional cultic practices of the time. A collection of sacrificial victims, two animals and two birds, are offered and slaughtered, and the animals are cut in two (15:9–11). (The phrase, “to make a covenant” in Hebrew, can literally be rendered as ”to cut a covenant”.) Such practices signal the seriousness of the moment and symbolise that each party will keep their word on pain of death. 

Indeed, the prophet Jeremiah later alludes to this specific provision, when he warns recalcitrant Israelites that “those who transgressed my covenant and did not keep the terms of the covenant that they made before me, I will make like the calf when they cut it in two and passed between its parts” (Jer 34:18, referring to Gen 15:10). The prophet continues, “their corpses shall become food for the birds of the air and the wild animals of the earth” (Jer 34:20, referring to Gen 15:11).

This ancient cultic sacrificial practice of cutting animals does not reflect modern practices and is, in fact, distasteful to contemporary sensitivities. That might prod current readers to dismiss this passage as archaic, irrelevant, obsolete. That would be a shame. It remains relevant to us in a striking way.

Abram and Sarai reveal both trust in the promises they have been given, but also articulate some uncertainty about whether God would continue to be faithful to those promises. How human this is! In this regard, they reflect the somewhat ambivalent way that each of us relate to the promises of God: living out our trust and hope in the midst of the challenges, changes, and obstacles along the way, yet still holding back, somewhat dubious, about the ultimate reality this all.

We cannot hear of this covenant without thinking of the current inhabitants of the land defined by these verses (vv.18–21). Some claim the land through Abram, some through Ishmael, some through Isaac. Each of these peoples have sought to justify their claim to the land through politics and power, and sometimes bombs and guns. Yet the way to participate in this promise is to recognise that God offers up God’s own life as God’s pledge of faithfulness.

It’s a perfect vignette for those in the northern hemisphere (where the Narrative Lectionary originates) as people regather after the summer and face the year that lies ahead. This gathering back together offers an opportunity to reconsider how God had been at work in our midst, when we reconsider our commitment to the covenant we have made with God, and how live out that covenant in the realities of discipleship. It reminds us of the call to full-blooded, whole-scale, all-of-life commitment to the covenant that we have with God through Jesus.

See my reflections on the current situation in Gaza at

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

A good name, a generous life, an upright ethic (Proverbs 22; Pentecost 16B)

This Sunday we continue reading passages from the “Wisdom Literature” of the ancient Israelites, with an excerpt from the book of Proverbs. The lectionary offers a set of three paired sayings from a later chapter (Prov 22:1–2, 8–9, 22–23). Perhaps these are chosen to be reflective of the kind of proverbs that are included in the book of the same name.

Curiously, we read or hear a passage from near the beginning of the book in the selection proposed for the Sunday after next (1:20–33). After that, over two Sundays, we will focus on Wisdom (ch.8) and “the woman of valour” (ch.31)—two passages that provide strong, positive female role models.

Although this book claims Solomon as its author, it is probably a work which collates the words of multiple anonymous people. Most proverbs start their life in unheralded ways; they eventually enter folklore, and that’s what this book has collated. It is thought that the book was completed in the post-exilic period, long after the lifetime of Solomon, although it may well have material that could be pre-exilic. The attribution to Solomon (1:1; 10:1; 25:1) derives from traditional accounts of his legendary wisdom (1 Kings 4:29-34) and lends authority to the book. The style and language of many proverbs suggests an origin much later than the 10th century BCE, the time when Solomon is alleged to have existed.

The purpose of the book of Proverbs is to make suggestions as to how one might learn to cope with life: “learning about wisdom and instruction, for understanding words of insight, for gaining instruction in wise dealing, righteousness, justice, and equity; to teach shrewdness to the simple, knowledge and prudence to the young—let the wise also hear and gain in learning, and the discerning acquire skill, to understand a proverb and a figure, the words of the wise and their riddles” (1:2–6). 

Its emphasis is on teachings gathered from tradition of the elders: “when I was a son with my father, tender, and my mother’s favorite, he taught me, and said to me, Let your heart hold fast my words; keep my commandments, and live” (4:2–4). The basic instruction that is offered by the father is “get wisdom; get insight: do not forget, nor turn away from the words of my mouth” (4:5).

That injunction, “get wisdom” is repeated later (4:7; 16:16; 19:8), with further exhortations to “be attentive to my wisdom” (5:1), “listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom for the future” (19:20), and “buy truth, and do not sell it; buy wisdom, instruction, and understanding” (23:23).

Other proverbs affirm the value of wisdom: “how much better to get wisdom than gold!” (16:16), “the discerning person looks to wisdom” (17:24), “the fountain of wisdom is a gushing stream” (18:4), and “by wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established” (24:3). The praise of wisdom recurs in saying such as “happy are those who find wisdom, and those who get understanding” (3:13), “wisdom is with those who take advice” (13:10), and of course “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (9:10; see also Ps 111:10). The poems of chapters 1–3 and 8, where Wisdom is personifies, and the woman featured in ch.31 who “opens her mouth with wisdom” (31:26), particularly exemplify the value of attending to wisdom.

In contrast to many other books of the Hebrew Bible, major themes such as the Mosaic and Davidic covenants are absent; Temple worship and sacrifice are rarely mentioned. Most of the sayings are meant to inspire moral ideals. Guided by the principle that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (9:10; 1:7; 15:33), many proverbs  emphasise values such as honesty, diligence, trustworthiness, self-restraint, and appropriate attitudes toward wealth and poverty. 

There are various indications that the original audience of Proverbs was primarily young men preparing for adult responsibilities; so, a male-centred perspective prevails in the book. There is intense interest in finding a “good wife”; one saying suggests that “a good wife is the crown of her husband” (12:4), another that “he who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favour from the Lord” (18:22).

In chs 1–9, within a sequence of sayings presented as the instruction of a father to his son, the centre of attention is a vibrant feminine personification of divine Wisdom. She is opposed to the foolish woman (ch.9) and to the complex, threatening figure of the “strange woman” (chs.2,5,7). So the book itself contains a delightful undercutting of the male orientation that runs throughout.

Proverbs invites the reader to an intellectual discipline as a life-giving pathway to ethical concern, righteousness and piety. Study of Torah undergirds the righteous life; “those who keep the law are wise children” (28:7), “happy are those who keep the law” (29:18), “the wise of heart will heed commandments” (10:8). The particular doublets chosen for this Sunday’s reading from ch.22 draw from the foundations of Torah to highlight the value of a good name (vv.1–2), a generous life (vv.8–9), and an upright ethic (vv.22–23).

“A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches”, the chapter begins, “and favour is better than silver or gold” (v.1). This resonates both with the affirmation that the person who listens to the teaching of Wisdom “will find favour and good repute in the sight of God and of people” (3:1,4), and, on the contrary, if a person discloses a secret in an argument, “someone who hears you will bring shame upon you, and your ill repute will have no end” (25:9–10). 

This reflects the fundamental ethos of an honour—shame society, such as ancient Israel was. A good reputation—a position of public honour—is to be desired and sought after. This honour is closely bound up with wisdom; “the wise will inherit honour, but stubborn fools, disgrace” (3:35), “whoever pursues righteousness and kindness will find life and honour” (21:21), for Wisdom holds honour in her left hand” (3:16; also 4:8;8:18). It is also connected with humility, for “a person’s pride will bring humiliation, but one who is lowly in spirit will obtain honour” (29:23), and just as “the fear of the Lord is instruction in wisdom”, so “humility goes before honour” (15:33). 

That the importance of honour and shame is carried through into the time of Jesus is evident in his words about “a prophet without honour” (Mark 6:4), those who choose “the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets” (Mark 12:39), and the dishonouring he experiences when he is called names in public (John 8:48–49). It is also clear through the way that Paul explicitly identifies the general expectations about honour in society (Rom 13:7), the ways that “the cross” brings shameful dishonour (1 Cor 1:26–29; 2 Cor 6:8–10), and the way that following Jesus turns a conventional attitude on its head (1 Cor 12:22–24).

For more on honour and shame, especially as it illuminates the story of Jesus, see 

Plotting Pharisees: a public confrontation in the honour-shame culture (Matt 22; Pentecost 21A)

and

Reading the crucifixion as a scene of public shaming

Generosity is applauded in sayings such as “a generous person will be enriched, and one who gives water will get water” (11:25), “many seek the favour of the generous” (19:26), and the saying included in this Sunday’s selection, “those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor” (22:9).

One of the psalmists notes that “the righteous are generous and keep giving” (Ps 37:21). Another psalmist connects generosity with ethical uprightness, singing that “all is well with those who deal generously and lend, who conduct their affairs with justice” (Ps 112:5).

Of course, sharing with “the poor” is a theme sounded by prophet after prophet. God’s care for “the poor” is announced by Hannah, as she sings how the Lord “raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap” (1 Sam 28; also Ps 113:7). Amos famously berates Israel as they “trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth, and push the afflicted out of the way” (Amos 2:7) before he turns his rhetoric towards “the cows of Bashan who are on Mount Samaria”, the ones “who oppress the poor, who crush the needy” (Amos 4:1). Judgement is coming upon both groups (Amos 2:13–16; 4:2–3).

Isaiah reports that God’s judgement will fall on the elders who are “crushing my people … grinding the face of the poor” (Isa 3:15; also 10:2) and Ezekiel berates those who “oppress the poor and needy” (Ezek 18:12; 22:29), for which they shall indeed die (Ezek 18:13). One psalm laments that “the wicked draw the sword and bend their bows to bring down the poor and needy, to kill those who walk uprightly” (Ps 37:14) 

Isaiah promised that a shoot from the stump of Jesse, embued with the spirit, “with righteousness … shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth” (Isa 11:1, 4). In exile, Jeremiah remembered (perhaps rather idealistically) that it was the role of the king to “judge the cause of the poor and needy” (Jer 22:16); a psalmist also remined the king of his responsibility to “judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice … defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy” (Ps 72:2, 4). The Lord, says psalmist, through David and his house “will abundantly bless [Israel’s] provisions [and] will satisfy its poor with bread” (Ps 132:15).

Then, as the exiles begin to return to Jerusalem, Zechariah reminded them of the Lord’s commands: “do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another” (Zech 7:10). Various psalmists celebrated that “the poor shall eat and be satisfied” (Ps 22:26), that on “the day of trouble” the person who “considers the poor” will be delivered by the Lord (Ps 41:1), that “the Lord maintains the cause of the needy, and executes justice for the poor” (Ps 140:12). So it is that those “who fear the Lord, who greatly delight in his commandments” have “distributed freely, they have given to the poor” (Ps 112:1, 9).

We know that this theme is taken up with clarity and consistency by Jesus, who proclaims a message of “good news for the poor” (Luke 4:18; 7:22) and instructs his followers to “sell what you own, and give the money to the poor” (Mark 10:21). He advocates strongly that the kingdom of God belongs variously to the poor (Luke 6:20), the meek (Matt 5:5), and the humble (Luke  14:11; 18:14), to children (Mark 9:36–37; 10:15) and to sinners (Mark 2:15–17; Luke 15:1–2).

And so, this uprightness in life is advocated by the final two couplets included in this Sunday’s selection, instructing people “not [to] rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate”, and noting that, as a consequence, “the Lord pleads their cause and despoils of life those who despoil them” (22:22–23).

These instructions are fundamental to living by Torah, and they are reiterated by many prophets in Israel. So even within the wisdom literature, we find support for the coming punishment of the Lord of which the prophets spoke incessantly; this judgement is based on how faithfully a person adheres to the commandments of the Torah. Wisdom is integral to Torah; “those who keep the law are wise children” (28:7).

She took of its fruit and ate; and gave some to her husband … and he ate (Gen 2–3; Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 16C)

The Narrative Lectionary begins this year’s cycle of readings with some verses from early in the first book of the Bible, Genesis. The lectionary has picked out what it considers to be key verses (2:4–7, 15–17; 3:1–8) from the extended narrative that begins with the second account of creation (2:4–25) and continues with the story of The Garden of Eden (3:1–24).  

The first section (2:4–7) tells of the creation of human beings. Unlike the first version of the creation (1:1—2:4a), in which human beings, “male and female”, are created “in the image of God” on the sixth “day” (1:27), this version moves immediately to declare that “the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” (2:7). 

Both of these creation stories, and the long, extended narrative that follows, are to be regarded as “myths”; they are traditions about  the time of origins, with paradigmatic or fundamental significance for ancient Israelite society, expressing the reality of life and the place of humanity in that reality, through story. See 

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

The breathing of life into the human being in the second creation story signals that “the man became a living being (nephesh hayah)” (Gen 2:7). The phrase nephesh hayah appears also a number of times in the first creation story in Hebrew scripture, where it refers to “living creatures” in the seas (Gen 1:20, 21), on the earth (Gen 1:24), and to “every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life (nephesh hayah)” (Gen 1:30). 

The word nephesh (נֶפֶש) is a common Hebrew word, appearing 688 times in Hebrew Scripture. It is most commonly translated (238 times) as “soul”; the next most common translation is “life” (180 times). The word is a common descriptor for a human being, as a whole; it is better translated in a way that indicates it refers to “the essence of a creature”, “the whole being”.

The claim that each living creature is a nephesh is reiterated in the Holiness Code (Lev 11:10, 46; 17:11). It is also stated in the account of the covenant that God made with all creation; “all living creatures” (nephesh) are explicitly noted in this narrative (9:10, 12, 15, 16). This signals the inherent interconnectedness of all creation; the covenant forged in Gen 9 is one that has a cosmic scope. Other passages in the Hebrew Scriptures affirm that human beings—indeed, all living creatures—are given life by God’s spirit and share the essence of a nephesh (Ps 104:24–30; Job 12:7–10). This is an important affirmation from this opening section of the Genesis 2—3 reading for this Sunday.

Myths concerning “the fruit” and “the serpent”

It is widely known (I hope) that what is popularly seen as “an apple”, which the serpent suggested to the woman that she might eat, was in fact not (necessarily) an apple; the Hebrew word used to identify “the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden” which was prohibited to eat (3:3) is פְרִי (peri), which simply means “fruit”or “produce” in general. In no way does it specify “apple”. This popular identification of the fruit as an apple is a myth, in the popular sense that it is “not true”. It is also curious; the apple was a fruit with far eastern origins and appears to have been unknown in the Middle East in biblical times. 

The reason for this misidentification comes, not from the Hebrew, nor from the Greek of the LXX translation, but from a later Latin translation. There is a wordplay in the Latin translation of Genesis 3, involving the Latin words mālum (an apple) and mălum (an evil), each of which is normally written simply malum, without differentiating the long ā from the short ă. So “the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden” (3:3) was conflated with the “evil” that will become known to the human beings “when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (3:5).

Adam, Eve, and the serpent , oil,on canvas, by Pedro Brull
https://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/ Adam–Eve-and-the-serpent/

Likewise, the traditional interpretation—strongly influenced by millennia of patriarchal bias—is that the serpent tempted the woman, Eve, and she succumbed to temptation. But we need to read these verses (3:1–6) carefully and thoughtfully. It is true that the first step is that the serpent encouraged the woman to eat the fruit, and she duly ate; but then “she also gave some to her husband, who was with her” (3:6b). He had agency at this point, as she had when she was encouraged to eat by the serpent. But “she took of its fruit and ate”, and then, when she offered it to him, “he ate”. He is as guilty as she is of succumbing to what the serpent proposed.

With regard to the serpent: whilst the phrase “the evil one” is absent from Hebrew Scripture, the notion of evil is present throughout—from the garden of Eden, where Adam and Eve flaunt the ban on their eating fruit from “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil” (Gen 2:15–17; 3:1–7), to the condition of humanity in the time of Noah, when “the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually” (Gen 6:5), through the forty years when Israel was condemned to “wander in the wilderness for forty years, until all the generation that had done evil in the sight of the Lord had disappeared” (Num 32:13), and on into the generations under the Judges when “the Israelites did what was evil in the sight of the Lord” (Judg 2:11; 3:7, 12; 4:1; 6:1; 9:23; 10:6; 13:1).

The introduction of evil into the story is generally laid at the feet (or, rather, the belly) of “the serpent” who slithers through the narrative, from the first verse of ch.3 (“the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that the Lord God had made”, v.1) to the punishment inflicted on him because of his deeds (“upon your belly you shall go, and dust you shall eat all the days of your life”, v.14).

The serpent is the first character in the Bible who was called shrewd. Alongside him, perhaps the most famous “shrewd” character was the manager in the parable told by Jesus in Luke 16:1–9. Actually, in that parable, whilst the manager is described as being “shrewd” (16:8), it does not convey a negative meaning, I believe. The Greek word used, phronimos (φρόνιμος), translated as shrewd, comes from the verb phroneō (φρονέω), which simply means to think, to use one’s brain. There is no malice involved in this; the manager is simply being intelligent. 

Back in Genesis, the serpent is called “more shrewd than all other beasts”. Shrewd, of course, is an ambiguous term. On the one hand, it is a virtue the wise should cultivate. The word used at Gen 3:3 appears in proverbs where it is translated as “prudent”. Thus, “fools show their anger at once, but the prudent ignore an insult” (Prov 12:16), and “a fool despises a parent’s instruction, but the one who heeds admonition is prudent” (Prov 15:5). However, when this capacity is misused, it become wiliness and guile; the same Hebrew word is used to refer to those who are “crafty” (Job 5:12; 15:5), who “act with cunning” (Josh 9:4), or who practise “treachery” (Exod 21:14).

In the Genesis account, it is the craftiness or cunning of the serpent that is emphasised; this limbless reptile was “more crafty (עָר֔וּם, arum) than any other wild animal” (3:1). The Hebrew, however, has a wordplay here; in the previous verse (2:25), Adam and Eve were “naked” (עֲרוּמִּ֔ים, arummim); then (3:1) the serpent is described as “more crafty” (עָרוֹם, arum) than all others. It is a compliment! 

Later, Paul will take a much more negative line, claiming that “as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, so your minds may be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ” (2 Cor 11:3). It is this castigation of the serpent which has predominated throughout Christian history. So, although Impersonally have a great dislike for getting near to, or handling, snakes, I do want to stand up for the reputation of this creature!

The myth of Original Sin

A hugely important deduction that has been made from this story is “the  doctrine of original sin”, which can be traced back to Aigustine of Hippo. Augustine bases his claim about original sin on his reading of the story of Genesis 2–3, which depicts the fall of Adam, from which all humans inherited innate sinfulness (original sin). But I think this is another error in relation to the interpretation of this passage. 

Augustine of Hippo (354–430 CE)

The problem is that the Genesis 1 account of creation which precedes this story (which is read in another year in the Narrative Lectionary) makes it quite clear that the original state of humanity was that human beings, like all that God created, “was good”—indeed, that as the final act of that sequence of creation, humanity was “very good” (Gen 1:31). So much for original sin; humanity, according to this narrative, was part of a “very good” creation. 

Indeed, Augustine was reading the sequence of early chapters in Genesis as historical narrative, and his understanding was that the consequences of “the fall” in Gen 3 was that every person born after Adam inherited that fallen state from the first human being. However, we know from a careful application of literary criticism, that the Adam story is myth which has an aetiological purpose, and that it is not an historical account. 

That is, it does not give a realistic account of “things as they happened”, but rather, it is an imaginative story which tells of the reasons for the origin of things. It doesn’t answer the question, “what happened?”; rather, it responds to the question, “why are things like this?” So the Genesis story as a whole explains the good original state of humanity, before any decline or corruption took place. It is descriptive of how we find things, not prescriptive for how things should be.

In fact, we can see this nature of the story in the names given to these mythical first two human beings: the man, Adam (adam) was created “from the dust of the earth” (ha-adaman), and so his name signifies “the earth person” (Gen 2:7), whilst the woman, Eve (chavah) was to be “the mother (chay) of all living creatures”, and thus her name signifies “the giver of life” (Gen 3:20).

It’s not the case that what “occurs” with Adam and Eve has been passed on through human beings ever since; but, rather, it is the case that how we experience humanity has led to the creation of a story about Adam (the earth person) and Eve (the giver of life) as an explanation for the way that we experience ourselves, and other people on this earth.

Augustine’s distinctive interpretation was his own initiative; most patristic writers prior to him who addressed this topic (Barnabas, Hermas, Justin Martyr, Origen of Alexandria, Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, Cyril of Jerusalem) offered explicitly different interpretations of the human state. By contrast, Clement of Alexandria accepted that sin was inherited from Adam, and Cyprian of Carthage argued for the necessity of infant baptism on the basis of a belief that humans were born sinful. 

Augustine had developed his views in opposition to the view of his contemporary, Pelagius; the debates continued on into the medieval period, with significant contributions being made by the great theologians Anselm of Canterbury and Thomas Aquinas, as well as Franciscans such as Duns Scotus and William of Ockham. The Reformers, Martin Luther and Jean Calvin, adopted and developed the Augustinian view, which has held sway in the Western Church over subsequent centuries. Eastern Orthodoxy, by contrast, attributes the origin of sin to the Devil; what we humans have inherited from Adam is our mortality, but not any innate sinfulness.

This is all a long way, then, from prophetic fulminations against foolish, stupid, evil Israelites, caught in the error of their sinful ways, or the grace-filled encounters that Jesus had with sinners as he called “not the righteous but sinners”, or the formulaic affirmation of the first letter to Timothy, that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners”, which has become the bedrock of certain contemporary theologies.

Whilst a recognition of sin is inherent in each of those texts, there is no indication in any way that such sinfulness is innate, inherited from birth, of the very essence of our human nature. The doctrine of original sin is not a biblical idea; it’s not something that we should be maintaining in our theological discourse and spiritual understanding.

Made from the dust 

Dust is central to who we are as human beings. The story of the creation of human beings indicates that the man was “formed from dust (עָפָר, aphar) of the ground” before God breathed the breathe of life into him (Gen 2:7). But in the foundational myth that is told in the earliest chapters of scripture, dust is at the centre, also, of the punishments that are handed out after the sin committed by Adam and Eve. 

The serpent, as a result of its role in tempting them, is told, “because you have done this, cursed are you above all livestock and above all beasts of the field; on your belly you shall go, and dust you shall eat all the days of your life” (Gen 3:14; Isa 65:25). The man is told, “by the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen 3:19).

However, in association with the tearing of clothes, the placing of dust on your head is also a symbol of repentance. Joshua repents of the sin of Achan by tearing his clothes and placing dust on his head (Joshua 7:6). Ezekiel speaks of the people of Tyre, lamenting, as “they cast dust on their heads and wallow in ashes” (Ezek 27:30).  Jeremiah reports that “ the elders of the daughter of Zion sit on the ground in silence; they have thrown dust on their heads and put on sackcloth; the young women of Jerusalem have bowed their heads to the ground” (Lam 2:10; see also Isa 25:12; 29:1–4). 

The three friends of Job see him coming, and they “raised their voices and wept, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads toward heaven”, before they then sat, grieving with him, “on the ground seven days and seven nights” (Job 2:12–13). Dust means mourning and repenting.

Job himself uses dust and sackcloth to signify that “my face is red with weeping, and on my eyelids is deep darkness” (Job 16:15–16). As a result, he laments, “ God has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes” (Job 30:19). Returning to dust is the final state for those punished by God (Job 34:5; see also 10:9; 17:6; 20:11; 21:26; Ps 7:5; 22:15; 90:3; 104:29; Isa 26:5; Lam 2:21)—or, indeed, for all human beings (Eccles 3:20; 12:7). 

In the end, though, Job “repents of dust and ashes” (42:6). He has had enough of being repentant. The book ends with a return of the defiant Job. He will have no more use for the dust and ashes of repentance.

In a number of scriptural incidents, dust is used in curses signalling divine punishment. Shimei, for instance, casts dust into the air to curse David (2 Sam 16:13). When Deutero-Isaiah speaks of the coming salvation that God will bring, to remove the punishment of exile, he exhorts Jerusalem to “shake yourself from the dust and arise” (Isa 52:2). 

Dust had been a sign of the place of mourning, the place of despair, the place which signifies worthlessness and emptiness. Dust had been  where the poor sat (1 Sam 2:8; Amos 2:7); it was where the enemies of Israel were pressed down and beaten into fine particles by the Lord (2 Sam 22:4 3; 2 Ki  13:7; Job 40:13; Ps 18:42; 44:24–25; 72:9; 83:13; Isa 41:2; Micah 7:17). Now, the people were called to leave that dust behind and move on in hope.

Could the action of shaking off the dust have the function of warning recalcitrants—along the lines of, God will turn you to ashes? As the disciples move on to the next town, they were leaving behind a warning with an implicit demand for their repentance. Or could it signal that there would be hope, in the future, from the message of good news that the disciples proclaimed? 

Ransom and Atonement

In the third century scholar, Origen of Alexandria developed an idiosyncratic theory of the atonement (the way that Jesus enables God to deal with human sinfulness).

Origen of Alexandria (185–253 CE)

Origen’s ransom theory of atonement reads Genesis 3 as an account of Adam and Eve being taken captive by Satan; this state was then inherited by all human beings. The death of Jesus is what enables all humans to be saved; the means for this was that the blood shed by Jesus was the price paid to Satan to ransom humanity (or, in a variant form, a ransom paid by Jesus to God to secure our release).

However, none of these texts—and particularly not Mark 10:45—require this overarching theological superstructure to make sense of what they say. Origen’s ransom theory held sway for some centuries, but was definitively rejected by the medieval scholar Anselm of Canterbury. It is not a favoured theory of atonement in much of the contemporary church (though it is still advocated in various fundamentalist backwaters). Certainly, none of this should be attributed to the saying of Jesus in Mark 10:45. It is far more likely that he is drawing on the Jewish tradition of the righteous sufferer in his words. And the fundamental narrative of Gen 3 does not in any way support the theory of ransom by atonement.

The winter is past, the rain is over and gone (Song of Songs 2; Pentecost 15B)

Over the past three months we have followed the stories about the first three kings of Israel—Saul, David, and Solomon—to the point where we heard Solomon praying for wisdom (1 Ki 3, two Sundays back) and then Solomon praying to dedicate the Temple (1 Ki 8, last Sunday). We also,saw how these two selections present Solomon in a very positive light, whilst other parts of the story reveal a scheming, power-hungry despot. The “nasty” Solomon has disappeared; we have heard only about them “nice” Solomon.

Now the lectionary takes us forward into a series of texts known collectively as “the Wisdom Literature”. Over the next three months, we will hear from a number of the books collected under this rubric in the Protestant Canon of the Old Testament (Song of Songs, Proverbs, Esther, Job, and Ruth). (If you use the lectionary readings for All Saints Day on 1 Nov, you will also encounter the Wisdom of Solomon, a book found in the Deuterocanonical works in the Roman Catholic Canon.)

The ongoing tradition has been very kind to Solomon. He is remembered much more for his wisdom than his warmongering. It is his gentle reflections on life that persist in popular imagination, not his aggressive actions towards family members that we saw a couple of weeks back. In 1 Kings 4:32, it is stated that Solomon “composed three thousand proverbs, and his songs numbered a thousand and five”. There are two psalms, Ps 72 and Ps 127, which are attributed to Solomon, while three whole books—Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs—are claimed to have been written by Solomon. This is where his legendary wisdom can be accessed!

Proverbs begins “The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel: for learning about wisdom and instruction, for understanding words of insight …” (Prov 1:1–2). We will come to Proverbs in future weeks. Ecclesiastes begins, “The words of the Teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem: ‘I, the Teacher, when king over Israel in Jerusalem, applied my mind to seek and to search out by wisdom all that is done under heaven’” (Eccles 1:1). Unfortunately, Ecclesiastes is set only once by the lectionary, in another season.

A picture of Solomon holding a flower and of a youth;
a miniature from the opening of Ecclesiastes (in Latin)
in the Bible of the Monastery of Santa Maria de Alcobaça, c. 1220s (National Library of Portugal ALC.455, fl.207).

Songs of Songs has the heading, “The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s” (Song 1:1). We hear one short passage from the Song this coming Sunday; but the work deserves a longer introduction. Elizabeth and I have taught sessions on this book over the years, and she has written material from which I have drawn to develop the following blog, so I am grateful to her for a number of insights into this book.

The Song of Songs (also known as Song of Solomon) is one of the Hebrew Bible’s most beautiful texts; it is also highly controversial. The name itself suggests something grand; in true Hebraic style, the repetition of a word simply intensifies and magnifies the word. When God completed creation “and saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good” (Gen 1:31), the Hebrew is tov tov (literally, “good good”). So the first two words of this book, shir ha-shirim, could well mean “the best of songs”.

Illustration for the first verse of a medieval manuscript
of The Song of Songs;;a minstrel playing before Solomon
(15th century Rothschild Mahzor)

Of course, numerous commentators have noted that there is no mention of God anywhere in this book; so that has raised questions about why it was included as one of the Megilloth in Kethuvim, the third section of the Jewish Torah; from which, it has been included in the Christian Old Testament. We know the rabbis debated this very issue; it was Rabbi Akiba who most strenuously argued for its inclusion (in tractate Yadaim 3.5, in the Mishnah). Akiba concluded that “the whole world is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel; for all the writings are holy but the Song of Songs is the holy of holies.”

For many church fathers, the physical sexuality present in the Song made them quite wary of the book. They generally cautioned against reading it until a “mature spirituality” had been obtained, so that the Song would not be misunderstood and lead the reader into temptation. Origen wrote a commentary on the Song, allegorising throughout. The carnal, fleshy references were all considered to be analogies (or allegories) referring directly to spiritual, heavenly things. Origen was the master of allegorical meaning—something along the lines of “the text says ‘this’, but ‘this’ points to ‘that’, which is its deeper and intended meaning”.

With God completely absent from the book, the two main characters are a man and a woman; the book contains a series of love songs between them, in which they express their love for one another in poetic  form. The man is identified early on as the King (1:4, 12), and then explicitly identified as Solomon (3:9–11). Accordingly, the book has traditionally been identified as being by Solomon himself. In this view, perhaps, the wisdom of God might be conveyed in some way through his words?

Solomon, by the photographer James C. Lewis

However, scholars attempting to date the book disagree about this authorship, and have offered a wide range of possible dates for its composition. Because the Song contains elements characteristic of poems written in the courts of Egypt and Mesopotamia, could it be quite old? Does the dominance of an oral culture in antiquity mean that songs composed long ago were remembered and passed on by word of mouth for centuries before being written down? Could this mean the Song came from Solomon, or from his court?

Do the number of words that reflect an Aramaic influence point to a later origin of the Song in the period of the Exile onwards (from the 6th century BCE)? Was it a compilation made even later, after the exiles had returned and were firmly resettled in the land, in the 3rd century BCE, when other compilations of wisdom were being made? The debate continues.

The woman character, described as “black and beautiful” (1:5), is later addressed as a Shulammite (6:13). Rabbinic interpreters, noting that her name means that she is “the one who brings peace” (8:10), relating her name either to shalom, peace (which is the basis for the name of Solomon himself). Other suggestions for her curious name identifies it with the village of Shunem or Shulem (the home of Abishag, King David’s beautiful attendant, 1 Ki 1:1–4); or the Mesopotamian war goddess Shulmanitu, who was perhaps also known as Ishtar. 

Song of Songs: The Shulammite Maiden
by Gustavo Moreau, a 19th century French artist

It is notable that the woman plays a prominent role in this book; does she, perhaps, represent the female Wisdom character that is found in Proverbs and later wisdom literature? There is a suggestion from more recent commentators that, just as the book of Job was included in scripture to present an alternative view to the theology of Deuteronomy (God blesses the righteous and punishes the wicked), so the Song was included in the Hebrew canon to counter the many prophetic references which portray the idolatrous choices of Israel through the image of an adulterous woman. It’s an enticing possibility.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth”, the Song begins, as the female character sings of her deep love for the king; “your love is better than wine, your anointing oils are fragrant, your name is perfume poured out; therefore the maidens love you!” (Song of Songs 1:1–3). Immediately the direct physicality of the poetry is evident. This continues right throughout the book.

The passage proposed by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Song 2:8–13) describes a wonderfully green scene, with springtime flowers reflecting the flowering of love that we can see in the poems. The lovers enjoy the beauty of Spring, which, for the young woman, is not unlike the beauty of her lover. The scene speaks of fertility, growth and beauty. Indeed, as one of the Megilloth (five short books, each read in full at a different Jewish festival), this book has been traditionally chanted by Jews each Passover, because of its thematic connection with springtime. 

Back in the opening verses of the song (1:1–8), we have met the Shulammite princess who is in love with King Solomon; she is “black and beautiful” (v.5). She desires her lover’s kisses (v.2) and regularly addresses him as “my beloved” (1:13–14, 16; 2:3, 8–10, 16–17; 4:16; 5:2, 4–10, 16; 6:2–3; 7:11, 13; 8:14). She boasts to her handmaidens of his physical desirability, which they obviously find attractive: “your love is better than wine, your anointing oils are fragrant, your name is perfume poured out” (vv.2–3). Later she boasts that “my beloved is all radiant and ruddy … his head is the finest gold, his locks are wavy, black as a raven” (5:10–11). She tenderly describes his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his arms, his legs, his body, and his sweet speech (5:12–16). 

He, in turns, passionately admires his “fair one” (2:10, 13), describing her sweet voice and lovely face (2:14), telling her “how beautiful you are, my love, how very beautiful” (4:1) and exulting in her eyes, her hair, her teeth, her lips, her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, and her two breasts (4:1–5). Her love is “much better than wine” (4:10); he portrays her, modestly, as “a garden locked, a fountain sealed” (4:12) before more explicitly declaring, “your channel is an orchard of pomegranates with all choicest fruit” (4:13), “a garden fountain, a well of living water and flowing streams” (4:15). The language, poetic and lyrical, conveys a deep-seated erotic feeling.

The explicit nature of the relationship is continued in the ensuing poem of the princess; “I had put off my garment”, she says; “I had bathed my feet … my beloved thrust his hand into the opening and my inmost being yearned for him” (5:4). So, she says, with her fingers and hands dripping, “I opened to my beloved” (5:6). But he had disappeared; she was “faint with love” (5:8)—and then, “my beloved has gone down to his garden, to the bed of spices, to pasture his flock in the gardens and to gather lilies” (6:2). He flatters her; “you are beautiful as Tirzah, my love, comely as Jerusalem” (6:4), continuing with words of praise for her feet, her thighs, her navel, her belly, her two breasts, her neck, her eyes, her nose, and her hair (7:1–5). 

“How fair and pleasant you are, o loved one, delectable maiden” (7:6), he sings, returning again to her breasts and her kisses (7:8–9). So, at last, he invites her “into the fields, to the vineyards”, to see ”whether the vines have budded, whether the grapes blossoms have opened and the pomegranates are in bloom” (7:11–12). It is, finally, a scene of consummation; “there I will give you my love” (7:12).

The Song ends with a statement of complete and total commitment, when the woman says to the king, “set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm” (Song 8:6). This refers to the practice of stamping a seal over a document to show that it is legally enforceable. 

Hebrew Scripture refers to the seal of King Ahaz of Judah (1 Ki 21:8) and Ahasuerus, king of the Medes (Esther 8:8). A seal was the size of a fingertip, made of stone or bone, engraved with a figurative design. It was a precious personal item for people of high status; so the woman in these songs is indicating that she wishes to be a precious personal part of the king’s life. (Elizabeth and I used these words in our wedding vows to each other, to indicate the same thing.) 

The songs of this book end with the woman’s plea for the man to come quickly to her; “make haste, my beloved” (8:14) signals her aching desire for her lover. From beginning to end, this book is saturated with deep-seated longing, with unfettered desire, and unbounded hope. 

Are the words of this poetry to be interpreted literally; are they actual words of a king, yearning for his lover, and the responses of the lover of the king, yearning for his touch (and more)? Or is there another level of meaning? The explicit erotic language of this poetry has sent shivers of horror down the spines of interpreters, from antiquity through to modernity. How could such poetry be considered to be “the word of the Lord”?

Our response to that question, it seems to me, is governed by the way that we view this material world. Is it an evil, unredeemed prison, from which we must seek release? Or is it the creation of a deity who has embued all physical matter with a spark of divinity? If it is the former, then this earthy, sensual language must point beyond, to a spiritual dimension; we are to interpret it as symbolic of God’s heavenly realm. If it is the latter, we are to accept and rejoice in the literal meaning of the poetry.

My view is that there is nothing at any point throughout these Hebrew songs which gives any clue at all that we are to interpret them in a “spiritualised” manner, as so many have done. Throughout ancient Israelite texts, and on into Second Temple Judaism and then Rabbinic Judaism, material things are good, valued, and to be enjoyed. It is only the deep-seated teaching of hellenistically-inspired interpreters, schooled in the Platonic view that the spirit is good but the flesh is evil, that points in such a direction. Instead, we must surely accept that the abundantly erotic and exuberant language in these songs must be taken precisely in that fashion: as a celebration of earthly, material sexuality.

There is an abundance in the language used throughout the Song of Songs. Abundance was celebrated in ancient Israelite society—especially abundance in material, physical elements. The spirit-inspired Balaam forsees that for Israel, “water shall flow from his buckets, and his seed shall have abundant water, his king shall be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted” (Num 24:7). When David’s troops came into Hebron to celebrate David’s accession to the throne, their neighbours  brought “abundant provisions of meal, cakes of figs, clusters of raisins, wine, oil, oxen, and sheep, for there was joy in Israel” (1 Chron 12:40). 

The prophet Ezekiel declares that God promises the exiles of Israel, “I will summon the grain and make it abundant and lay no famine upon you. I will make the fruit of the tree and the produce of the field abundant” (Ezek 36:29–30), while Joel rejoices, inviting the children of Zion to “be glad and rejoice in the Lord your God; for he has given the early rain for your vindication, he has poured down for you abundant rain, the early and the later rain, as before” (Joel 2:23). Speaking through a later prophet, the Lord invites people to “come to the waters … come, buy wine and milk without money and without price … eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food” (Isa 55:1–2).

The psalmists rejoice in God’s “abundant goodness” (Ps 31:19; 145:7), “abundant mercy” (Ps 51:1; 69:16), that God is “abundant in power” (Ps 147:5), promising that “the meek shall inherit the land and delight themselves in abundant prosperity” (Ps 37:11). One writer rejoices that, year after year, the Lord “crowns the year with [his] bounty”, singing that “you visit the earth and water it, you greatly enrich it; the river of God is full of water; you water its furrows abundantly, settling its ridges, softening it with showers, and blessing its growth” (Ps 65:9–11). 

This physical imagery of abundance is strongly evocative of the joyful Spring scene in Song of Songs that we hear this Sunday: “the flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land; the fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance” (Song 2:12–13).

In his exploration of this book, Tom Gledhill remarks on the imagery of the man bounding through the countryside and calling the woman out of her home to join him in the explosion of nature in springtime as part of a recurrent theme in the Song: “The rural countryside motif is an expression of untrammelled freedom and exhilaration, of energetic enthusiasm and adventure, travelling new and unexplored pathways, taking the risks that a new liberty entails.”

Gledhill notes that “the tiny spring flowers are sparkling forth amongst the new shoots of the undergrowth … there is a hint of future blessings in the references to the fig tree and the vines in blossom. Our lovers are part and parcel of this explosion of new life and new hope.” (The Message of the Song of Songs, IVP, 1994, pp. 132–133). Is this perhaps a pointer to the divinity that these poems are making? — a pointer to the deity who creates the world and oversees the cycles of fertility and abundance?

O hear in heaven, your dwelling place (1 Kings 8; Pentecost 14B)

This blog draws heavily from a sermon that I preached at St Ninians Uniting Church in Canberra, ACT, on 22 August 2021.

The narrative sequence of stories from the sagas of ancient Israel which we have been hearing week by week as we follow the lectionary comes to a head with a prayer of dedication as the Temple is completed. The passage proposed by the lectionary is 1 Kings 8:(1,6,10–11), 22–30, 41–43. 

If you have time (just a few extra minutes) it is worth reading the whole 61 verses of this chapter, which includes all of Solomon’s prayer. As you do, you might note the repeated address of Solomon to God, “O hear in heaven your dwelling place” (verses 30, 32, 36, 39, 43, 45, 49), his regular invoking of “your name” (verses 33, 35, 41–44, 48), and his petition to “forgive the sin of your people Israel” (verses 30, 34, 36, 39, 50). 

We began reading in 1 Samuel back in May with Samuel; we end this Sunday with Solomon in 1 Kings. In the course of these weeks, we have heard about Saul and David, the first two Kings of Israel; the prophets Samuel and Nathan; David’s battles with the Philistines, including the enemy giant Goliath, and his beloved companion Jonathan; the unfortunate Absalom, one of David’s sons, as well as his wives Michal and Bathsheba; and, this coming Sunday, King Solomon, the third king of Israel.

We have seen the character of the leaders in Israel. These stories reveal that these leaders were human; they acted in ways that were devious, unscrupulous, scheming, manipulative, emotional, hard-headed, self-serving, and deeply flawed. All of this, from these ancient texts—as if we didn’t already know this from our own observations of leaders in our own situation! 

In last Sunday’s passage, Solomon, son of David, was installed as king of Israel after the death of his father (1 Kings 2). God made a promise to Solomon: “I give you a wise and discerning mind; no one like you has been before you and no one like you shall arise after you” (1 Ki 3:12). And in the passage proposed for this coming Sunday, we see this wisdom displayed, as Solomon gathers people for the opening of the Temple (1 Ki 8).

Under Solomon, Israel was said to stretch from the Euphrates to Egypt (1 Ki 4:21), the largest amount of land of all kings (and the extent that is, controversially, claimed by extremist Zionists today). The lengthy prayer that Solomon prays is equally grand; he recalls the many acts of God and the response of God’s people, and repeatedly presses God to “hear in heaven” and forgive, judge, act, and maintain their cause. 

So this is a high, holy moment: the greatest king of Israel, Solomon, prays to dedicate the grand religious building, the Temple, on the top of the highest hill in Jerusalem, the capital city of the kingdom at the point of its greatest influence and power. (The readings in following weeks will move into the literature attributed to and inspired by Solomon, the wisdom literature.)

Detail from stained glass window,
King Solomon dedicates the Temple, Hardman &Co., 1897;
located in the Roman Catholic Church of English Martyrs
at Streatham, UK

At this moment of dedication “Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion” (1 Ki 8:1). The presence of then Ark evoked his father, David, and his taking of the city from the Jebusites. Solomon was making clear that he was seen to be standing in that fine tradition.

So “the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherub. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord” (1 Ki 8:1–10).

Detail from stained glass window,
King Solomon dedicates the Temple, Hardman &Co., 1897;
located in the Roman Catholic Church of English Martyrs
at Streatham, UK

Man, this is serious stuff: heavy, important, serious. The king. With all of his court. With all the elders, and the heads of each of the 12 tribes. And the priests, with the ark of the covenant. All assembled at the place where Solomon, king in all his majesty and power, had arranged for a temple to be built. “Then Solomon stood before the altar of the Lord in the presence of all the assembly of Israel, and spread out his hands to heaven” (1 Ki 8:22), and prays a long prayer of blessing for the new edifice.

Detail from stained glass window,
King Solomon dedicates the Temple, Hardman &Co., 1897;
located in the Roman Catholic Church of English Martyrs
at Streatham, UK

Now, Solomon, I am sure you are thinking, is remembered as the wise one. “The wisdom of Solomon”, we say. Jesus relates how “the Queen of the south [the Queen of Sheba] came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon” (Matt 12:42). In 2 Chronicles 1, God says to Solomon, “because you have asked for wisdom and knowledge for yourself … wisdom and knowledge are granted to you” (2 Chr 1:11). 

And later, King Solomon is said to have “excelled all the kings of the earth in riches and in wisdom. And all the kings of the earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom, which God had put into his mind. Every one of [those kings] brought silver and gold, so much, year by year” (2 Chron 9:22–24).

This wonderfully wise, insightful, discerning man, Solomon—bearing a name derived from the Hebrew for peace, “shalom”—became a powerhouse in the ancient world. But he did not always live as a man of peace. indeed, he used his 4,000 horses and chariots and 12,000 horsemen to good effect; we read that “he ruled over all the kings from the Euphrates to the land of the Philistines and to the border of Egypt” (2 Chron 9:26). 

An envisaging of part of Solomon’s army

Solomon was remembered as king over the greatest expanse of land claimed by Israel in all of history. Solomon was a warrior. And warrior-kings were powerful, tyrannical in their exercise of power, ruthless in the way that they disposed of rivals for the throne and enemies on the battlefield alike. Think Alexander the Great. Think Charlemagne. Think Genghis Khan. Think William the Conqueror. Solomon reigned for 40 years—a long, wealthy, successful time. 

Yet in the passage we hear this Sunday Solomon appears not as a powerful king. Rather, he is a humble person of faith. He stands before all the people, raises his arms, and prays to the God who is to be worshipped in the Temple that he had erected. He is a person of faith, in the presence of his God, expressing his faith, exuding his piety.

Now, the prayer of Solomon goes for thirty solid verses; there are eight different sections in this prayer. The lectionary has mercy on us this Sunday; we are offered just two of those sections, eleven of the thirty verses. We have heard the shortened version! In these two sections of this prayer, Solomon identifies two important features of the newly-erected Temple.  The first is that the fundamental reason for erecting this building is to provide a focal point, where people of faith can gather to pray to God (2 Ki 8:23–30).

An imagining of Solomon’s Temple

Perhaps we may be used to hearing about the Temple in Jerusalem in fairly negative terms. Jesus cleared the Temple of the money changers and dove sellers who were exploring the people. He predicted the destruction of the Temple during the cataclysmic last days. For centuries, people from all over Israel were required to bring their sacrifices to the priests in the Temple, to offer up the firstborn of their animals and the firstfruits of their harvest. The Temple cult was seen as a harsh, primitive religious duty, imposing hardships on the people. The priests, the elites who ran the Temple, lived well off the benefits of all of these offerings. 

I could offer you a counter argument to each of these criticisms; but today I simply want to note that Solomon, in his prayer of dedication, makes it clear that the fundamental purpose of the Temple was to provide a house of prayer, a place where the people of God could gather, knowing that they were in the presence of God, knowing that the prayers that they offer would be heard by God and would lead to God’s offering of grace, forgiving them for their inadequacies and failures.

The Temple was to be a place of piety for the people. It was to foster the sense of connection with God. It was to deepen the life of faith of the people. It was to strengthen their covenant relationship with the Lord God.

All of which can be said for us, in our own times, about the building that we each come to each Sunday, to worship. The church is a place of piety and devotion for us, the people of God. It helps us to foster the sense of connection with God. It helps us to deepen our lives of faith. It encourages us to strengthen our covenant relationship with the Lord God through the new covenant offered in grace by Jesus. Ideally, that’s what the church is to be.

Churches in rural areas across Australia

So we read in the first part of Solomon’s Temple prayer. For the people of ancient Israel, standing in the shadow of this wonderful new building, the prayer might encourage a strong sense of self identity, blessed to be part of the people of God. Of course, it could also develop narrow nationalism, a jingoistic praising of the greatness of Israel, extolling their identity as the chosen nation, the holy people, the elect of God. 

The Temple invited the people of God to meet the God of the people, to pray, to sing, to offer signs of gratitude and bring pleas and petitions—in short, to keep the covenant, to show that they are keeping the covenant, to be satisfied that they are keeping the covenant, as they worship. It had a strong, positive purpose for the people.

But that is not where the prayer ends. The second key element of Solomon’s prayer that the lectionary offers us today (2 Ki 8:41–43) is striking. It also relates to prayer. But it is not the prayer of the people of God, covenant partners with the Lord God. It is about the prayer of “a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, [who] comes from a distant land because of your name”. This is a striking and dramatic element to include in this dedication prayer before all the people. 

Solomon prays to God, imploring God to “hear in heaven your dwelling place and do according to all for which the foreigner calls to you, in order that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel, and that they may know that this house that I have built is called by your name.” 

Now that is an incredible prayer for the King of Israel to pray! It reflects an openness to the world beyond the nation, an engagement with the wider geopolitical and social relatives of the world at that time. Solomon was not an isolationist. He was not inwardly focussed on his nation. He had an outwards orientation. He did not want the Temple simply to foster a holy huddle, shut off from the world. He had other intentions. He wanted the Temple to be a holy place, a place of welcome and invitation, open to people from across the region, from far beyond the territory of Israel—a gathering place for all the peoples.

That was the vision that Solomon set forth for his people. That was not always the way that the Temple actually did function, we know. But that was the foundational vision—articulated by Solomon, remembered by the scribes, included in the narrative account of the kings, placed in a strategic position at the opening and dedication of the Temple. It is a vision which speaks, both to the people of Israel, but also to people of faith today, in the 21st century world.

So I have a whole cluster of questions in my mind, as a result of pondering this aspect of the prayer of Solomon. What happens in our temples? in our churches? How do we foster relationship with God in our prayers in this place? Who do we expect to find in our temples, our places of worship? Who would be most surprising to find in our places of worship?

What prayers might come from those we least expect to come into our places of worship, when they do join with us in worship, to pray? How might we position ourselves, so that “foreigners”, people most unexpected to us, can feel welcomed to come into our church, be at home in our midst, make a connection with God? What do we need to do differently? What do we need to stop doing? What do we need to start doing?

We need to take seriously the claim that when we hear scripture read and expounded, we encounter God speaking to us. “The Word of God on whom salvation depends is to be heard and known from Scripture appropriated in the worshipping and witnessing life of the Church”, the Uniting Church Basis of Union affirms (para 5). That applies not only to Gospels and letters in the book of the new covenant, the New Testament, but also to narratives and psalms and prophetic works in Hebrew Scriptures, attesting to the earlier covenant. God speaks to us, as we hear and appropriate this scripture.

Our best response to this prayer of this discerning man of wisdom, warrior-king Solomon, offered as the Temple is dedicated, could well be for us to live our lives in response to that vision of what a place of worship and a community of worship might be—and shape a place open to all, a people welcoming of all who wish to come and make connection with God.

See also

A smooth transition? or a sequence of cruel calculations? (1 Kings 1–3; Pentecost 13B)

And still more bread: the Johannine remembrance of Eucharistic communion (John 6; Pentecost 14B)

The long detour away from Mark’s Gospel draws to a close. Next week we will rejoin the story of the beginning of the good news of Jesus, Messiah (which we know as the Gospel of Mark), after having spent more than a month with the book of signs, which contains just some of “the many things that Jesus did” (which we know as the Gospel of John).

Some weeks ago, after hearing John’s version of Jesus feeding a large crowd (6:1–13), we heard a passage ending with the first declaration by Jesus, “I am the bread of life” (6:24–35). Then we heard the next section of that discourse, dealing with an elaborated midrashic exposition about that “bread of life” (6:35–51), followed by the disputes that this teaching generated with the Judaean authorities (6:51–58). This coming Sunday we hear the final section of the discourse where Jesus turns to deal with dissent from his own disciples (6:56–69).

The early section of this passage contains verses which are always controversial when they are read in worship. Last week’s passage had drawn to a close with Jesus declaring that “those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day” (v.54), before continuing on to provide a further statement: “my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink” (v.55). The language is significant; Jesus does not talk about his body (sōma), but his flesh (sarx). That continues through to v.58, and on into v.63.

The passage proposed for this coming Sunday picks up at v.56, in the middle of this discussion, and runs through to the end of the chapter. We have noted that verse 58 provides a neat conclusion to the lengthy midrashic treatment that began in v.31, with the citation of a scriptural verse and was focussed by the statement of Jesus, “I am the bread of life” (v.35, repeated at v.48). That’s a neat inclusio for the whole extended discussion.

The conclusion in v.58 rehearses this central theme: “this is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate [with reference to v.31], and they died”. Jesus then extends the imagery to cover those who are his followers: “the one who eats this bread will live forever”. That includes his disciples in the eternal state that he himself enjoys. So v.58 actually functions more like a hinge, connecting what has gone before with what then follows. 

The difficulty that the disciples identify (v.60) is inherent in the language and concepts of what Jesus has said. As far back as v.51 he has stated, “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh (sarx)”. He continued with the claim, “unless you eat the flesh (sarka) of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (v.53), intensifying the claim with “my flesh (sarx) is true food and my blood is true drink” (v.55). 

The whole sequence comes to a head with the narrator’s comment that “Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, ‘Does this offend you?’” (v.61). The Greek verb in what Jesus says is skandalidzō, which we might translate as “scandalized”. That translation well encapsulates the outrage and disgust of the disciples.

The use of the word sarx in this sequence of statements is jarring. Elsewhere in Eucharistic passages in the New Testament, Jesus refers to his body as sōma, a word which has connotations of materiality, earthiness. The more physical term, sarx, refers to flesh. Eating the body of Jesus is one thing—already a difficult enough concept—but eating the flesh of Jesus makes it sound like a cannibalistic feast (as later critics of the Christians argued). 

Some commentators maintain that the use of the more basic term sarx reflects the incarnational emphasis of this Gospel, already set forth with clarity at 1:14, “the Word became flesh and lived among us”. In that same section of text, one description of human beings is “those born of the will of the flesh”, so that argument does carry some weight. James Dunn (in a short article in NTS 17, 1971, p.336) says that the choice of vocabulary is “best understood as a deliberate attempt to exclude docetism by heavily, if somewhat crudely, underscoring the reality of the incarnation in all its offensiveness”. However, I find it somewhat unusual that the author of this Gospel would operate in this rather clumsy manner.

Added to this observation, we might note that the word that is used here for “eating” is a very base word, most commonly referring to “munching” or “chewing”, as the BAGD Lexicon notes. This verb, trōgō, is used in quick succession in verses 54,56,57,58, and also at 13:18, where it is in a quotation of Ps 91.10, “the one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me”.  This vocabulary, then, is quite distinctive; it, too, is quite earthy and base.

A common interpretive question is whether the references to eating bread and drinking blood in this latter part of John 6 were intended to be eucharistic—that is, to evoke the moment in the last supper that Jesus ate with his disciples when he broke the bread and shared it with them? On face value, that seems unlikely. John’s Gospel does have Jesus sharing a last meal with his disciples (from 13:1 onwards), but there is no mention of any breaking of bread and drinking of wine in the formal pattern found in the Synoptic Gospels. Rather, in that meal the focus is initially on washing feet (13:3–5), before Jesus offers a long, extended “farewell discourse” (or, more accurately, two such discourses) stretching through until his long prayer in ch.17. 

The recollection of the last meal of Jesus is clearly attested in four separate New Testament books. The earliest to write about it, Paul, recalls the tradition that he received, in which Jesus said “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me” (1 Cor 11:24). Mark recalls the words of Jesus as the simple “Take, this is my body” (Mark 14:22), while Matthew, utilising Mark’s account, slightly extends this to “Take, eat; this is my body” (Matt 26:26). The latest of the four, the Lukan record, has more of an evocation of Paul’s version, “This is my body, which is given for you; do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19). All four passages have Jesus use the word sōma, body. In John 6, however, the word sōma is nowhere to be found, unlike in John’s account, where Jesus is reported as using the word “flesh” (sarx).

Raymond Brown, in his thorough analysis of this Gospel and working within his hypothesis regarding the complex formation of the text through various stages, is clear: when compared with verses 35–50, “verses 51–58 have a much clearer eucharistic reference” (Brown, The Gospel according to John, vol.I pp.290–91). However, he concedes that this reference is “scarcely intelligible in the setting in which it now stands”. In Brown’s view, the various redactional layers in the text means that the original intention has been lost.

Writing decades later, Australian scholar Francis Moloney notes that, in true Johannine style, “the midrashic unfolding of the verb ‘to eat’ naturally led to the use of eucharistic language to insinuate a secondary but important theme” (Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of John, p.224). For Moloney, the occurrence of regular eucharistic celebrations, even in those ancient times, would evoke and bring forth the eucharistic sense that underlies the passage.

Moloney and Brown are Roman Catholics; we might expect such commentators to lean towards the eucharistic understanding. Coming from a rather different ecclesial context (as an evangelical Baptist), however, George Beasley-Murray admits that “neither the Evangelist nor the Christian readers could have written or read the saying without conscious reference to the Eucharist” (Word Biblical Commentary: John, p.95).

One final comment on this issue from me: we know that in the early centuries of Christianity, there was much passing on of tradition by word of mouth; for some (such as Papias) oral traditions were even to be preferred over written documents. The context was fluid, so the possibilities for variations and differences was much higher than our contemporary context, in which written texts are precise and need to be quoted exactly (at least in academic and careful liturgical contexts). The author of John’s Gospel could well be working from a slightly different tradition and saw no constraints in developing it in the direction that particularly wanted to take it.

The whole chapter draws to a close, after the intense explanation of eating and drinking that Jesus offers, with his response to the offence taken by the disciples, as he reiterates the “spirit” emphasis that was central in his encounters with the Pharisee in Jerusalem (3:4–8) and the woman in Samaria (4:23–24). Indeed, since the Spirit had descended upon Jesus (1:32–33), it is now the one “whom God has sent [who] gives the Spirit without measure” (3:34). So he declares, “it is the spirit that gives life … the words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life” (6:63). Jesus says more about the Spirit later, in his farewell discourses (14:15–17, 25–26; 15:26; 16:12–15).

Of course, in the very same breath, Jesus dismisses the flesh as “useless” (6:63), thereby relativising the impact of the incarnational affirmation of 1:14 that we have noted above. Jesus here presses the importance of faith, ultimately, in what God is doing: “no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father” (v.65). This is the framework of reality that he operates in, and into which he invites his followers. 

I am wary of reading this as a kind of proto-Calvinist claim about predestination. Rather, I think it reflects the sectarian nature of the community for which the author is writing (as I have noted in earlier posts). The group was battered by the conflicts they had experienced, culminating in their expulsion from the synagogue. They needed to recall the story of Jesus in a way that encouraged them and affirmed their own sense of holding to “the truth”.

Through this long and complex chapter, then, Jesus has been building a picture of the “symbolic universe” in which he, the disciples, and his opponents are located. This is the context in which the members of the community understood themselves to be. All that takes place is set within the overarching framework of God’s work, which is what Jesus is called to do (4:34; 17:4) and what his followers are called to undertake (6:29–30; 9:4). The whole thing becomes mutually self-reinforcing.

The teachings they have heard from Jesus, however, are portrayed as being off-putting to some of the disciples, who “turned back and no longer went about with him” (6:66). The division amongst humanity, signalled from very early in the Gospel (1:10–13) and acted out in the extended conflict with the Judaean authorities which runs through the whole Gospel, here infiltrates the company of disciples. Some continued with Jesus, some departed from him.

Jesus puts “the twelve” on the spot, asking them, “do you also wish to go away?” (v.67). Simon Peter here speaks on their behalf (as he does often in the Synoptics) to affirm faith in Jesus: “you have the words of eternal life; we have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (6:69). This is the Johannine equivalent of the confession that Peter speaks, on behalf of the disciples, at Caesarea Philippi (Mark 8:29; extended at Matt 16:16; see also Luke 9:30). In John’s Gospel, however, this high point of confession is repeated later in the narrative by Martha, who extends her statement even further: “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world” (John 11:27). 

The chapter ends with the gathering of ominous dark clouds, as Judas is identified as the one who was going to betray Jesus (v.71)—quite dramatically, he is identified as “a devil” (v.70). This is explained later, in the introduction to the last meal scene, as “the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him” (13:1). The lines are drawn. And so the ultimate end of what is being narrated about Jesus is signalled.

For previous blogs, see

Misunderstanding Jesus: “they came to make him a king” (John 6; Pentecost 9B)
The Bread of Life: take one (John 6; Pentecost 11B)
A midrashic exposition on “the bread of life” (John 6; Pentecost 12B)
Disputing the claim of Jesus to be “the bread of life” (John 6; Pentecost 13B)

and on the whole sequence of this chapter

Claims about the Christ: affirming the centrality of Jesus (John 6; Pentecost 9B—13B)

Following Mark: a commentary for people on the road (a review)

In following the Revised Common Lectionary through the year, each year the Gospel reading has a focus, for a large part of the year, on one of the Synoptic Gospels. So this year we have been following stories in Mark’s Gospel (with the obvious exception of the past five weeks, when we took a detour into John 6).

Mark’s Gospel majors on discipleship, on what it means to follow Jesus as a faithful disciple. “Follow me” is an early exhortation of Jesus; to the four fishing disciples (Mark 1:16–20), to Levi the tax collector (2:13–14), to the crowd following him on the road (8:34), and to a rich man (10:17–22). One of my ministry colleagues, Peter Hobson, coined the term “followship” (blending following and discipleship) to characterise this focus. 

So it is no surprise to receive a book focussed on Mark’s Gospel, with the clever title Following Mark. The subtitle, A commentary for people on the road, also picks up on the repeated motif of Jesus and the disciples being “on the way” or “on the road” (3:23; 7:31; 8:27; 9:33–34; 10:32, 52; 11:8). The book is written by William Loader, professor emeritus at Murdoch University, Perth, a minister in the Uniting Church in Australia, and an internationally recognised New Testament scholar with extensive publications.

Bill Loader, as I know him, always writes with an open, inviting style that encourages thoughtful engagement with the biblical text. This short book is no exception. The pages brim with lucid explanations, grounded in thorough scholarship; vivid images, designed to bring the story to life; and provocative questions, to deepen the life of discipleship of those who read this book. 

There are five main sections to the book, each with a title that encapsulates the key focus of the stories in that part of the Gospel: The Beginning (1:1–4:41), The Expansion (5:1–8:26), The Identity (8:27–10:52), Jesus and the Temple (11:1–13:37), and The End? (14:1–16:8). These are the logical groupings of sections of text which many commentators have recognised. You can compare it with my own brief analysis of the nature and structure of Mark’s Gospel at

2 Mark: collector of stories, author of the passion narrative

Within each of those sections, there are four or five subsections in which a translation of the passage is given under the heading Listening to Mark, followed by three to five pages of discussion under the heading Thinking about Mark, and a short conclusion called Reflection, which offers two or three questions designed to stimulate ongoing thinking, or perhaps as the basis for a small group discussion of the relevant section.

Loader’s own translation of Mark that is included is peppered with some wonderful turns of phrase that reflect how Australian ears hear the stories about Jesus. He maintains the Markan use of present in the midst of past tenses, which gives the whole narrative a much less formal style, more in the manner of telling stories while gathered around a campfire, perhaps. John is baptising in the outback instead of the wilderness (1:4, 12); the healed leper, in his rejoicing, “began to blab all about it” (1:45). There is a man with a shrunken hand (3:1, 3), a more prosaic description; “a great crowd” becomes “a great mob” (3:8). 

When Jesus encounters some unclean spirits, “he had to tell many of them off” (3:12), while when the disciples encounter Jesus walking on the water, he says “Cheer up. It’s me. Don’t be scared!” (6:50). At one point, people from the synagogue remonstrate with Jairus, saying, “Why keep hassling the teacher?” (5:35). In Gethsemane, Jesus tells the disciples, “I’m terribly sad enough to die” (14:34). All of this adds a fine Aussie touch to the work. (But I did notice that denarii are still denarii.)

For those preaching from the Gospel text each Sunday, there are many comments which will spark further thinking and provide material to enrich their thinking as they develop their sermon. For those reading through Mark’s Gospel in the midst of their already-busy lives, this book provides a concise, handy guide for negotiating the stories it contains. 

This book is a fine piece of work which I was invited to recommended, along with others who are teaching New Testament or are engaged in ministry formation processes. Assoc. Prof. Robyn Whitaker, of the University of Divinity, notes that Loader’s “deep knowledge of the text and its historical setting shines through”.

Prof. Paul Foster, of Edinburgh University, says that the book “distills the insights of a seasoned scholar and brilliant communicator into a highly readable format”. Cathie Lambert, formation coordinator in the Uniting Church in Western Australia, comments that “Loader’s clear and accessible explanation of nuances of translation, cultural and geographical contexts, and links to the Hebrew Bible provide the reader with a firm foundation for contemporary interpretation”.

You can order a copy at https://www.amazon.com.au/Following-Mark-Commentary-People-Road/dp/B0CYWDT3KR

You can view a full list of Bill Loader’s publications at https://billloader.com

For my review of his earlier book What can love hope for? see

What can love hope for? A review.

A smooth transition? or a sequence of cruel calculations? (1 Kings 1–3; Pentecost 13B)

David had many sons—there are 19 who are named in the Bible, and two others unnamed. There are consolidated lists at 2 Sam 3:2–5 (those born at Hebron) and 2 Sam 5:13–15 (those born in Jerusalem). In following the story of 2 Samuel, we have already met Solomon, Absalom, and Amnon. We do not know how many daughters David had, except for Tamar (2 Sam 13:1). After travelling through the various incidents involving David that the lectionary has offered, today we come to the last days of the life of this famous king.

The passage offered by the lectionary this week (1 Ki 2:10–12, 3:3–14) portrays a smooth transition from David to his chosen son, Solomon. The narrator simply reports, “when David’s time to die drew near, he charged his son Solomon”, reporting the words he spoke to him; and then “David slept with his ancestors, and was buried in the city of David” (1 Ki 2:1, 10). 

David and Solomon as depicted in a 14th century mosaic in the museum on the second floor of the Basilica di San Marco, Venice

However, the previous chapter tells of the plotting by Adonijah, and the next part of the story reports that David authorised the murders of his son Adonijah, his nephew Joab, and Shimei, a relative of Saul, to ensure that Solomon could reign! It’s a nasty story. (In what follows, I am drawing in part from a sermon preached by my wife, Elizabeth Raine.)

Living in a democracy where leadership is determined by popular vote, this narrative feels particularly unpleasant and unjust to us. Paradoxically, David charges Solomon to adhere to “the statutes, commandments, ordinances, and testimonies” that God has decreed (2:3). Subsequently, Solomon sensibly prays for “an understanding mind to govern your people” (3:9).

In the later rewriting of this long narrative saga, the Chronicler has David instruct his chosen successor, his son, Solomon, “set your mind and heart to seek the Lord your God” (1 Chron 22:19). He reinforces that in a later address, telling Solomon to “know God and serve [the Lord] with single mind and willing heart” (1 Chron 28:9).

The book of Proverbs (attributed by tradition to Solomon) then advocates both attending to the mind (Prov 22:17; 23:12, 19) and “inclining your heart” towards God (Prov 2:2; 3:1–6; 4:4, 20–23; 6:21; 7:3) as integral parts of the life of faith. And of course, much later, Jesus picks this up when he extends the traditional commandment to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might” (Deut 6:5), adding “and with all your mind” (Mark 12:30). 

A fully devoted heart (meaning, an all-of-person commitment) as well as an understanding mind (committed to critical reasoning about faith) is the essence of good leadership. It is a typical Hebraic parallelism that emphasises the importance of a whole-of-life commitment. See more on these terms at

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

However, it turns out that this is not really how Solomon lived in his life. His rule was littered with events that cast down on his great wisdom, and whether he did actually love God with all of his being.

Solomon was not first in line to ascend the throne; that would lie with the eldest of his brothers still living, Adonijah. Adonijah knows this; the first book of Kings opens with the revelation that, since “David was old and advanced in years … Adonijah son of Haggith exalted himself, saying, ‘I will be king’; he prepared for himself chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him” (1 Ki 1:1,5).

However, Solomon plots with his mother Bathsheba and the palace prophet Nathan to arrange for the assassination of his older brother. In addition, a number of other people also had to be eliminated to establish Solomon’s firm grip on the monarchy, and to ensure there were no other possible legitimate claimants to the throne remaining. Such was the raw and vicious nature of “life at the top” those days. (Hastings anything much changed?)

In fairly quick succession, after Solomon had arranged for the death of his eldest brother Adonijah (2:13–25), he banished the high priest Abiathar who had supported Adonijah (2:26–27) and replaced him with another priest loyal to himself. Next he removed Joab, a cousin who was the commander in the former king’s army (2:28–34). He achieved this via a hit man, Benaniah, who became the general of his army (2:35). 

Then, Solomon had Shimei, who was a relative of Saul, the king before David, killed (2:36–46). In this way all potential contenders for the throne and their powerful supporters were removed, mostly by violent means. As the narrator curtly comments, “so the kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon” (2:46b).

In fact, Solomon meets all the criteria of the sort of king who was described by the prophet Samuel as one who would oppress Israel. Years before, Samuel had warned the people, “This is what the king who will reign over you will claim as his rights: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of his chariots. Some he will assign to be commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and others to plow his ground and reap his harvest, and still others to make weapons of war and equipment for his chariots.” (1 Sam 8:11–12).

More than this, Samuel advised, “He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his attendants. He will take a tenth of your grain and of your vintage and give it to his officials and attendants. Your male and female servants and the best of your cattle and donkeys he will take for his own use. He will take a tenth of your flocks, and you yourselves will become his slaves.” (1 Sam 8:13–17). 

So Samuel tells the people who were asking for a king, “when that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, but the Lord will not answer you in that day” (1 Sam 8:18).

In addition to meeting these criteria, Solomon’s weakness for foreign women would lead him to abandon the God of Israel for other foreign gods. “Solomon loved many foreign women along with the daughter of Pharaoh: Moabite, Ammonite, Edomite, Sidonian, and Hittite women, from the nations concerning which the Lord had said to the Israelites, ‘You shall not enter into marriage with them, neither shall they with you; for they will surely incline your heart to follow their gods’; Solomon clung to these in love” (1 Ki 11:1–2). 

Solomon ignored this command and “clung to these in love; among his wives were seven hundred princesses and three hundred concubines; and his wives turned away his heart—for when Solomon was old, his wives turned away his heart after other gods; and his heart was not true to the Lord his God, as was the heart of his father David” (1 Ki 11:2b-4).

A stylized representation of Solomon and his “seven hundred princesses and three hundred concubines” whom he took to be his wives, who “turned away his heart” (1 Ki 11:3).

Eventually, in the view of the narrator of this long saga, this engagement with foreigners and their religious customs would lead to the breakdown of kingdom and would end in Israel being conquered by Assyria (2 Ki 17:5–12, 20) and then Judah being defeated by Babylon (2 Ki 17:19; 24:18–20). Their exile was precisely because, as the Lord tells Ezekiel, “you are living in the midst of a rebellious house, who have eyes to see but do not see, who have ears to they are a rebellious house; therefore, mortal, prepare for yourself an exile’s baggage, and go into exile by day in their sight; you shall go like an exile from your place to another place in their sight—perhaps they will understand, though they are a rebellious house” (Ezek 12:1–3).

Diana Edelman notes in the Jewish Women’s Archive that “Foreign women were considered a potential source of trouble because they might not always adopt the culture and values of their husbands and their new place of residence. If they chose to continue to practice their native customs and cults, they would pass these on to their children and might also influence their husbands to adopt some non-Israelite practices as well. Loyalty to and identity with Israelite tradition would be threatened.” See https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/women-of-solomon-bible

The story of Solomon is actually a bloody and violent narrative of infidelity, oppression, and sin. The path to the throne was a bloody and ruthless one for Solomon. But most often, people remember a heavily sanitised version of Solomon, one of Israel’s most famous kings.

******

How could this great king who had spoken with God go on to worship false gods? How could someone credited with so much wisdom ignore the basic laws of justice that his God required of him? Perhaps we might consider this long history, not so much a glorious account of the people flourishing under wise and good leadership, but rather a tragic story of oppressive leadership, split kingdoms, rivalry, and war, leading to the civil war that swirled around the last days of Solomon and the consequent division of the kingdom, with Israel being ruled by Jeroboam while Rehoboam ruled Judah.

So in considering how Solomon lived, we find a king who ruthlessly removed rivals, taxed his people heavily, and thought nothing of removing thousands of men to be his soldiers and his labourers. He thought nothing of loving many women who brought their foreign customs into the heart of Israel. He thought nothing of using the children of Israel as miners to procure the precious metals to make his gold cups. He thought nothing of taking food off the tables of his people. 

The narrator describes the daily provisions of Solomon in some detail: “thirty cors of the finest flour and sixty cors of meal, ten head of stall-fed cattle, twenty of pasture-fed cattle and a hundred sheep and goats, as well as deer, gazelles, roebucks and choice fowl” (1 Ki 4:23–24) and then claims that “during Solomon’s lifetime Judah and Israel, from Dan to Beersheba, lived in safety, everyone under their own vine and under their own fig tree” (4:25).

However, we know from Samuel’s earlier predictions that this is ‘spin’. How could such immense provisions and vast wealth be found in the ancient near east unless it was taken from the people? How would the families of those men who were taken for Solomon’s service fare, left to struggle on small land holdings without men to work the land?

While we might remember the wisdom and splendour of King Solomon’s rule to this day and admire it, we need to remember that there is another side to this story, that isn’t just or pretty or admirable. Solomon’s wisdom and rule was the wisdom and rule of the world. Solomon used his influence and power to acquire personal wealth and prestige. He thought nothing of splitting families, leaving women and children to struggle, and taking precious food resources for his own use. The mineral wealth of the land remained firmly under his control and he used it to decorate his vast palace – built at no expense by Hebrew men conscripted into what was essentially slavery. His immense army ensured he remained in power.

Who does this put you in mind of today? The Conversation has a page entitled “Articles on Dictatorship” which contains 81 articles—on Bangladesh, Venezuela, North Korea, Russia, Brazil, Argentina, Cambodia, Belarus, Saudi Arabia, China, Rwanda, Nicaragua, the Philippines, and more. Surely this is not the model of leadership that God desires? See https://theconversation.com/au/topics/dictatorship-1918

Writing in With Love to the World, Matthew Wilson reflects on this story. “Often our sense of justice is based more on retribution than on reconciliation. Mandatory sentencing, drug posession laws, racial profiling, and continuing failures in domestic violence and other abuse cases leave us wondering where justice really lies.” 

He notes an anecdote of his father, “He who has the deepest pockets wins”, and comments that, whilst God has a quite different sense of justice, sadly, “the God who forgives, who shows grace and mercy is, nevertheless, rather absent in today’s reading. Solomon will go on to be gifted with, and praised for, his wisdom. Here, political wisdom and the grace of a forgiving God seem a long way apart. In the love of Christ and the power of the Spirit, have we the strength to be different, to be Christ-like?”

*****

Some material in this blog was included in THE WAY OF WISDOM by Elizabeth Raine and John Squires (self-published 2012)

With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

You can subscribe on your phone or iPad via an App, for a subscription of $28 per year. Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

Disputing the claim of Jesus to be “the bread of life” (John 6; Pentecost 13B)

Under the guidance of the lectionary, we have been following a pathways which has deviated from the story of “the beginning of the good news of Jesus, Messiah” (which we know as the Gospel of Mark) that we have been following each Sunday since Pentecost. For the moment, we read and hear excerpts from “the book of signs”, which contains just some of “the many things that Jesus did” (which we know as the Gospel of John).

We have read or heard the account that John gives of when Jesus “took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted” (John 6:1–13). From that day, we have then been guided to follow the extensive discourse that Jesus gives to a crowd that “went to Capernaum looking for Jesus” (John 6:25–71).

First, we heard a passage that ends with the first of seven I AM declarations made by the Johannine Jesus, “I am the bread of life” (6:24–35). Then, in the next section of that discourse, we encountered an elaborated exposition of that “bread of life” (6:35–51). This Sunday we hear about the disputes that this teaching generated with the Judaean authorities (6:51–58), and then the following Sunday takes us to the final section of the discourse where Jesus then has to deal with dissent from his own disciples (6:56–69).

The passage for this coming Sunday (John 6:51–58) is introduced, as we saw in the previous blog on this discourse, with a restatement of the theme that Jesus had what has just been declared: first, the primary affirmation about Jesus: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven” (v.51a); followed by the consequence for those who believe in him: “whoever eats of this bread will live forever” (v.51b)—and then a further step, following this summary, with and immediate extension of the argument: “the bread that I will give for the life of the world”, Jesus declares, “is my flesh” (v.51c).

Whilst a superficial, or impatient, reading of this chapter reacts with “here we go again, ‘I am the bread of life’ yet again”, a more careful reading will reveal to us the developments and new elements that are being added into the discourse at each reiteration of this fundamental claim. This restatement does just that.

A strong response to the statement of Jesus made in v.51 comes immediately. Most contemporary translations refer to “the Jews” when they report the immediate kickback: “[they] disputed among themselves, saying, ‘How can this man give us his flesh to eat?’” (v.52).

It’s a fair question, I reckon, since it’s a curious, and confronting, thing for Jesus to say. Who talks about giving his own flesh to others for them to eat?

I am reminded of the criticism of the Christians made in the early centuries of the movement. Second century Roman writer Suetonius wrote that “Nero inflicted punishment on the Christians, a sect given to a new and mischievous religious belief” (Suetonius, The 12 Caesars, Nero Claudius Caesar, XVI). A similar comment is found in the Annals of Tacitus: “Nero fastened the guilt and inflicted the most exquisite tortures on a class hated for their abominations, called Christians by the populace” (Tacitus, Annals 15.44).

In a third century work written by Minucius Felix we gain a glimpse of the accusation of cannibalism being levelled against the Christians, in a “story about the initiation of young novices” (Octavius 30). Minucius Felix reports the criticism that an infant, “covered over with meal, that it may deceive the unwary, is placed before him who is to be stained with their rites” (that is, before the person about to be baptised).

He continues with a description of the alleged horrors: “this infant is slain by the young pupil, who has been urged on as if to harmless blows on the surface of the meal, with dark and secret wounds”, and then gives a graphic description of what ensues: “thirstily … they lick up its blood; eagerly they divide its limbs; by this victim they are pledged together; with this consciousness of wickedness they are covenanted to mutual silence.” It’s quite a take on what believers know as the celebration of Holy Communion.

(We will come back to the strangely-different language and the distinctive Eucharistic resonances of the discourse of the Johannine Jesus in John 6 in my blog on next week’s lectionary passage.)

Who are these “Jews” who are criticizing Jesus in this way? I have already noted (in my blog on John 6:1–15) that most translations describe this latter group simply as “the Jews”. The Greek word used, however, can equally be translated as “the Judeans”. It’s a preferable option, I believe, as it avoids having a sense of antisemitism creep into our understanding of the text, every time we hear “the Jews” criticising and arguing with Jesus.

To be fair to the whole population of Judaea at the time, however, I’ll refer to them as “Judaean leaders”, as it seems clear that this is the particular group that is generating and exacerbating the conflict.

In doing so, I am taking the lead from D. Moody Smith, who argues that that the way the word is used in the fourth Gospel means that it should be translated as “a group of Jewish leaders who exercise great authority among their compatriots and are especially hostile to Jesus and his disciples … it refers to certain authorities rather than to the people as a whole.” See D. Moody Smith, “Judaism and the Gospel of John”, accessible at https://www.bc.edu/content/dam/files/research_sites/cjl/sites/partners/cbaa_seminar/Smith.htm

The sixth chapter of John’s Gospel offers a series of encounters that reveal misunderstanding, antagonism, and conflict in the ways that people relate to Jesus, even whilst he sets forth this significant teaching that he is “the bread of life” (6:35, 48). To be sure, the earlier interactions between Jesus and “the crowd” (6:24–40) appear to be amenable, offering Jesus the opportunity to explain himself.

However, when this group of Judaean leaders come into the foreground (v.41), this become more tense. The antagonism of these leaders is palpable. This mood continues through their complaining (vv.41–51) and disputing (vv.52–58), on into the complaining of the disciples of Jesus (v.60–65) and the rejection of Jesus by some of them (vv.66–71).

We have already met opponents of Jesus very early in John’s narrative. Indeed, in the prosaic interpolation into the poetic prologue, even before the story proper begins, there is a clear indication of looming opposition to Jesus: “the world did not know him … his own people did not accept him” (1:10–11).

Early in the narrative that John the evangelist presents, a group of Judaean leaders had questioned John the baptiser, asking him “who are you?” (1:19); then they had questioned Jesus, “what sign can you show us?” (2:18). These questions are not necessarily antagonistic. (You could read them as a form of “appreciative enquiry”.)

The explicit opposition to Jesus from these Judaean leaders emerges, however, after he has healed on the sabbath (5:10). Here, the narrator declares that these Judaean leaders “started persecuting Jesus” (5:16) and indeed “were seeking all the more to kill him” because of what he was saying (5:18). From this point on, the conflict just deepens.

After they began to complain about Jesus (6:41) and quarrel about him (6:52), these leaders have success: “many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him” (6:66). They intensify their opposition, “looking for an opportunity to kill him” (7:1), intimidating people to silence (7:13), further questioning the teaching of Jesus (7:35–36; 8:22, 57; 10:24), accusing him of being a Samaritan (8:48) and possessed by a demon (8:48, 52; 10:20)—although not everyone holds this view (10:19, 21) and there are indeed Judaean leaders who “believed in him” (11:45; 12:11).

Twice the Judaean leaders take up stones to kill Jesus (8:59; 10:31–33; 11:8), accusing him of blasphemy in “making yourself God” (10:33, alluding back to their assessment of 5:18). Their success in persecuting the followers of Jesus is reflected in the observation that they “had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue” (9:22; and see later references at 12:52; 16:2). The plot to kill Jesus is finalised when Pharisees and priests combine, in the face of the greatest sign performed by Jesus, in raising Lazarus from death (11:46–53).

Where these Judaean leaders stand in relation to Jesus and the truth that he declares (1:14, 17; 8:23, 40, 45–47; 14:6; 18:37) is clear from the division outlined in the vehement vitriol of the debate in chapter 8. “You are from below, I am from above”, Jesus tells them; “you are of this world, I am not of this world” (8:23). Not content with this (characteristically Johannine) dualistic assessment, he then confronts them with the clear reality, as he sees it: “I told you that you would die in your sins, for you will die in your sins unless you believe that I am he” (8:24).

I read the whole sequence of scenes in this Gospel, from the wedding in Cana, with its implicit criticism of “the Jewish rites of purification” (2:1–11), through the heated debates of chs. 5—8, the high drama of the multi-scene conflict with Jewish leaders and “expulsion from the synagogue” in ch.9, on into the plot of ch.11, as a story that reflects the position of the followers of Jesus who comprised the community in which this book was eventually written.

This group of people (what Raymond Brown called “the community of the beloved disciple”) had been rejected by their fellows, expelled from their community of faith, because of their views about Jesus. They had become yet another sectarian group in the mixture of late Second Temple Judaism, which then bled into early Rabbinic Judaism.

It is this “Johannine sectarianism”, as Wayne Meeks called it, which explains the bruising debates in this Gospel; Jesus, “the man from heaven”, as Meeks styles him, is being remembered as “standing up for the truth” in the face of intense criticism, by a group of people who had been pillaged and persecuted for standing up for what they saw as “the truth”. They had become outsiders; some of them had met death for the stand they took. This was what it meant for them to be faithful to Jesus.

So in the Johannine story of Jesus, the Judaean authorities, and the disciples of Jesus, the die is cast; the antagonism is set. Jesus will head to his death and his followers also will experience “an hour … when those who kill you will think that by doing so they are offering worship to God” (16:2). The fate that is in store for Jesus is the same fate for his followers.

Using the commonplace image of “a grain of wheat [that] falls into the earth and dies” (12:24), Jesus appears to foreshadow his imminent death; “the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” (12:23) is the way that the Johannine Jesus refers to his death (7:39; 11:4; 12:16, 28–33; 13:31–33; 17:1–5).

He follows the saying about the grain of wheat dying, only to “bear much fruit”, with an assertion about his followers: “those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (12:25; the language reflects Mark 8:35; Matt 10:39; 16:25; Luke 9:24; 17:33). The way of Jesus is also the way of his followers.

(At this point, we might want to reflect on how appropriate for us—or how distant from us—this portrayal of Jesus is. How much do I know, personally, of the opposition and conflict that puts my very life in peril, because of what I believe and how I live? In this light, the Johannine Jesus and the community faithful adhered to his way can appear to be alien from the comfortable existence of so many Christians—myself included—in the western world.)

The final verse of this section (not included in the lectionary selection, 6:51–58) is a surprise: “he said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum” (6:59). The chapter had begun on “the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias” (v.1), where Jesus had fed the large crowd, before moving “across the sea to Capernaum” (v.17), where Jesus had walked on the water.

When those left on “the other side” of the sea saw the crowd across the lake, “they got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus” (v.24), where they found him, engaging him in discussion (v.25). The mention of the synagogue in 6:59 provides a pivot for the narrative then to focus on the disciples, who had been with Jesus “on the other side” (v.3) and then in the boat (vv.6–7). What ensues (v.60 onwards) then maintains a focus on Jesus interacting with the disciples. On which, see next week’s blog …

See previous blogs at

Misunderstanding Jesus: “they came to make him a king” (John 6; Pentecost 9B)
The Bread of Life: take one (John 6; Pentecost 11B)

and on the whole sequence of this chapter

Claims about the Christ: affirming the centrality of Jesus (John 6; Pentecost 9B—13B)