A parable of grace—and a story of grace (Matt 20 and Matt 27; Pentecost 17A)

A sermon on Matthew 20:1–16, written and preached by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine

The Gospel of Matthew was the subject of my PhD research, and I so enjoy teaching that Gospel to groups of people, especially when it comes around in the lectionary (as it has this year). And this might well lead you to think that I look forward to being able to share something of my interest in that gospel in weekly sermons.

However, I have found that as much as I like teaching Matthew, I actually don’t like preaching Matthew—at least not the passages that have fallen to my lot in recent months. You may have noticed that in most of the gospel readings we have heard over the few months, there is almost always a line or two about judgment, eternal punishment, and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Last week’s reading was no exception, with the unforgiving slave finding himself not only unforgiven, but also condemned to be tortured.

Matthew is very fond of predicting a harsh judgment and eternal punishment for his enemies. His gospel contains more references to hell and eternal punishment that most of the New Testament put together, with the possible exception of the book of Revelation. He sneaks these references into his material wherever possible, changing his Markan source to reflect his own interests in God’s wrath.

Now while this is interesting to teach, it is not very helpful when trying to construct a sermon that is meant to give food for thought and help folk reflect on their faith. Not all of us want our enemies to be gnashing teeth and wailing in hell. When I teach and research Matthew, I find myself often asking this question of Matthew’s gospel: what are its redeeming features as far as nurturing faith goes?

This is actually tricky to answer. Even last week’s teaching on forgiveness was undermined by the harsh punishment of the slave. And Matthew is actually a grace-free gospel, in that the Greek word for grace, charis, is never used by the author. Many of the stories in Matthew have a pronounced down side. Matthew often includes things such as alienation from family, name-calling, murder, impossible ethical demands and eternal damnation in his gospel.

However, Matthew does have one unique and I think, extraordinary act of redemption in his gospel, apart from Jesus’ death.

I will start with explaining what this is by using this week’s reading. The parable we encounter in this passage (Matt 20:1–16) is unique to Matthew’s Gospel. As such, it may be considered an insight into the special focus of the Gospel, and reflect something of the writer’s understanding of life around him in first century Palestine.

This story of the vineyard workers may well be taken straight from agricultural life in a Palestinian village. Like many of Jesus’ parables, it draws on images and practices familiar to the lifestyle of the crowds who gathered around Jesus to listen to him. Such familiarity would have caught the crowd’s attention and helped them understand the religious teaching that Jesus wanted to convey.

Like many of Jesus’ parables, though, the story has an unexpected twist. Even in first century Palestine, the concept of equal work for equal pay was an established principle. But here we find the vineyard owner paying the same wage to the labourers, regardless of how much or how little time they worked during the day. Such an uneconomical practice must have taken the crowd by surprise. What lord or owner would make such a foolishly generous offer?

The clue is in the last verse of the story, in a saying that Jesus has used a number of times, and one that was no doubt familiar to his disciples and regular followers: “the last shall be first and the first shall be last”.

With this phrase, the vineyard is revealed as the kingdom of heaven, and the owner is, of course, God – the God who is as generous to those who seek his kingdom at the last minute as he is to those who found it much earlier.

The verses which follow after this parable show that it must have been difficult for the disciples to hear, especially James and John! The request of the mother of James and John made it clear that they and the other disciples had given up everything they had to follow Jesus, with the expectation of heavenly reward. Now those who would join the movement later, who have not given up so much or suffered as long, would be greeted by God as equals.

Most scholars think that Matthew may have included this story to defend Jesus’ inclusion of sinners in the kingdom as well as the righteous, though this doesn’t explain why the emphasis is on those who come to the kingdom later. Maybe Jesus meant the story to be understood symbolically, with the ‘last’ being the same as the ‘least’, and thus servanthood and humbleness are being emphasised.

I have another take on this. In a swift segue, I am now jumping into another story in Matthew that does not make it into the lectionary. And that is the story of Judas.

What do we remember Judas for? What is his story? Does anyone remember how Judas died?

All the gospels state that Judas goes to the chief priests and asks for money to betray Jesus. Luke and John both state that Satan entered into Judas. John also calls him a devil and a thief. All the gospels have Judas arrive in the Garden of Gethsemane to betray Jesus with a kiss. It is what happens after this that is unique to Matthew.

Judas, as befitting his actions, meets with an untimely end. There is one version of Judas’ death in Acts: this man acquired a field with the reward of his wickedness; and falling headlong, he burst open in the middle and all his bowels gushed out. This became known to all the residents of Jerusalem, so that the field was called in their language Hakeldama, that is, Field of Blood. (Acts 1:18).

Another less familiar version of Judas’ death is found in the second century church father Papias. Papias obviously had a colourful imagination. A fourth century bishop named Apollonius cites what a second century bishop named Papias apparently claimed about Judas: Judas did not die by hanging, but lived on, having been cut down before choking. And this the Acts of the Apostles makes clear, that falling headlong his middle burst and his bowels poured forth.

Apollonius goes on to say that Papias the disciple of John records this most clearly, saying thus in the fourth of the Exegeses of the Words of the Lord: Judas walked about as an example of godlessness in this world, having been bloated so much in the flesh that he could not go through where a chariot goes easily, indeed not even his swollen head by itself. For the lids of his eyes, they say, were so puffed up that he could not see the light, and his own eyes could not be seen, not even by a physician with optics, such depth had they from the outer apparent surface. And his genitalia appeared more disgusting and greater than all formlessness, and he bore through them from his whole body flowing pus and worms, and to his shame these things alone were forced [out]. And after many tortures and torments, they say, when he had come to his end in his own place, from the place became deserted and uninhabited until now from the stench, but not even to this day can anyone go by that place unless they pinch their nostrils with their hands, so great did the outflow from his body spread out upon the earth.

One of the exercises we do in introduction to New Testament Studies is to examine which, or indeed, any account of the death of Judas could be historical. Most of the students find these two versions to be fiction. But we do have another account in the gospel of Matthew.

Matthew treats Judas differently from the beginning. For a start, only Matthew mentions the sum of 30 pieces of silver being Judas’ fee for the betrayal. The sum of 30 shekels of silver was the value put on the Lord by the corrupt leaders of Israel in the book of Zechariah.

Only in Matthew does Judas ask the question “Is it I, Rabbi?” when Jesus states that one of them will betray him. Just as an aside here, in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is only called rabbi twice, and both times it is by Judas.

At the moment of the betrayal, only in Matthew does Jesus refer to Judas as ‘friend’, and he also tells him “may that for which you are here be done”. This is rather different to the question of Luke’s Jesus: “Judas, do you betray me with a kiss?” The Jesus of Mark and John says nothing to Judas at this point.

Whilst the account found in Luke—Acts indicates that Judas goes off to enjoy his ill-gotten gains, and is only cut short in this aim by some judicious punishment on God’s part, the story is very different in Matthew.

In a passage unique to this gospel, the Judas of Matthew is overcome with remorse when he sees Jesus is condemned. He repents, returns the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, and states that he has “sinned by betraying innocent blood”. Met with disinterest and no compassion by the priests, Judas throws the money down in the temple, then leaves, to hang himself. The Greek in Matthew leaves us in no doubt as to Judas’ self-inflicted fate, despite Papias’ attempts to resurrect him so he can then unrepent, and go off and buy his field as per the account in Acts.

Judas, through Christian history, has been demonized for his actions. One can see this beginning in the later gospels of Luke and John, who insist that Judas was a sinner possessed by the devil or Satan, and of course in the later Papias, whose Judas is a very caricature of evil. Matthew does not join in this demonisation of Judas. Not only that though, Matthew goes even further, in that Matthew offers to Judas one of the greatest acts of salvation in our New Testament – he actually redeems Judas.

How can you be sure of that?, I hear you cry. Firstly, note that Judas repents. Repent is a word used sparingly in this gospel. It first appears with John the Baptist, he cries to people to ‘repent for the kingdom of heaven draws near”. John also tells them to ‘bear fruit worthy of repentance’. Jesus echoes the cry of ‘Repent, for the kingdom has drawn near’ in the next chapter.

In chapter 11, Jesus upbraids the cities of Chorazin and Bethsaida for not repenting, despite having many miracles carried out in them. In chapter 12, he reminds the unrepentant that the city of Ninevah repented when hearing Jonah’s proclamation about God. Where does Judas’ repentance fit with this?

The depiction of Judas throughout Christian history as infamy embodied has led most exegetes to the conclusion that this repentance in Matthew is merely regret, and not genuine repentance.

I have two things to say to this view. Firstly, it would seem that suicide is a rather drastic reaction to mere regret. Suicide speaks of deep remorse and repentance to me. Secondly, Matthew does not use ‘repent’ unless he means it. In fact, in the parable that follows this one in chapter 22, Matthew uses this very word to describe the actions of the son that initially refused to work in the vineyard, then changed his mind (or repented) and went. Jesus makes the point it is this son who did the will of the father.

So we should assume that Judas’ repentance is genuine. This is underscored by Judas not keeping the money but returning it.

Last of all, we need to consider Judas’ motivation in his act of betrayal. In looking at this, we should note firstly that Jesus goes to his death obedient to the will of God. Judas, therefore, becomes part of enacting the will of God. So the question is raised, “Does Judas have a choice”? I am sure that Matthew doesn’t think so, despite Jesus saying earlier ‘woe to the one who betrays the son of man’. The eventual fate of Judas bears out Jesus words, but does not damn him eternally.

The next surprise is that Jesus calls Judas ‘friend’ at the moment of betrayal, and makes the thoughtful statement “may that for which you are here be done” to Judas, implying some sort of foreordained action. 

The knock down argument is the scriptural fulfillment that follows hard on the telling of Judas’ demise, when the priests decide to purchase a field with the money:

Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah, “And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of the one on whom a price had been set, on whom some of the people of Israel had set a price, and they gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord commanded me.” (Matt 27:9–10)

And Judas’ actions in betraying Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, is from the prophet Zechariah, another scriptural fulfillment allusion to the betrayal and sale of the Lord.

Now Matthew’s God is somewhat wrathful in his judgments, but is always just. If Judas had no choice, how can he then be condemned?

Judas’ suicide resembles that of Ahithophel, the man who had assisted Absalom in his rebellion against King David, and was thus the betrayer of David. Like Judas, Ahithophel hangs himself, yet is still described by many of the rabbis as having entered the world to come, or heaven as this world was known.

Judas not only shows regret and remorse, he repents, and in doing so, makes a confession to the priests of his guilt. He returns his ill-gotten gains. When the priests refuse to take the money, Judas throws it into the temple. When they do not reconsider his crime for the shedding of innocent blood, Judas enacts the appropriate punishment on himself. He seeks to make atonement through his own death.

Christians have always given lip service to the notion that even in the last days of life, true repentance is possible. However, the tradition in regard to Judas has consistently and systematically denied him this.

Not so Matthew. His parable of the workers in the vineyard insists that all who come to the right understanding of Jesus and God, even if it be very late in the day, will be welcome in the kingdom. Surely, in accord with the story he tells, this must include Judas.

Matthew, this grace-free, most judgmental of gospels, is also the gospel that extends the most mercy to one of Christianity’s most hated characters. Whatever Matthew’s exact reasons for his version of events, the parable – and its corollary in the story of Judas – surely must remind us of God’s overwhelming grace, a grace that is inclusive of all who would seek God.

Matthew: tax collector, disciple, apostle, evangelist—and “scribe trained for the kingdom”?

Today, 21 September, is the day in Roman Catholic and Anglican (and some Protestant) churches when Matthew is honoured as a saint. Matthew is best known for the fact that his name is attached to the first Gospel, in the order that the four Gospels appear, in the New Testament. So today is a good day to reflect on the figure remembered by many as Saint Matthew.

We know, however, that this Gospel wasn’t the first written Gospel—that was Mark’s, which clearly was a source used by the author of Matthew’s Gospel. By tradition, the attributed author of this Gospel, Matthew, was a tax collector whom Jesus called to follow him. (Why a tax collector who followed Jesus would take the work of a junior and erratic follower as the basis for his work, remains unexplained.)

At any rate: after this tax collector became a disciple of Jesus, he was appointed as an apostle, and later he allegedly wrote an eye-witness account of the time he spent with Jesus. That account runs up until the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, and is wrapped around with some opening chapters about the beginnings of the life of Jesus, and a closing chapter relating to the body of Jesus, his resurrection and departure from his followers.

The tradition that this first Gospel was an eye-witness account by one of the twelve apostles has come under careful scrutiny from biblical scholars, exploring the language, structure, imagery, and ideas found in that narrative.

The consensus from this scholarly work is that the first Gospel in the New Testament was not an eye-witness account, but a carefully crafted account of Jesus, originating in a community of people who had maintained their Jewish culture and practices whilst affirming that Jesus of Nazareth was the long-awaited Messiah—a community that was, therefore, in conflict with the views and teachings of the synagogue leaders in their town, who did not see Jesus in that way.

Within ecclesial tradition, the picture of Matthew, tax collector—disciple—apostle, who subsequently wrote an eye-witness account of the time he spent with Jesus, holds sway. Within biblical scholarship, Matthew is simply a character who appears briefly in the story told by the first Gospel in the New Testament.

Matthew is identified in one short verse narrating his call by Jesus (Matt 9:9). He is also included in the list of twelve who were called to be apostles, with the added descriptor, “the tax collector” (Matt 10:3). He is also named in three other books, with nothing further said about him (Mark 3:18; Luke 6:15; and Acts 1:13). But little else about him is conveyed in the four books that name him. See

What do we know about who wrote the New Testament Gospels? (1)

Those five fleeting references are the only times we see directly this person in the biblical narratives. He is surely there in other scenes, but he simply blends into the collection of “the disciples” (Mark 2:23; 3:7; 5:31: 6:1, 35, 41, 45; 7:17; 8:1–10, 14, 27, 34: 9:14, 28, 31; 10:10, 13, 23–24; 11:19; 12:43; 13:1; 14:12–16; and Synoptic parallels), “the twelve” (Mark 4:10; 6:7; 9:35; 14:20; and Synoptic parallels; and John 6:66–71; 20:24), or, even more anonymously, into “the crowd” (Mark 2:4, 13; 4:1; Matt 7:28; 13:2; Luke 5:1; 6:17; 7:11–12; 8:4; John 6:2; 12:9, 12; Acts 1:15; 2:6; etc.).

And yet, in the evolving church traditions, Matthew emerges from the shadows to take centre stage as disciple, apostle, saint, and author of the Gospel which is placed first in the New Testament. Some churches even maintain the patristic claim that Matthew wrote in Aramaic, and was later translated into the Greek version that forms the basis of the New Testament text.

The claim about Aramaic comes from a fourth century report by Eusebius of Caesarea that a second century bishop, Papias of Heirapolis, claimed that Matthew “put the logia in an ordered arrangement in the Hebrew language (Ἑβραΐδι διαλέκτῳ), but each person interpreted them as best he could” (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 3.39.16). We should note that this is a somewhat indirect witness at quite some remove, and also that the Greek word Ἑβραΐδι can be translated either as Hebrew or as Aramaic.

But this claim falls down from the clear evidence of the Greek text of Matthew’s Gospel, which mirrors very closely both the Gospel of Mark, at many points, and the Gospel of Luke, at other points, in passages found only in Matthew and Luke.

The two key conclusions drawn by many scholars are twofold: first, that Matthew (like Luke) used the Gospel of Mark as a basis for writing a narrative about Jesus—but modified and adapted both the order and wording of passages; and second, that Luke and Matthew had access to another source (whether oral or written) for many of the sayings of Jesus (the source is known as Q). This makes it completely unlikely that Matthew wrote, in Aramaic, or in Hebrew, the earliest account of Jesus.

And ascribing the authorship of this Gospel to the tax collector identified at Matt 9:9 is also a patristic move. The title of this (and the other) Gospels, identifying the alleged author, is found only in later manuscripts and patristic writings; the narrative itself fails to identify anyone as the author, let alone the tax collector named Matthew. This claim is a later apologetic move, most likely made to provide an “apostolic authorisation” to the Gospel.

See

What do we know about who wrote the New Testament Gospels? (2)

So what do we say, then, of “Matthew”, the purported author of this Gospel, a work which the author declares at the start to be “the book of origins of Jesus, Messiah” (Matt 1:1)? For me, a key to the way that the author of this “book of origins” operated is provided at Matt 13:52, where Jesus concludes a sequence of parables with the statement that “every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old”.

That description encapsulates very clearly, for me, who the author of this Gospel was—a scribe, “trained for the kingdom”, drawing on old resources, but reshaping them so that they are seen to be new. We can see this in many ways in the narrative that he constructs. We can especially see this in the way he presents Jesus as an authoritative teacher of Torah—the one whose words are to be heard, remembered, studied, and passed on. Thus, the reason for his writing of this Gospel.

In this Gospel, we are offered a distinctive, at times unique, portrayal of Jesus. Only in this Gospel does Jesus affirm that all of “the law and the prophets” stand, are not to be annulled, and indeed have been “fulfilled”, or given new life and meaning, by what Jesus teaches (Matt 5:17–20).

So the encounters between Jesus and his disciples, and the scribes and Pharisees, at various moments in the narrative (9:2–8, 10–13; 12:38–42; 15:1–20; 16:1–4; 19:3–9; 21:15–16; 22:34–46) inevitably revolve around differing interpretations of Torah prescriptions and include regular references to (Hebrew) scriptural passages.

Jesus debates the way that the scribes and Pharisees interpret Torah; he meets them on their terms, and engages in these debates in accordance with “the rules” of scripture interpretation. Far from abandoning the Torah, he rather keeps the commandments, valued as “what is old”, and provides distinctive insights and understandings, “what is new”, as he intensifies and radicalises them. (“You have heard it said …”, hard enough; “but I say to you …”, an impossible counsel of perfection?)

In this Gospel alone, Jesus affirms “the scribes and the Pharisees” as those who “sit on Moses’ seat” and teach well—but fail to live by that teaching in their lives (23:1–3). Accordingly, Jesus not only teaches how to live by the law, with a ferocious intensity (5:21–48; 23:13–36), but he puts his teachings into practice; he maintains the old but fills it with new meaning. He “brings out … what is new and what is old”. All of this is central to the way that this anonymous scribe has told the story of Jesus. And that is worth remembering today.

Turning to Philippians (Pentecost 17A)

At the completion of the long sequence of Epistle texts that the lectionary has offered from Romans 4–14 (Pentecost 2A to 16A), we now turn our attention to a letter that had been written to “all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, with the bishops and deacons” (Phil 1:1). The section that is offered for this coming Sunday (Pentecost 17A) is Phil 1:21–30, which begins with the assertion, “for me, living is Christ and dying is gain” (1:21), and then goes on to offer a sympathetic identification with the Philippians in their struggles—“since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have” (1:30).

This means that we miss the opening section of this letter, where some important foundational factors are set forth. The opening verse indicates that the authors are “Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus”, which means that this letter, like three other authentic letters of Paul (2 Corinthians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon), has input from Timothy, whom Paul describes as “my beloved and faithful child in the Lord” (1 Cor 4:17), “our brother and co-worker for God in proclaiming the gospel of Christ” (1 Thess 3:2).

Timothy is claimed as co-author in two further letters written after the lifetime of Paul (Colossians and 2 Thessalonians), whilst another two letter, most likely from an even later time, towards the end of the first century, are written to Timothy, to encourage Timothy in his later role as “a good servant of Christ Jesus, nourished on the words of faith and of the sound teaching that you have followed” (1 Tim 4:6), and to “guard what has been entrusted to you” (1 Tim 6:20; 2 Tim 1:14).

In this letter, however, Timothy has matured from the young apprentice who has accompanied Paul in his activities in Philippi, Thessalonica, Beroea (Acts 16:1—17:14), and then in Corinth, Ephesus, Macedonia, and Troas (Acts 18:5—20:6). He has experienced much as he travels with Paul during this critical period. His faith, like Paul’s, had been tested, and strengthened by these experiences.

And perhaps Timothy continued with Paul, and others, in the journey beyond Troas. Was Timothy part of the “we” who are said to have made the journey from Troas to Miletus, then Cyprus, Ptolemais, Caesarea, and into Jerusalem (Acts 20:7—21:26)? If so, he was witness to many significant events in the latter part of the public activities of Paul, right up to the time of his arrest (Acts 21:27–36) and his very public defence in Jerusalem (Acts 21:37—22:21). Assuming, of course, that the account in Acts has a level of historical plausibility and accuracy (an assumption that needs to be tested at each stage along the way.)

The recipients of this letter are “all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, with the bishops and deacons” (1:1). Philippi, like Thessalonica, was also located on the major transport link of the Egnatian Way. The site had first been colonized in the fourth century BCE, probably because of its abundant water supplies and fertile land. The discovery of gold nearby led Philip, the father of Alexander the Great, to establish a Macedonian garrison there in 356 BCE and fortify the city.

This Macedonian colony grew in size over time and became a Roman colony after the Battle of Philippi in 42 BCE, when Mark Antony and Octavius defeated Brutus and Cassius, the assassins of Julius Caesar.

A community of believers was established in the city during Paul’s visit, as reported in Acts 16:11–40; Paul himself refers briefly to this visit (1 Thess 2:2) and a subsequent visit to the city is mentioned in Acts 20:5. Later evidence for an ongoing Christian presence comes from a letter of Polycarp to the church in Philippi (about 160 CE).

This letter to the Philippians follows the typical letter structure in general terms only. There is a long main section (1:12–4:7, the body of the letter), introduced by a standard address and thanksgiving (1:1–11) and concluded by exhortations and greetings (4:8–23). The body of the letter is an extended encouragement to unity, initially signalled in the key term koinonia (“sharing”, or “fellowship”) which appears twice in the opening thanksgiving (1:5, 7).

We might well assume that the personal,references in this letter relate directly to Paul—certainly, that is the assumption of most interpreters. So it is Paul who states that he is writing this letter during one of his numerous periods of imprisonment. He refers directly to his imprisonment (1:7, 12–14, 17) and links that with his experience of suffering (1:17, 29–30). Later in the letter he develops a theological understanding of his situation by linking his suffering to that experienced by Jesus in his crucifixion, as a precursor to his resurrection (3:7–11).

However, attempts to specify his precise historical situation cause puzzlement. References to “the whole imperial guard” (1:13)—using the Latin term praetorium—and to “the emperor’s household” (4:22) might suggest that Paul and Timothy were writing to the Philippians when Paul was under imperial arrest in Rome, in the early 60s (as reported in Acts 28), but these terms were also used to describe the Roman military presence and civil serviced in provincial centres away from Rome. So the letter could have originated in any Roman-controlled city.

Other suggestions are that the letter was written when Paul was under arrest either in Caesarea (Acts 24–26), or in Ephesus (on the basis that 2 Cor 1:8–9 refers to a time in prison in that city). The latter claim is made because Caesarea and Rome are further away from Philippi, whereas there seems to have been a relatively short distance between Paul and the Philippians, enabling visitors to move back and forth in prompt fashion (2:19–30; 4:10–18). Ephesus would fit better because it was closer to Philippi. This places the letter near the end of the time that Paul was active in his evangelising mission.

The instruction that sits within the passage we hear this coming Sunday, “live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ” (1:27), is an instruction that signals a key concern in this letter. Indeed, in the following chapter, Paul and Timothy intensify this with an encouragement to “let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus” (2:5), before citing an early Christian hymn (2:6–11), that we will read on the following Sunday.

Later in the letter, the Philippians are urged to “rejoice in the Lord” (3:1), to “stand firm in the Lord” (4:1), and to “keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you’ll (4:9). The tone of sensitive encouragement to follow the example offered by Jesus runs throughout the letter, which has a markedly friendly tone in most sections of the letter.

In later weeks, the lectionary omits the one section of the letter, 3:2–4, which is the clear exception to this! Perhaps the antagonism to which this short section points (in the reference to “dogs” and “evil workers”) underlies the brief comment in the section that we read this Sunday, when Paul and Timothy indicate that they wish to know “that you are standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, and are in no way intimidated by your opponents” (1:27–28). Apart from these fleeting notes, the tone of this letter is positive, encouraging, and affirming.

The road to freedom: seeking the safety of refuge (Exod 16; Pentecost 17A)

This coming Sunday, we will hear a story that didn’t happen—yet a story that is always happening. Like all the stories we have heard in previous weeks—stories of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar, of Isaac and Rebekah, stories of Jacob, Leah, and Rachel, and the twelve sons of Jacob, the stories of Joseph and his brothers and the stories from early in the life of Moses—these stories did not actually happen as they are reported; but they are told because the dynamics at work in the stories reflect the realities of life as humans experience it.

I don’t think we can say that these ancestral stories happened as actual historical events. Certainly, the historical elements in the story of the Exodus are impossible to validate using the standard methods of historical criticism. However, they are worth remembering and retelling, because they are always happening, in the murky depths of human life.

So this year in the lectionary cycle, as we read and hear these stories yet again, they refresh our understanding of life and they take us into the centre of our existential being. They have been told and retold throughout the centuries, because they express things that are deep within our lives.

The people depicted in the wilderness in today’s passage (Exodus 16:2–15) are quite relatable characters, to me. We are introduced to “the whole congregation of the Israelites” right at the start, and are told that they “complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness” (v.2). I’m going to pass on making any connection between this verse and any congregation of which I have been a part, or in which I have ministered. Let’s just say that humans complaining should not be a surprise to us!

However, let’s pause and consider: the complaint raised by the Israelites against Moses and Aaron appears to be quite unreasonable. How long have they been travelling in the wilderness? And already they seem to think that life was better for them back in Egypt, where “we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread”. Now, in the wilderness, the accuse their leaders of wanting “to kill this whole assembly with hunger” (v.3).

However, if you put yourself into the situation of the Israelites, you might well have a more empathic understanding of their situation. Their years in Egypt were intensely difficult: the Egyptians “set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labour … [they] became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service” (Exod 1:11–14). How were the Israelites to respond? Fright? Fight? or Flight??

We might hypothesise—imagining what might have been going through the minds of the Israelites in the story as they considered their situation. (As noted above, I don’t think that this was an actual historical event—but it is told in Exodus as a history-like narrative, and that history-like character invites us to consider how the hypothetical characters in that story might have thought and acted.)

In such a situation, fright would have been an understandable response. The power of the Egyptian overlords would have generated fear amongst the Israelites as they struggled to complete the increasingly demanding tasks imposed upon them. As there presumably were many years between the death of Joseph (Gen 50:26) and the time when “a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph” (Exod 1:8), that suggests that fright gripped the people and paralysed them into inaction. They continued as slaves under increasingly difficult conditions.

The thought of fight might have entered the minds of some—standing up for their rights and asserting themselves in order to gain freedom may well have been suggested, even debated, during this extended interim period. Indeed, as the story recounts, Moses himself, fuelled by a passion for justice and a dislike of injustice, was known to have intervened with passion and force into a situation of injustice—such that “he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsfolk; he looked this way and that, and seeing no one he killed the Egyptian and hid him in the sand” (Exod 2:11–12). The next day, fearing that his actions were known, he fled across the desert to Midian, where he remained for quite some years.

Would Moses have thought to press hard against his Egyptian overlords, agitating for them to act justly in relation to the Israelites? His initial thoughts in this regard may well have been completely deficient—that is, until he had encountered God in the burning bush (Exod 3:1–5). From that bush, the voice had come, commissioning Moses to approach Pharaoh “to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (3:10).

Moses, of course, argued with God about what that would mean (3:11–4:17)—but in the end, he returned to Egypt (4:18–31) with the intention of confronting Pharaoh, to say “Let my people go” (5:1). The initial request was simply “so that they may celebrate a festival to me in the wilderness” (5:1)—but Pharaoh was resistant, leading to the long sequence of divinely-initiated plagues (7:14—10:28), culminating in the plague of the death of “all the firstborn in the land” (12:29–32).

It was flight, however, which won the day for the Israelites—after they, in turn, had been convinced by Moses that this was what God wanted them to do (12:3, 21–28). And that flight, according to the story line, was supported by the interventions of the divine into the sequence of human events: “at midnight the Lord struck down all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh who sat on his throne to the firstborn of the prisoner who was in the dungeon” (12:29), and then “the Lord brought the Israelites out of the land of Egypt, company by company” (12:51), and then “the Lord went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night” (13:21).

Then, when confronted with the sea in front of them, “the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt and he pursued the Israelites, who were going out boldly” (14:8), and then “the Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land; and the waters were divided. The Israelites went into the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left. The Egyptians pursued, and went into the sea after them, all of Pharaoh’s horses, chariots, and chariot drivers.” (14:21–23).

And so the story resolves the tension: “the Lord tossed the Egyptians into the sea. The waters returned and covered the chariots and the chariot drivers, the entire army of Pharaoh that had followed them into the sea; not one of them remained. But the Israelites walked on dry ground through the sea, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left.” (14:27–29).

The Israelites, so the story reveals to us, had thus experienced a long sequence of frightening and troubling events—culminating in their witnessing the mass drowning of the army that was pursuing them. The narrator makes it clear that “the Lord saved Israel that day from the Egyptians; and Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore” (14:30). Today, meeting people who had experienced such a sequence of events, we would recognise that they had been immersed in a series of traumas, and we would readily explain their current state of being with reference to PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder.

Of course, as we have noted, the narrator shrugs all of this off with the glib summation, “Israel saw the great work that the Lord did against the Egyptians; so the people feared the Lord and believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses” (14:31). The narrator expects the people in the story to move on. And so we are then given the full set of lyrics of the song that Moses led the people in singing, “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously … the Lord is my strength and my might … this is my God, and I will praise him” (15:1–18), followed by a recapitulation of the earlier verses in the song that Miriam and the women sang, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea” (15:21).

But as the story continues on, the narrator cannot but help give indication of the ways that the trauma of this long sequence of events has impacted on the Israelites. The first indication of that comes in the complaint of the people when they could find no water; they cried out to Moses, and God intervenes again to enable him to provide water for drinking (15:22–25). The next indication comes in the passage which the lectionary offers us this coming Sunday, when another set of complaints is brought against Moses and Aaron, for the people are now hungry (16:1–3).

A further indication of this will be our focus on the following Sunday, when we hear the story of another moment of complaint, at Rephidim (17:1–7). And there are further stories of complaint at Num 11:1–15 and 14:1–4.

If we enter into the story and imagine the state of the people, there can be no doubt that they would have been gripped with terror and fear—wondering what the future would hold, lamenting the difficulties of the present, and looking back already on the past with “rose-coloured glasses”, unable to remember exactly how difficult and oppressive it was for them to live in Egypt.

And yet, the narrator wants us to understand that, in the midst of the complaints raised by the people, there was hope: they camped at a fertile oasis at Elim (15:27), they ate the quails and manna provided each day (16:13–18; Num 11:7–9); they had water to drink at Massah and Meribah (17:7).

The story that is shaped in the narrative of Exodus has a strong belief in an active, interventionist deity. That is possible to claim with the benefit of hindsight, knowing that the people did survive their time in the wilderness, did have nourishment and water, did eventually enter the land promised to them, and did settle and become prosperous in the land. That is the blessing of telling a story long after the time in which it is set; the long range result can be known!

It was not the case in the midst of the story, as the events being narratives took place. Doubt and fear grounded in uncertainty, as well as dysfunction generated by repeated traumatic events, would have blurred and marred any sense of confident hope, surely. And that is precisely the situation that we find ourselves in, today. Life is “happening” to us. We do not have a guarantee of the end-in-view, the longterm result that is hoped for. We ,I’ve by faith, with hope, yearning and trusting.

So the story we hear this coming Sunday (Exod 16:2–15) tells of God’s provision for the people of Israel—and, by extension, for people of faith today—as they, and we, live with an attitude of hopeful expectation and patient faith.

The climax of the story, at least in terms of the verses that the lectionary offers us, is the simple affirmation that the “fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground”, the “bread from heaven” that they found, was indeed “the bread that the Lord has given you to eat” (16:4, 14–15).

Later in the chapter, we are told that this was the staple diet of the people for “forty years” (16:35), which is the standard biblical expression for “a very, very long time”. And much later, of course, in Christian tradition, Jesus of Nazareth is presented as “the bread from heaven”, the “living bread” which is given “for the life of the world” (John 6:31–51)—bread which lasts, not for ”forty years”, but “forever” (John 6:51).

Also in the story told in Exodus 16, we are told that “the house of Israel called it manna” and that “it was like wafers made with honey” (16:31). An explanation of this name—drawn from the comment made in Numbers—is that the phrase means “this is aphids”, indicating that the dew was crystallised matter deposited by insects. (See “the manna was like coriander seed, and its color was like the color of gum resin”, Num 11:7.)

An alternative explanation for the name manna lies within the text of Exodus itself; for when the people ask, “what is it?” (16:15), the Hebrew is man hu. And so the name reflects the initial puzzlement—a nice ironic twist, indeed.

How do we read this story today? For me, the story of the first half of Exodus has really strong resonances with the story of millions of people in the world today. These are people that we call refugees and asylum seekers—people fleeing from oppression and mistreatment in the land where they were born, travelling through difficulties and dangers, to seek the safety of refuge in a new land; a land that becomes, for them, a land of hope, a land of promise.

The United Nations Refugee Agency, UNHCR, keeps track of current numbers and publishes a summary each year. For 2022, the figures are:

You can see the consistent rise in numbers throughout this century, reflecting the persistence of civil war and uprisings in many places. Each person in those millions of people has experienced trauma, sought to escape, travelled along difficult pathways on land or sea, and is seeking safety in another country—or is patiently waiting to be resettled from the refugee camp where they are, into another country.

The UNHCR notes that over half of all refugees under UNHCR’s mandate and other people in need of international protection (52% in total) come from just three countries: 6.8 million from the Syrian Arab Republic, 5.7 million from the Ukraine, and another 5.7 million from Afghanistan. Just over a third (38%) of the 35.3 million refugees are being hosted in five countries (Türkiye, Iran, Colombia, Germany, and Pakistan), so there are a number of countries that are well-off and could well allow for a larger intake of refugees, to share in some of that burden of hosting and resettling such people.

Perhaps the Exodus story can resonate in our current global context, and remind us of the value of people who are seeking the safety of refuge, the importance of meeting their needs, and the necessity of remembering the trauma that they experienced which has pushed them to flee their homeland and seek safety elsewhere. The people of Israel, in the ancient story told by Exodus, were refugees, seeking asylum in a foreign land. And as people of faith, we might well ponder: how do we serve as the agents of God, to offer to refugees and asylum seekers, today, “the bread that the Lord has given [them] to eat”?

Leaving Romans — or not (Pentecost 17A)

After a long stretch of passages taken from Paul’s long and complex letter to the Romans, the Revised Common Lectionary now leads us into shorter letters by Paul. First, we will spend four weeks considering passages from Philippians (Pentecost 17A to 20A), followed by five weeks focussed on the first letter to the Thessalonians (Pentecost 21A to 25A). After that, we have the Festival of the Reign of Christ, before we head into Advent, and there we stop the continuous pattern of the long season after Pentecost.

But before we leave Romans, it might be timely to look back, and consider the impact that this letter has had on Christianity. Romans is often seen as expressing the central paradox of the Gospel: God, being righteous, requires righteousness from people; God gives the Law to define that righteousness; yet in Jesus Christ, God has acted to make people righteous apart from this Law. In short, we are “justified” (made righteous) by the grace of God alone, not through any work that we ourselves do.

This, of course, was a doctrine that was born in controversy. Paul first articulates this paradox in a polemical argument in Galatia, where it seems that fervent advocates for the Gospel were maintaining that it was only by full and complete adherence to the Law that a person was able to be made righteous. Paul is incredibly snarky about this; he says such people are not “of God” (Gal 1:11–12), they are preaching “another Gospel” (1:6), that nobody is ever made righteous by the Law (3:11), and that relying on the Law is akin to being accursed (3:10).

This polemic continues in the later letter to the Romans, although in this letter Paul seeks to argue the case step by step, rather than simply call his opponents names. He sets out the theme of God’s righteousness (Rom 1:16–19), explains how this process is not dependent on the Law (3:21–26), calls on Abraham as a key example for the process of being made righteous apart from the Law (4:1–25), argues that Christ fulfils the Law (10:4; 13:8–10), and deals in detail with how the people who do depend on the Law are still integral to God’s plan of salvation (9:1—11:32). See more at

The righteous-justice of God, a gift to all humanity (Romans; Year A)

The significance of this letter can be seen in the fact that it is placed first in the collection of letters by Paul—in a sense declaring that “this exposition of the argument is the lens through which all other letters should be read and understood”. Its significance was recognised, in the 2nd century, by Marcion of Sinope, who recognised Paul as THE Apostle and excised all other letters from his version of the New Testament (as well as three of the four Gospels).

In response, Jewish Christians rejected Paul and his letters. Another form of marginalising his letters took place amongst eastern believers, leading to an emphasis in Orthodoxy on John’s Gospel—it was only the “mystical” aspects of Pauline theology which they utilised in their theological schema.

Paul’s letter to the Romans was a strong influence on Augustine, both in leading to his conversion, and in providing the foundations for developing his theological position, especially in relation to “original sin”. Rom 13:11–14 was the passage that led the young libertine Augustine to adopt an ascent in lifestyle and embrace Christ: “let us walk decently, as in the daytime, not in partying and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensual indulgence, not in fighting and jealousy, but put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the desires of the flesh”. (See Augustine, Confessions, 8:29.)

Augustine of Hippo

It was Augustine’s distinctive interpretation of just one small phrase in Rom 5:12 that undergirded his view on the original sin of all human beings, born into depravity and needing the grace of God to be saved. Pelagius remonstrated with him, saying “you undermine the moral law by preaching grace”; Augustine countered with detailed exposition of Pauline theology, grounded in his understanding of Romans. See my discussion of this at

Original Sin? or Innate Goodness? (Genesis 2, Romans 5; Lent 1A)

In the preface to his (unfinished) commentary on Romans, Augustine wrote that God’s grace “is not something that is paid in justice like a debt contracted. No, it’s a free gift … Paul preached that [the Jews] should believe in Christ, and that there was no need to submit to the yoke of carnal circumcision.”

Paul’s letter to the Romans, along with his letter to the Galatians, was a key element in the argument that Martin Luther mounted against the church of his day, as he criticised the doctrines and practices of medieval Catholicism and paved the way for the German Reformation of the church.

When Luther was teaching on Paul’s letter to the Romans in 1513–1516, he had a dramatic experience: “‘I felt that I was altogether born again and had entered paradise itself through open gates.’ This new understanding of this one verse—Rom 1:17— changed everything; it became in a real sense the doorway to the Reformation. ‘Thus that place in Paul was for me truly the gate to paradise,’ says Luther (Latin Writings, 336–337).”

Luther’s argument that righteousness is a gift which God gives by grace from faith in Jesus Christ, and not something earned or merited through human religious and moral performance, has influenced both how Paul has been viewed throughout the ensuing centuries, and also how many Protestant theologians viewed Catholicism. It led to the development of what has been called the “introspective conscience” of modernity, in distinction from the strongly collectivist understandings that more recent interpreters see at work in Paul’s writing.

Portrait of Martin Luther by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1530.
Photograph: Ullstein Bild/Getty

In his commentary on Romans, Luther wrote, “It [Romans] is the true masterpiece of the New Testament, and the very purest Gospel, which is well worthy and deserving that a Christian man should not only learn it by heart, word for word, but also that he should daily deal with it as the daily bread of men’s souls. For it can never be too much or too well read or studied; and the more it is handled the more precious it becomes, and the better it tastes.”

Two centuries later, on May 24, 1738, John Wesley was attending an evening service at Aldersgate Street in London. Part of Martin Luther’s commentary on Romans was read aloud. Wesley remembers, “He was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ. I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for my salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken my sins away, even mine; and saved me from the law of sin and death” (John Wesley, Works (1872), volume 1).

John Wesley

The letter to the Romans has also played a key role in the theological development of Karl Barth, the most prolific and probably most influential theologian of the 20th century. In the summer of 1916, Barth decided to write a commentary on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans as a way of rethinking his theological inheritance. The work was published in 1919; a second edition, with many revisions, followed in 1922.

This work, like many of his others, emphasizes the saving grace of God and the complete inability of human beings to know God outside of God’s revelation in Christ. Specifically, Barth argued that “the God who is revealed in the cross of Jesus challenges and overthrows any attempt to ally God with human cultures, achievements, or possessions”.

Karl Barth

Barth led the attack on Protestant Liberalism, which in his view had held an impossibly optimistic view of the human condition and of the possibility of universal salvation. Romans was key to Barth’s creation of Neo-Orthodoxy and his insistence that Christianity was not a human religion, but a divine revelation. And that set the parameters for a key theological debate throughout the 20th century.

Phew! That’s an awful lot of influence for just one letter! We might be leaving Romans behind in the weekly lectionary offerings; but it is certain that the influence of Paul’s letter to the Romans continues apace, influencing our theology—whether we are aware of that, or not!

(And, yes, I know that this is a string of men interpreting what men have written and said … perhaps someone needs to explore and discover how a number of women have received and understood and used this letter?)

*****

For my string of exegetical posts about Romans that I have posted throughout Year A, see https://johntsquires.com/2023/09/18/ruminating-on-romans/

Ruminating on Romans

Now that we have finished the sequence of passages from Romans, as the Epistle reading offered each week by the lectionary, I thought it might be helpful to post this collection of posts about this letter.

The righteous-justice of God, a gift to all humanity (Romans; Year A)

The best theology is contextual: learning from Paul’s letter to the Romans (Year A)

Descended from David according to the flesh (Rom 1; Advent 4A)

Reckoning what is right (Romans 4; Lent 2A) part one

Reckoning what is right (Romans 4; Lent 2A) part two

https://johntsquires.com/2023/06/14/we-have-obtained-access-to-this-grace-romans-5-pentecost-3a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/03/09/righteous-by-faith-and-at-peace-with-god-rom-5-lent-3a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/04/26/christ-died-for-us-reflections-on-sacrifice-and-atonement/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/06/21/dead-to-sin-and-alive-to-god-romans-6-pentecost-4a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/07/06/paul-and-the-law-sin-and-the-self-rom-7-pentecost-6a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/07/11/paul-the-law-of-the-spirit-and-life-in-the-spirit-rom-8-pentecost-7a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/07/18/paul-the-spirit-of-adoption-and-the-abba-father-prayer-rom-8-pentecost-8a/

Sighs too deep for words: Spirit and Scripture in Romans (Rom 8; Pentecost 9A)

Praying to be cursed: Paul, the passionate partisan for the cause (Rom 9:3; Pentecost 10A)

A deeper understanding of God, through dialogue with “the other” (Romans 10; Pentecost 11A)

God has not rejected his people. All Israel will be saved. (Rom 11; Pentecost 12A)

https://johntsquires.com/2023/08/22/present-your-bodies-as-a-living-sacrifice-romans-12-pentecost-13a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/08/30/love-and-hope-hospitality-and-harmony-overcoming-evil-with-good-romans-12-pentecost-14a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/09/04/love-is-the-fulfilling-of-the-law-romans-13-pentecost-15a/

https://johntsquires.com/2023/09/12/each-of-us-will-be-accountable-to-god-romans-14-pentecost-16a/

For our instruction … that we might have hope (Rom 15, Isa 11, Matt 3; Advent 2A)

Fostering a culture of “an informed faith”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scripture

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

Paragraph 5 of the Basis of Union

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

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

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

Contemporary insights

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

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

Paragraph 11 of the Basis of Union

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

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

Valuing our inheritance

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

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

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

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

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

Engaging with contemporary societies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Engaging with the worldwide fellowship of churches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Contact with contemporary thought

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

*****

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

See my own reflections on the Basis at

What I really like about the Basis of Union

and

What is missing from the Basis of Union?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

The Day, The End: themes in The Prophets

and

Justice, and only justice, you shall follow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For my own story, see

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See

The Exodus Tradition in the Bible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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