“The Lord made his people very fruitful, and made them stronger than their foes, whose hearts he then turned to hate his people, to deal craftily with his servants” (Ps 105:24–25). These words appear in the psalm that is offered by the Revised Common Lectionary this coming Sunday (Ps 105:1–6, 23–26, 46b).
“Dealing craftily” is presented as something quite negative; a characteristic of the way that the “foes” of Israel deal with the “servants” of the Lord. The reference is made in the course of providing a summation of one part of the Joseph episode within the overall story of Israel that is told by this psalm.
In the course of the 45 verses of this psalm, there are summaries of key episodes in this story, from the ancestral covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (vv.7–11), through the times involving the elderly Jacob, his sons, the famine in Canaan, and the rescue provided by Joseph in Egypt (vv.12–25), on to the period of Moses and Aaron (vv.26–36), the Exodus from Egypt and wilderness wandering (vv.37–42) and then the entry into the land of Canaan (vv.43–45).
This lyrical retelling of the story of Israel fits it well for singing on the first day of Passover, remembering the escape from slavery in Egypt. However, the portion offered by the lectionary this Sunday tells of a time prior to that, when “Israel came to Egypt; Jacob lived as an alien in the land of Ham” (v.23). Of that period, the psalmist sings that “the Lord made his people very fruitful” (v.24).
This presumably reflects the time after the severe famine in Canaan (Gen 43:1), when, after various machinations, Jacob and his family relocate to Egypt, and Joseph, having revealed his true identity to his family (Gen 45:1–5), “settled his father and his brothers, and granted them a holding in the land of Egypt, in the best part of the land, in the land of Rameses, as Pharaoh had instructed; and Joseph provided his father, his brothers, and all his father’s household with food, according to the number of their dependents” (Gen 47:11–12).
Of course, soon after this, famine hit Egypt as well (Gen 47:13). Joseph’s scheme for surviving the famine works (Gen 47:14–26), the country survives, and “Israel settled in the land of Egypt, in the region of Goshen; and they gained possessions in it, and were fruitful and multiplied exceedingly” (Gen 47:27). This bounty is reiterated in the opening chapter of Exodus, which declares that “the Israelites were fruitful and prolific; they multiplied and grew exceedingly strong, so that the land was filled with them” (Exod 1:7).
All of this is conveyed in the highly compressed summation of the psalm, “the Lord made his people very fruitful” (Ps 105:24). But then, according to the psalmist, the Lord turned the hearts of the Egyptians “to hate his people, to deal craftily with his servants” (Ps 105:25). This marries with the way that the narrative continues in Exodus, which notes that “a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph”, and so “they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labour” (Exod 1:11).
The Egyptians are described as acting “shrewdly” (Exod 1:10). Is this the same as the psalmist’s note that the foes of Israel “dealt craftily” with them (Ps 105:25)? The Hebrew word used in the quasi-historical narrative of Exodus is chakam, which is most often translated as “act wisely”. Thus it is applied to Solomon (1 Ki 4:31), the simple who are made wise through “the decrees of the Lord” (Ps 19:7; so also 119:97–100), the instruction of Wisdom herself (Prov 8:33), and the activity (as whispily vain as it is) of the Preacher, Qohelet (Eccles 2:15, 19). The way the Egyptian treated the Israelites had a certain cunning involved—they acted with a canny, shrewd wisdom.
The Hebrew word chosen in the poetry of the psalmist’s song is nakal, “to be crafty, deceitful, or knavish”, according to Brown, Driver, and Briggs. This word is also employed in the Genesis narrative, when the brothers of Joseph plot to kill him. “Here comes this dreamer; come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits”, they say (Gen 37:19–20), as he approaches them in his “long robe with sleeves” (Gen 37:3). Such behaviour is described in various translations as being a conspiracy or a plot—the translation offered here for nakal.
Attributing this mode of behaviour to the sons of Jacob should not surprise us—after all, they have inherited the DNA which has previously led their ancestors to lie, deceive, and even threaten to murder their own child! Remember: Abraham lying about his wife Sarah as his sister (Gen 12 and again in Gen 20) and threatening to sacrifice his own son (Gen 22); Isaac, who also lied that his wife Rebekah was his sister (Gen 26); and Jacob, the deceiver, who stole his birthright from his twin brother Esau (Gen 27) and then deceived his father-in-law Laban and profited from his flock (Gen 30–31). They are not exactly wonderful role models!
But the Exodus narrative attributes such “shrewdness” to the Egyptians, as the foes of Israel (Exod 1:10); a shrewdness that overlaps, as we have seen, with divinely-granted wisdom. The Egyptians were being wise in pressing the foreigners in their midst to work for them in their building projects. And no, they were not being used as slave labour to build the great pyramids of Egypt. Those structures are dated to “the Old Kingdom”, from 2686 until about 2160 BCE—well, well before any possible dating of the Israelites were in Egypt.
It’s interesting that the psalmist called out the Egyptians for what they saw them to be—shrewd, conniving, deceitful—whereas the Exodus story leaves open a sliver of possibility they the Egyptians were being shrewd and wise in the way they use (and, it would seem, greatly abused) the Israelites living in their land. Interesting.
Last week we saw Paul pivoting from complex theological argumentation into encouraging ethical instruction (Rom 12:1–8). This week, the lectionary offers us a section of Romans (12:9–21) in which all of the convoluted syntactical constructions and flowery rhetorical declarations of those preceding 11 chapters have faded into the distance. In this passage, we have a sequence of twenty-one short, precise, punchy phrases through which Paul offers advice and guidance to the believers in Rome.
Paul never lost an opportunity to provide advice and instruction to people in the churches to whom he wrote letters. In many of those letters, there are sections where he peppers his communications with short, sharp, direct instructions. In 1 Thess 5:12–22, he shoots off a string of seventeen mostly staccato-short instructions: “admonish the idlers, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient …”.
In Phil 4:8–9 he encourages the Philippians to “think about” the eight qualities that he lists in rapid-fire order: “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise”.
In his letter to the believers in Galatia, he gives both a list of fifteen “works of the flesh” and then of nine qualities that comprise “the fruit of the Spirit” (Gal 5:16–26), while near the end of his first letter to the Corinthians, he provides a more modest list of five commands: “keep alert, stand firm, be courageous, be strong, let all you do be done in love” (1 Cor 16:13–14).
Here in Romans 12, he excels himself, with a sequence of twenty commands, the first of which (“let love be genuine”, v.9) stands as a heading for the section; and the last of which (“never avenge yourselves”, v.19) is extended into a brief excursus about “the wrath of God”, before a final two-part concluding instruction, “do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (v.21).
The go-to commentaries on my bookshelf which deal with Romans are the two-volume (976 pages) Word Commentary by James D.G. Dunn, and the even larger (1140 pages) Hermeneia Commentary by Robert Jewett. I had the privilege of spending a sabbatical year at Durham in the UK while Jimmy Dunn was Professor there (he was supervising the doctoral research into Matthew’s Gospel being undertaken by my wife, Elizabeth Raine) and also of being one of the respondents to the commentary of Jewett when he was a visiting scholar at Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia.
Dunn follows the typical scholarly description of this passage as “the most loosely constructed of all the paragraphs, consisting mainly of individual exhortations (stringing pearls) held together in part by particular words and thematic links (especially love … bad … and good)” (Romans, Word, p.737). Jewett demurs, arguing that this passage “is artfully constructed for rhetorical impact and closely related to the tensions between Christian groups in Rome” (Romans, Hermeneia, p.756).
I can see that the links suggested by Jewett are evident in the words that Dunn has suggested. “Let love be genuine” (v.9) functions as a heading; the motif is repeated with “love one another with mutual affection” (v.10) and then explained in a series of practical instructions: “contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers; bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them; rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep; live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are” (vv.12–16).
These words apply directly, it would seem, to the situation in Rome, where tensions between groups are evident. The points of view that are reflected in the phrases “those who are weak in faith” (14:1) and those who “believe in eating anything” (14:2), for instance, appear 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 a Gentile portrayal of Jews within the Roman conglomerate of faith communities, who 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).
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Could a similar dynamic be at work regarding the same issue in Rome? It seems to me to be a reasonable line of interpretation—in which case, the exhortations grouped together under the heading of love (Rom 12:9–10, 13–17) would undergird the later teachings about love as “the fulfilling of the law” (13:8–10) and the direct command to “welcome one another” (15:7). They would also,seem to relate to the specific directions that the believers “no longer pass judgement on one another” (14:13, drawing together all of 14:1–23) and the clear admonition that “each of us must please our neighbour for the good purpose of building up the neighbour” (15:2, summing up 15:1–13).
Indeed, I find myself strongly persuaded by a line of scholarship which Jewett summarises and develops in his hugely-detailed Hermeneia commentary, which sees the list of names to whom Paul sends greetings in Rom 16:3–16 offers clear indications of different “house church” groups which were meeting in Rome. Phrases such as “the church in their house” (v.5), “the family of Aristobulus” (v.10), “those in the Lord who belong to the family of Narcissus” (v.11), “the brothers and sisters who are with them” (v.14), and “all the saints who are with them” (v.15) indicate various potential groupings.
Jewett distinguishes three types of people being addressed—close personal friends and coworkers of Paul, leaders of house churches known only by hearsay (since Paul had not yet visited Rome when he wrote this letter), and five house or tenement churches (identified by some of those phrases already noted in the previous paragraph). The rhetorical function of this closing section of the letter is, in part, to strengthen “emotional and affectional bonds … across barriers erected by previous conflicts”. (See Jewett, Romans, Hermeneia, pp.952–954).
In similar fashion, the instructions “hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good” (v.9) and “do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (v.21) enclose the passage as markers of a related key theme, in which the opposites of evil (bad) and good are in view. In this regard, the instruction, “do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all” (v.17) is also related, and it shows the connection with the “love” motif already noted. It is yet another indication that the cohesiveness of the community is what Paul has in mind as he writes.
What follows immediately after that instruction adds to this theme: “if it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (v.18) is clearly aimed at ensuring mutual respect amongst those drawn together by their common faith in Jesus as “the righteousness of God”. And perhaps, then, the mention of God’s wrath (v.19a) and the following instructions (vv.19b—20) fit within this framework. God’s vengeance (noted in the short quote from Deut 32:25) requires behaviour that is ethical and other-oriented. That is how to live as those who have been “transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Rom 12:2).
That behaviour—feeding the hungry, giving a drink to the thirsty—points quite directly to the teaching of Jesus, which we find expressed in the succinct word, “whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward” (Mark 10:41) and embedded in the more extended parable of the final judgement (Matt 25:31–46).
In like fashion, the exhortation to “bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them; rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Rom 12:14–15) resonates with the blessing offered by Jesus to those who weep (Luke 6:21b) and the subsequent exhortation to “do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you” (Luke 6:27b—28).
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That Paul was aware of the ethical stance of Jesus, and indeed of some of his specific teachings, may well be indicated by his clear referencing of them in these words at this point in his letter to the Romans. Dunn certainly believes this to be the case; “the probability that the Pauline paraenesis does reflect the exhortation of Jesus must be judged to be very strong” (Dunn, Romans, Word, p.745).
Jewett takes a broader view, noting “close Hebraic parallels to this exhortation concerning emotional responsiveness”, citing Sir 7:34 (“do not withdraw yourself from weepers—mourn with the weepers”) as well Testament of Joseph 17:7–8 (“their life was my life, all their suffering was my suffering, all their sickness was my infirmity … my land was all their land, and their counsel my counsel”).
Jewett also references a Greek maxim by Menander (“return grief for grief, and more than love for love”, Sent. Byz. 448), and a dictum by Epictetus (“where a man rejoices with good reason, there others may rejoice with him”, Diss. 2.5.23). (See Jewett, Romans, Hermeneia, p.767.)
So the wider existence of this ethical stance needs to be noted; Paul—and indeed Jesus—was not alone in recognising the virtue of fostering a sympathetic understanding of others, and of working collaboratively towards a cohesive and cordial communal life. Indeed, it can be no accident that this string of ethical exhortations which Paul collected in 12:9–21 follows immediately after his use of the image of the body as a metaphor for the interconnected and interdependent life of the community, in 12:3–8.
So the various injunctions collected in this passage—“live in harmony with one another”, “contribute to the needs of the saints”, even “extend hospitality to strangers” and indeed “live peaceably with all”—stand as important guides for the communities of faith in Rome, and indeed prove to be wise guides for life in any community, at any time, through into the present day. Faith calls us into relationship with others, and those relationships are to be marked by respect and integrity. May it be so!
The section of the Gospel that is offered in the lectionary this coming Sunday (Mark 16:21–28) contains a striking paradox. As the author of this passage portrays Jesus, looking forward to the public shaming that he will experience on the cross, he places on his lips a call to his followers, to take up the cross themselves. The cross is at the centre of the story that the evangelists tell—and at the heart of Christian faith. And yet that cross subjects Jesus to the shame of being subjected to this degrading punishment.
The cross is introduced by Jesus himself, when he teaches his followers “that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (16:21). So important is this teaching, that Jesus repeats it twice more, following the threefold appearance of this prediction in one of Matthew’s key sources, “the beginning of the good news of Jesus, Messiah”, which we know as Mark’s Gospel (Mark 9:31; 10:33–34).
So Jesus restates this briefly: “the Son of Man is going to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised” (Matt 17:23); and then, with more details: “the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified; and on the third day he will be raised” (Matt 20:18–19).
I don’t think that these three predictions were spoken, historically, by Jesus, as he made his way towards Jerusalem. Rather, the author of a placed them in this strategic place in the centre of his narrative (Mark 8:27–38). The author of “the book of origins of Jesus, Messiah”, which we know as Matthew’s Gospel, sees the value of this repetition, and follows his source.
These statements mark the turn in the story from Galilee, where the earlier activity of Jesus took place (Matt 4:12—18:35), towards Jerusalem, where the final days of Jesus will play out (19:1—28:15). The dynamic of the narrative indicates that, as Jesus leaves behind the days of preaching and teaching, healing and casting out demons, his focus turns to the confrontation that he knows lies in store for him.
The public nature of crucifixion was humiliating and shaming. The typical process of crucifixion involved moment after moment of humiliation, undermining any sense of honour that the victim had, increasing the sense of public shame that they were experiencing.
In the Roman world, crucifixion was variously identified as a punishment for slaves (Cicero, In Verrem 2.5.168), bandits (Josephus, War 5.449-451), prisoners of war (Josephus, War 5.451), and political rebels (Josephus, Ant. 17.295). These were people whose situations or actions had generated shame.
In the case of Jesus, he is accused of treason through the inference that he is King of the Jews—a claim that was anathema to the Romans (John 19:12)—and he is crucified in the company of political rebels (Mark 15:27; Matt 27:38; the term used, lēstēs, is the one most often found in the writings of Josephus to denote a political rebel).
A public trial, followed by a public execution on the cross, was a ritual in which the accused person was shamed, through a public ritual of status degradation. Cicero, in speaking as the counsel of Rabinio, a man accused of treason, asserted that “the ignominy of a public trial is a miserable thing” and described a public execution as “the assembly being polluted by the contagion of an executioner … [exhibiting] traces of nefarious wickedness” (Pro Rabinio 11, 16).
I have explored the humiliation and shaming inherent in the act of crucifixion in more detail in a blog at
And yet, immediately after he spoke this prophetic word, Jesus issued his disciples with a call to take up their crosses themselves: “if any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Matt 16:24). He invites them—indeed, he commands them—to enter into the public shame that he will experience in his own crucifixion.
In the narratives that recount the crucifixion of Jesus, it is not so much the physical torment of Jesus which is highlighted (although, admittedly, a slow death by suffocation whilst hanging on a cross for hours, even days, was a terrible fate). Rather, it is the various ways in which Jesus was shamed: he was spat upon, physically struck on the face and the head, verbally ridiculed and insulted, and treated contemptuously.
This is the way of Jesus; and the way of his followers. Instead of saving their life, the followers of Jesus are instructed to lose their life (16:25). Instead of aiming to “gain the whole world”, and thereby “forfeit their life”, a follower is, by implication, to let go of all hopes of “gaining the world” (16:25–26). To gain the world was presumably referring to occupying a position of power, prestige, and popularity—precisely the kind of issues that later writers, Matthew and Luke, reflected in their more detailed accounts of the testing of Jesus in the wilderness. (See https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/johntsquires.com/2019/03/05/a-testing-time-forty-days-in-the-wilderness-1/)
Then, Jesus specifies the sense of shame that is involved in “taking up your cross” and “losing your life”, but he turns the tables as he declares that “the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done” (16:27).
This reversal of fortune, repaying everyone for their deeds, reflects the shame, in God’s eyes, of rejecting Jesus. (The way this saying is expressed in Mark’s earlier version is clearer in this regard; see Mark 8:38.) Here is the paradox: to gain honour, Jesus had to be subjected to the shame of the cross.
Likewise, to gain honour as a disciple following Jesus, a person must take up the shameful instrument of punishment (the cross), lay aside all desire to gain prestigious and powerful positions of honour, give up any claim on life itself, and (as Jesus later asserts), live as a servant, being willing to be dishonoured for the sake of the shame of the Gospel.
And that’s the paradox of discipleship that this passage illuminates.
“The angel of the Lord appeared to [Moses] in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight’ … and [when] the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’ Then he said, ‘Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’” (Exod 3:2–5)
The story of the burning bush is well-known; it is the moment when Moses, the murderer who has fled from Egypt (2:11–15), is galvanised by a striking event to become the one who will “go [back] to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (3:10), to become Moses the liberator. The transformation is striking—although perhaps the transformation is not quite as dramatic as many envisage.
It may well be the case for Moses that a strong sense of justice undergirds both his act of killing the Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew (2:11), and his commitment to deliver the Israelites from “the misery of Egypt” (3:17). Moses was passionate about the need for justice in society. Paradoxically, this passion led him to say NO to a man he witnessed committing a crime, and YES to a body of people who were suffering oppression in a foreign land.
Of course, common sense says that Moses should not have taken things into his own hands when he saw that Egyptian man beating one of his fellow-Israelites. But the passion within him—passion for fairness and justice—boiled up inside him and overflowed into unjust actions. This was in keeping with the charge given to the father of his people, when God mused about Abraham, “I have chosen him, that he may charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice” (Gen 18:19).
No wonder Moses fled, escaping the wrath of Pharaoh, travelling east across the desert areas of the Sinai Peninsula, all the way to Midian! (Exod 2:15). His action, out of proportion with the crime he saw being committed, was unjust. It is not a very propitious start for Moses, the man who towers over the story of the people,of Israel—ironically, best remembered as Moses the lawgiver!
Mind you, throughout Genesis, we have been regaled by tales of men behaving badly—Abraham lying about his wife Sarah as his sister (Gen 12 and again in Gen 20) and threatening to sacrifice his own son (Gen 22); Isaac, who also lied that his wife Rebekah was his sister (Gen 26); and Jacob, the deceiver, who stole his birthright from his twin brother Esau (Gen 27) and then deceived his father-in-law Laban and profited from his flock (Gen 30–31). They are not exactly wonderful role models!
Yet the story about Moses that we are offered in the lectionary this week presents Moses in a much more positive light, and it contains two fundamental elements in the story of Israel: the declaration that Moses stands on holy ground, and the revelation of the name of God.
Holy ground
God’s word to Moses, after calling for his attention, is to declare that “the place on which you are standing is holy ground” (Exod 3:5). This is the first occurrence of the concept of holiness in the Torah—the word is absent from all of the narratives in Genesis. And it is fascinating that this “holy ground” is in Midian, both far away from Egypt and far away from Canaan, the land that would subsequently be decreed as holy (Exod 15:13; Jer 21:23; Zech 2:12). This God is now able to appear in places far away from Canaan., and declare them holy.
A central motif in Hebrew Scripture is that holiness was a defining character of the people of Israel. A section of Leviticus (chapters 17—26) is known as “The Holiness Code”; its main purpose was to set out laws to mark Israel as different from the surrounding cultures. “You shall not do as they do in the land of Egypt, where you lived”, God told Moses, “and you shall not do as they do in the land of Canaan, to which I am bringing you” (Lev 18:2).
The rules of Leviticus were meant to set the Israelites apart from the Canaanites and Egyptians, who at that time had customs and rituals that were not to be adopted by the Israelites. Moses is instructed to relay to the people, “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2), and to remind them to “consecrate yourselves therefore, and be holy; for I am the Lord your God. Keep my statutes, and observe them; I am the Lord; I sanctify you” (Lev 20:7). The whole book details those many statutes and commandments, all designed to keep the practices of the Israelites “holy to the Lord” (Lev 19:8; 23:20; 27:14–24).
Once the Temple was constructed, as a holy place within that holy land, those who ministered to God within the Temple, as priests, were to be especially concerned about holiness, both in their daily life and in their regular activities in the Temple (Exod 28–29; Lev 8–9). The priests oversaw the implementation of the Holiness Code, explaining the various applications of the word to Israel, that “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2; also 20:7, 26).
In the years before and during the exile, a number of prophets took to addressing the Lord God as “the Holy One of Israel” (Hos 11:9, 12; Isa 1:4; 5:9, 24; 10:20; 12:6; 17:7; 29:19; 30:11–15; 31:1; 37:23; 41:14–20; 43:3, 14; 45:11; 47:4; 48:17; 49:7; 54:5–6; 60:9, 14; Jer 50:29; 51:5; Ezek 39:7; Hab 1:12; 3:3). The psalmists also pick up this phrase (Ps 71:22; 78:41; 89:18), reflecting the affirmation made by Hannah, “there is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God” (1 Sam 2:2).
As a consequence, Israel is regularly assured that the whole nation is a “chosen people” (Deut 7:6–8, 14:2; Ps 33:12; Isa 41:8–10, 65:9), set apart as “a kingdom of priests, a holy nation” (Exod 19:4–6), called to be “a light to the nations” (Isa 42:6, 49:6). So in the towns and villages of Israel, by contrast to the centralised priests, the scribes and Pharisees provided guidance in the interpretation of Torah and in the application of Torah to ensure that holiness was observed in daily living of all people in Israel.
These dispersed teachers undertook the highly significant task of showing how the Torah was relevant to the daily life of Jewish people. It was possible, they argued, to live as God’s holy people at every point of one’s life, quite apart from any pilgrimages made to the Temple in Jerusalem. These figures, scribes and Pharisees, are evident in a number of interactions with Jesus that are reported in the Gospels—interactions focussed on interpreting the Torah (Mark 7:1–23 and Matt 15:1–20 exemplify such encounters).
Perhaps the origins of this localised interpretive role are told in the post-Exilic narrative of Nehemiah, when “the priest Ezra brought the law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could hear with understanding”, ably assisted by men who “helped the people to understand the law, while the people remained in their places”, explaining the significance of “this holy day” and other matters (Neh 7:73b—8:12). The story explains the modus operandi of these teachers.
Certainly, the culture and religion of the Israelites was to be marked by a concern for holiness. This is read back into the foundational narrative of the call given to Moses, “to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt” (Exod 3:10, 17). When he hears this call in Midian, Moses is standing on holy ground (3:1-12).
The Name of God
Although he is in Midian, far away from Canaan (later to become Israel), Moses encounters the God who is most firmly identified with that land. It is “the Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob” who appeared to Moses (Exod 3:6, 16). This is the first occurrence of this characteristic linkage of the Lord God with the three patriarchs (see also Exod 3:15–16; 4:5; 6:3, 8; 33:1; Lev 26:42; Num 32:11; Deut 1:8; 6:10; 9:5, 27; 29:13; 30:20; 34:4; 2 Ki 13:23; Jer 33:26).
Identified, therefore, as “the God of your ancestors” (in Hebrew, elohe abotekem) (3:15, 16; 4:5), a distinctive term is added into the mix, and highlighted by God as “my name forever … my title for all generations” (3:15). The term is regularly translated as Lord, and is often capitalised to indicate its distinctive nature. In fact, the name comprises just four consonants (transliterated as yhvh or yhwh).
Despite its apparent simplicity, the meaning of the word has occasioned intense discussion amongst interpreters over the centuries. First, we should note that many Jews today adhere to the age-old prohibition and do not speak the name of God. This is based on the third of the Ten Commandments, “You shall not take his name in vain” (Exod 20:7; Deut 5:11).
Rabbi Baruch Davidson, writing on the website chabad.org, explains: “Although this verse is classically interpreted as referring to a senseless oath using G‑d’s name, the avoidance of saying G‑d’s name extends to all expressions, except prayer and Torah study. In the words of Maimonides, the great Jewish codifier: ‘It is not only a false oath that is forbidden. Instead, it is forbidden to mention even one of the names designated for G‑d in vain, although one does not take an oath. For the verse commands us, saying: “To fear the glorious and awesome name. Included in fearing it is not to mention it in vain.’” See
Since Hebrew words are constructed with a set of consonants as the base, to which a variety of vowels can be added, this short word is often expanded to either Jehovah or Yahweh. The former places the vowels of the word Adonai (meaning “lord”) to form the artificial term Jehovah, a title that has been popularised by the Jehovah Witnesses. The latter is a more accurate rendition of the blending of these consonants with the vowels of the verb to be, hayah, forming Yahweh.
The name of God that is given to Moses in this story is often referred to as the Tetragrammaton (meaning “four letters”), because it is a four-letter word, yud-hey-vav-hey (יהוה). This name is derived from the verb “to be”, which has led to speculation that it could be translated as “I am who I am” or “I will be whom I will be”—revealing nothing, really, about the nature of this divine being, other than the existence of God. It is a curious “revelation”. What has Moses actually learnt about God in this encounter??
This name is certainly mysterious. What does it mean to say, “I am who I am”? or “I will be who I will be”? The mystery of each phrase invites the listener or reader to pause, ponder, and consider what is being conveyed. This is not a direct propositional statement, declaring a closed statement along the lines of, “God is love”, or “God is all-knowing”, or “God desires justice”, or other such statements. It is, rather, mystical, evocative, inviting, something that is invitational and encouraging exploration. Perhaps that, in itself, is enough of a basis for our considering as to who God is and what God desires?
Jewish mystical literature actually teaches that there are seventy names for God; and if you explore the biblical texts (the Torah), the developing rabbinic literature (Mishnah, Talmud, and Midrash) and then the proliferation of Jewish mystical terms, God is referred to by almost more names than can be counted.
Rabbi Stephen Carr Reuben asks “Why so many names, and why does God tell Moses that the name he knows God by is different from that of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?” As he explores this question, he notes that “Every name reflects a quality in relation to human beings that each of us can choose to emulate in our own lives. Thus in Jewish mysticism, the ideal state is to be in harmony with the Divine by emulating the attributes reflected in the great diversity of divine names.”
The rabbi offers some examples: “As God is called, ‘The Compassionate One’ (HARAKHAMAN in Hebrew), so each of us can strive to be compassionate in our behavior toward others. As God is called EL SHADDAI (The Nurturer), so we can be nurturing of the dreams and longings of others. As God is called The Righteous Judge (DAYAN EMET), so we can express righteousness and stand up for justice in our lives.”
What, then, of the revelation to Moses? Rabbi Carr Reuben suggests that “when God tells Moses that he was known by a different name to the patriarchs, it is because every moment in history, and every challenge we face personally demands that we draw upon a different quality of holiness to emulate in our lives. We must choose the name of God that captures the essence of the attributes of Godliness that is appropriate to the moment, and up to the challenge of the day.” See
With this Sunday’s Hebrew Scripture passage, we move on from the ancestral sagas that featured the three patriarchs of Israel (Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob) and their four matriarchs (Sarah and Rebekah, Leah and Rachel), as well as the twelve sons of Jacob, their sister Dinah, and the escapades in Egypt that proved to be their salvation. We move now into the story of Moses, who occupies a unique place in the story of Israel: Moses the lawgiver, Moses the prophet, Moses the teacher.
Whereas land has been the location for the Genesis stories, with movement happening between Chaldea (later Babylonia), Canaan (later Israel), and Egypt, water now enters the story in a significant way. Indeed, water is present and plays a prominent role in both readings from the Hebrew Scriptures that the lectionary provides for this coming Sunday (Exod 1:8–2:10; Psalm 124).
In the story told in Exodus, the situation of the Israelites is grim. Whilst life in the time of Joseph had been flourishing, in this story, “a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph” (Exod 1:8). The situation of the Israelite descendants of Joseph was marred by envy (v.9), distrust and scheming (v.10), oppression (v.11), intensified fear (v.12), and the ruthless imposition of tasks (v.13).
Life for the enslaved Israelites was bitter (v.14), and then in peril, as the king of Egypt plotted to murder all the males born to the Israelites (v.15–16). That scheme, however, was foiled by Shiphrah and Puah, who refused to follow through the instructions of the king (v.17) and gave a devious answer about this (v.19). The role that these women play—the first of a number of women—will provide to be important.
In this narrative, the river Nile features prominently (Exod 1:22; 2:4–6). The Nile was the place where Pharaoh threatened to drown “every boy that is born to the Hebrews” (1:22). That river is where the woman married to “a man from the house of Levi” placed her child, inside “a papyrus basket … plastered with bitumen and pitch” to make it waterproof (2:3). It is where the daughter of Pharaoh bathes, and discovers the basket, and the child inside it (2:5–6). That river was the salvation for this particular child, even if it was the threatened place of death for many other children.
In the Psalm, water is present in the floods that threaten the people of Israel. “The flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone the raging waters” (Ps 124: 4–5). That water surges and sweeps with menace, generating fear and anxiety amongst the land-living Israelites. Those waters portended doom.
The sea was integral to God’s creative works: “yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great” (Ps 104:25). The early part of the priestly narrative about God’s creating activity indicates that controlling and corralling the waters was an essential first step (see Gen 1:6–7, 9–10), and also that those waters provided the source of life for “swarms of living creatures” (Gen 1:20).
Yet the sea was a threatening place for the people of Israel, accustomed to life on the land, planting grapevines and herding sheep in “the land of milk and honey”. Later in the story of Moses, the sea of reeds was the place of destruction for Egypt (Ps 114:1–8), although it was also the location of salvation for Israel, as is celebrated in David’s song of praise (2 Sam 22:1–4, repeated at Ps 18:6, 12–19).
For sailors, the sea could be a place of great danger (Ps 107:23–31)—the story of Jonah attests to this (Jon 1:4–17), as does the final trip of Paul as he is taken as a prisoner to Rome (Acts 27:14–20). Yet the power of the roaring sea, as majestic as it is, pales into insignificance beside the majesty of the Lord on high (Ps 93:3–4). In the sea lurks the great sea monster, Leviathan (Job 3:8; Ps 104:26) of whom Job muses, “who can confront it and be safe?” (Job 41:11). It is only the Lord who is able to subdue Leviathan (Ps 74:14; Isa 27:1).
The dangers of the sea which the Israelites escaped may well be reflected in Psalm 124, recalling the threat of floods sweeping them away, torrents rising over them, raging waters submerging them. That psalm concludes, with a sigh of relief, “our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth” (Ps 124:8). The Lord is somehow able to overcome that threat for the Israelites. And that story, as we shall note, has resonances with the earlier narrative of “the great flood” that subsumed the whole earth, and from which only a chosen handful of people and animals survived (Gen 7—9).
The same movement towards salvation takes place in the Exodus narrative, as the unnamed baby is taken out of the river, brought into the household of Pharaoh, the very one who would have the child killed, and nurtured by his own daughter’s nursemaid (Exod 2:6–10). The waters are paradoxical forces, for they sustain and protect life even as they threaten to overwhelm life.
And lest we overlook this element too quickly: the saving of this child depends on a sequence of women who took steps to ensure his safety. We have already noted the actions of Shiphrah and Puah (1:19). Now, we should note the unnamed mother of this child, who placed him in the basket on the river (2:3), and her sister-in-law, also unnamed, who “stood at a distance to see what what happen to him” (2:4).
Then, there was the daughter of Pharaoh, who saw the basket (2:5), her unnamed maid, who took pity on the child (2:6), the sister of this maid, who suggested and then procured someone to nurse the child (2:7). And then, another unnamed woman, “a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child” (2:7–9), which ensured that the child would survive (2:9–10). And finally, back to Pharaoh’s daughter (still unnamed), who bequeathed the name Moses on the rescued child (2:10). So many women, so many important interventions—and so many names not known!
The name of the child taken out of that river is known, and it is given at the end of the story: Moses. This is considered to be an Egyptian name, not an Israelite name—for although the child was born to an Israelite mother, he was raised in the household of an Egyptian family (and a privileged and powerful one, at that!). Moses (Hebrew Mosheh) signifies the “drawing out” of the child from the water (Exod 2:10). And just as he was saved by Egyptian women, so he will later be instrumental in the saving of his people from the Egyptians. A neat piece of irony in the larger storyline.
The story, like many others in these early narrative books, is told as an aetiology, to explain the meaning of the person’s name, as here, or as with Ishmael, Esau, and Jacob, and the new name, Israel, and his twelve sons and two grandsons Ephraim and Manasseh, and others; or the name of a place, as with Beersheba, or Bethel, or Peniel, amongst quite a number of locations named in Genesis. The story is constructed to explain the significance of the name of the people (or place). So for Moses, it is that he was “drawn out” of the waters, where by rights he should have died.
Which provides the groundwork for another ironic twist in the story, for as Moses is rescued out of the water and nurtured to ensure that he lives, so in a subsequent chapter of the story, the people he comes to lead will likewise be rescued from out of the waters of the sea, and will celebrate their saving at the hand of the Lord God (Exod 14:15–15:21). His name and his origins encapsulate a central feature of the story that will unfold in his life.
And those pursuing them, the Egyptian army, meet the fate that was most feared by the Israelites: “you blew with your breath, the sea covered them, they sank like lead in the mighty waters” (Exod 15:10; see a narrative explanations of this, that the sea was held back by the outstretched hands of Moses, at 14:21–28).
But this is jumping ahead to the story told in the lectionary excerpt we are offered in two weeks time! For today, we sit with the story of the origins of the one who was “drawn out of the water”—the child Moses.
There are a number of well-known, oft quoted verses in Romans. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom 3:23). “I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh” (Rom 7:18)—expressing the innate sinfulness of humanity that perhaps Paul was seeking to explain at 5:12–21, and which Augustine sought to leverage through his interpretation of two small words in 5:12.
There is also the succinct “Christ is the end of the law” (10:4), which seems clear it—although a number of interpreters (myself included) maintain has been taken out of context and misinterpreted in ways that Paul did not intend. And, on the other side of the equation, “the one who is righteous will live by faith” (Rom 1:17)—although here Paul is quoting a prophet from within Israelite tradition itself(Hab 2:4).
Also, there is “since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand” (Rom 5:1–2)—made famous by Luther’s sola gratia, sola fide. Paul returns to this motif when he affirms that “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, for the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death” (Rom 8:1–2). All rich, juicy statements about the Gospel.
So from the passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Pentecost 13A (Rom 12:1–8), we hear this familiar injunction, to “present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Rom 12:1–2). It’s a familiar command that has a clear place within the context of the communities of faith in Rome to whom Paul was writing, and which has been applied time and time and again over the centuries, to believers in vastly different cultures and contexts.
With these verses, we leave the complex theological argumentation that we have been exploring in the passages that the lectionary has offered from Romans 4–11 (Pentecost 2A to 12A), where Paul teases out all of the factors that are involved in his proclaiming the gospel which is “the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek”, in which he demonstrates that “the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith” (1:16–17).
Paul has made the exuberant affirmation that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (8:31–39).
He has then sung with joy, celebrating “the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! ‘For who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?’ ‘Or who has given a gift to him, to receive a gift in return?’ For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen.” (11:33–36).
It sounds like he has completed the work that he set out to do in writing this letter. A big full stop (Amen), underlined by a shout of praise (to him be the glory forever)!! But not so fast—there is more to come, as Paul immediately pivots from his theological exposition, into a section where he provides a string of ethical exhortations and instructions to the community in Rome. The pivot happens with a simple phrase: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters” (12:1).
The words which Paul uses here deserve careful attention. First, we should note that this is a word of exhortation; Paul begins his sentence, “I appeal to you” (NRSV), “I urge you” (NIV), “I encourage you” (CEB), even “I beg you” (Phillips), or the more antiquated “I beseech you” (KJV). Paul seems to be hoping to instruct the believers in Rome, without coming across as dominating—although he has been consistently forceful in the first eleven chapters, as he set out his understanding of the Gospel.
In fact, the Greek phrase used here, Παρακαλῶ οὖν ὑμᾶς, is a common way of turning the attention of his listeners from more abstract (or doctrinal) matters, to direct ethical matters of behaviour. We see this at 1 Cor 4:16 and 2 Cor 10:1, each time signalling a new section, as well as at 1 Cor 1:10 and Phlm 9, where the primary issue of each letter is described. It is a familiar rhetorical turn of phrase designed to draw the attention of those hearing, or reading, the letter, to a new topic of instruction.
Indeed, this phrase itself draws from the practice of Greek moral philosophisers in antiquity, of providing “moral exhortation in which someone is advised to pursue or abstain from something”. That’s a quote from one of my teachers, Prof. Abraham Malherbe, who spent decades researching and writing about these philosophers; see Malherbe, “Styles of Exhortation”, in Moral Exhortation; Westminster John Knox Press, 1986 pp. 121–127.
So Paul utilises this technique from Greek literature—just like he also makes extensive use of many elements of a diatribe in his letter to the Romans. However, although he is writing in Greek, some of the language which follows is drawn from Jewish traditions. Paul exemplifies the richness of the multicultural society of the day, where Jewish and hellenistic Greek customs, traditions, and religions intermingled, along with distinctively local practices in each place of the Roman Empire where the traditional deities, language, and culture survived.
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice”, Paul advises the Romans (12:1). However, he is not specifically instructing them to offer their loves as martyrs. The language is more subtle than this. The offering of sacrifices to the deities was known within ancient Greece and in the Roman Empire. Writing on religion in Ancient Greece, Colette and Séan Hemingway state that “the central ritual act in ancient Greece was animal sacrifice, especially of oxen, goats, and sheep. Sacrifices took place within the sanctuary, usually at an altar in front of the temple, with the assembled participants consuming the entrails and meat of the victim.” See
Paul himself asserts that “what pagans sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God” (1 Cor 10:20), and so, when believers share in meals involving meat which has been bought at the meat market, “if someone says to you, ‘This has been offered in sacrifice,’ then do not eat it” (1 Cor 10:28). The offering of meat as a sacrifice which was subsequently sold on to the market by the pagan priests was obviously still happening in Corinth.
However, sacrifice was also at the heart of Israelite faith; the Temple was not simply the holy place where the God of Israel resided, but it was also the place to which offerings and sacrifices were brought in order to give thanks to God and to seek forgiveness from God. As the psalmist sings, “lift up your hands to the holy place and bless the Lord” (Ps 134:2).
Since “the Lord is in his holy temple” (Ps 11:4) the psalmist also promises, “I will offer to you a thanksgiving sacrifice and call on the name of the Lord; I will pay my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people, in the courts of the house of the Lord, in your midst, O Jerusalem” (Ps 116:18–19). Sacrifice was integral to the ancient faith of the Israelites, continued on by Jewish people into the first century CE.
But sacrifice was not just the slaughter of animals and birds. Interpreting the death of Jesus in terms of his sacrifice was a logical move for the Jews who were the first followers of Jesus. In doing that, they “spiritualised” the concept of sacrifice. It was a small step from that, to apply the language of sacrifice to the lives of believers.
Jewish writers had already taken this step: the psalmist sings that “the sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Ps 51:17), and “those who bring thanksgiving as their sacrifice honour me; to those who go the right way I will show the salvation of God” (Ps 50:23).
So to “present your bodies as a living sacrifice” (Rom 12:1) was not, therefore, a call to martyrdom, but a call to humble, selfless living. The bodies of believers are to be presented to God as holy. Holiness was at the heart of Israelite religion, the faith into which Paul, and Jesus, were born.
Paul also notes that the “living sacrifice” presented to God should be “acceptable”. There’s a strong emphasis throughout Leviticus on the need to bring an offering or sacrifice that is “acceptable” (Lev 1:4; 7:18; 19:5–8; 22:17–21, 26–30); for a sacrifice of wellbeing “to be acceptable it must be perfect; there shall be no blemish in it” (Lev 22:21). That was the role of the priests: to examine carefully the animals being brought for sacrifice, to ensure that they were “perfect”.
The next phrase, often rendered as “spiritual worship”, also needs careful consideration. Paul has earlier referred to “some spiritual gift” that he wished to share with the Roman believers (Rom 1:11), and talked to the Jews about “real circumcision” being “a matter of the heart—it is spiritual and not literal” (2:29). However, the Greek word used in both instance is derived from the root word for spirit (πνευματικὸν at 1:11; ἐν πνεύματι at 2:29).
Not so at Romans 12:1–the phrase in question is τὴν λογικὴν λατρείαν ὑμῶν, which the NASB translates as “your spiritual act of worship”, the NCV as “the spiritual way for you to worship”, the WEB as “your spiritual service”. The use of the word “spiritual” here is misleading; more accurate translations are offered by the NRSV as “your reasonable act of worship”, the NIV as “your true and proper worship”.
The kind of worship for which Paul is advocating is worship which is grounded in the logos, the reason, the rational capacity of human beings. He is not encouraging the Romans to waft off into the ether of “spiritual gifts” that he had found manifest, causing such problems, within the community in Corinth. He is, rather, advocating for a careful, reasoned approach to the worship of God. The sacrifice to be offered should be considered and well thought-out, much in the same way that priests in the Temple would scrutinise and assess potential sacrifices.
There are clues, then, as to what would typify this kind of “worship”. Paul refers to the grace which was “given to me” (12:3)—grace at work in Paul’s life (1:5), and grace lavished on believers (3:24; 5:2, 15–21; 6:15–15). That grace has been a significant motif throughout the theological exposition that Paul has undertaken in the complex argumentation he sets out in the chapters prior to chapter 12.
The ethic that is inculcated by this grace is to think first of the other: “not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned” (12:3). Again, the Greek term translated as “sober judgement” (σωφρονεῖν) has the sense of what is sensible or reasonable. Mark employs this word when he reports that the Gadarene demoniac, after being exorcised by Jesus, was “sitting there, clothed and in his right mind” (Mark 5:15).
This leads smoothly into a discussion of the community of faith as the body—an image which he had already used in his first letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor 12:12–31). There, Paul first identified a range of gifts (1 Cor 12:8–10), and then emphasised the claim that “the body does not consist of one member, but of many” (1 Cor 12:14). As a result, each and every member plays an integral role in the whole.
From this, Paul deduces that “the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable … God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honour to the inferior member” (1 Cor 12:22–25). The context in Corinth shapes the direction into which Paul develops this image.
Here, in writing to the Romans, Paul begins with the same affirmation that “in one body we have many members” (Rom 12:4), but then heads firmly in the direction of identifying the gifts that God has given: “we have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us”, before naming seven such gifts (Rom 12:6–8).
The list of gifts in these verses overlaps with, but differs at key points from, the lists found in 1 Cor 12:8–10 and 12:28. The specifics of the particular gifts are not the point at hand; of more significance in this letter is to press the point that the Romans are “not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think” (Rom 12:3).
This is a central ethical exhortation to which Paul will return in later chapters when he instructs the believers in Rome to “extend hospitality to strangers” (12:13), “live in harmony with one another” (12:16), and “love your neighbour as yourself” (13:9, quoting Lev 19:18). He directs them to “welcome those who are weak in faith” (14:1), urging them, “let us no longer pass judgement on one another” (14:13) and “let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding” (14:19)
As he draws towards the close of his long letter, Paul advocates for “the good purpose of building up the neighbour” (15:2), and so the believers in Rome are to “welcome one another just as Christ has welcomed you” (15:7). This is the mode for which he has advocated in chapter 12, when he has urged them, “do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds” (12:2). The transformation that Paul seeks is to develop a perspective that is fully oriented to the other, “not to please ourselves” (15:1), but to “please our neighbour” (15:2).
His prayer for the Roman believers is that God will “grant you to live in harmony with one another … so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” (15:5–6). His words in 12:1–8 (which the lectionary offers us this coming Sunday) have set a strong foundation for this trajectory of teaching about mutual responsibility and accountability.
A dialogue sermon on Jesus’ encounter with a Canaanite Woman (Matt 15), written by the Rev. Elizabeth Raine and the Rev. Dr John Squires, and preached by them on Project Reconnect for Sunday 20 August 2023.
The Gospel story we have heard today is an interesting one. It tells of an encounter that took place between Jesus, the disciples and a Canaanite woman, near the ambiguous are of the borders of the lands of Tyre and Sidon. The unnamed woman has come out from there to seek Jesus’ help. Initially repulsed both by Jesus and the disciples, she remains undeterred.
Today, we invite you to join us on an imaginative journey, which may well lead you to think about the story from different perspectives, to engage with different assumptions, and perhaps lead you to different conclusions. We are going to offer you the opportunity to listen in to a conversation about what might have happened that day when Jesus encountered the Canaanite woman.
We will not be listening directly to the conversation between Jesus and the woman—although it will figure in the discussion that takes place. Instead, we will be eavesdropping on a conversation between an acquaintance of the woman, Tamar, and a relative of one of the followers of Jesus, known as Baruch.
Baruch and Tamar are somewhat different people. Tamar is a Canaanite, from the land of Canaan which was taken over by the Israelites who conquered its original inhabitants. Baruch is an Israelite who has become a follower of Jesus, and who has heard a version of the story from his cousin Zebedee. They have accidentally met up in one of the Palestinian market places and have been drawn into a conversation about Jesus’ latest miracle.
So now, please imagine yourself watching this scene.
*****
B: Have you heard of the latest miracle performed by our Lord? Why, he healed the daughter of a Canaanite – and by long distance! A truly remarkable feat.
T: Can I enquire as to the details of this miracle, Baruch? I believe I may have some knowledge of it.
B: Sure. She was an unaccompanied Canaanite woman – a woman without a male relative! I ask you, do these Canaanites have no sense of decorum? She came crying after Jesus and his disciples, all alone, no male to chaperone her, demanding that he heal her daughter. Such presumption!
T: Now just a minute. I object to you pronouncing the word ‘Canaanite’ as if we were a nasty plague of insects. I also do not think you appreciate the desperation of a loving mother, worried about her child.
B: If this Canaanite woman was a decent woman, she would have approached Jesus with her husband, let him do the talking, and remained quiet, eyes down and head bent.
T: What if she was widowed, or her husband did not want to beg a favour of a Jew – after all, it was the Jews who drove many of the Canaanites from their traditional homelands?
B: You must know that Canaan was the land that God promised to the Israelite people. It was foreordained that the Canaanites would have to relinquish it. And rightly so. Just look at some of the dreadful practices they had – worshipping strange gods, boiling baby goats in their mother’s milk – disgusting! All stopped when Israel took over the land.
T: I believe you are exaggerating – both about their practices and whether Israel indeed stopped them. But what right do you have to use this ancient history to belittle this woman? Whatever her ancestors did, it was hardly her fault.
B: I disagree. We all know these things can be passed down from generation to generation. And I reiterate – what was she doing running around alone on the public roadways crying after strange men? And a why would a Canaanite seek help from their Jewish conquerors like that?
T: I believe you know the answer to that. She understood that Jesus was a healer, someone special. I heard she called him “Lord”.
B: Well, there is that. I suppose his fame and reputation had spread far. But this is no excuse for her behaviour, and she must have known that the Messiah was to come only to the Jews!
T: I have heard he made that abundantly clear to the woman – and called her names. I thought a Messiah was meant to love everyone, not to mention have some sympathy with a race that had originally shared a homeland.
B: Nonsense. The Messiah was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel – everyone knows that. And a lone woman shrieking like a mad thing out in public – she deserved to be called names! And for presuming to quarrel with our Lord.
T: Don’t you think calling someone “dog” is rather insulting? Even if it is the Lord who says so? And as the Canaanites were killed or were hustled out of their land by God’s orders, I would think that it is time to make some amends to them. Why shouldn’t the Messiah share the love around a bit? And what would you do if your daughter was demon possessed? Maybe she was right to quarrel with Jesus.
B: Hmmmmm, I see your point. Of course we all want what is best for our children. And the scriptures do occasionally say that God is the God of other people. But you must admit that she behaved in a somewhat irregular way.
T: I am admitting nothing of the sort. This poor woman goes in search for help for her daughter, and she is told to go away, she is scorned for not being a Jew, and called a dog into the bargain. It is to her credit that she persisted with such a rude lot.
B: You are not telling the whole story. She was helped by Jesus, remember?
T: Let me recap as I heard this story. The woman called Jesus ‘Lord’, and asked for help. The disciples wanted her sent away. So Jesus tells her that he is sent only to the lost sheep of Israel. He then informs her that this is because it is wrong to take bread from the children (that is, the Jews) and throw it to the dogs (that is, the Canaanites). Are you honestly telling me she did not have a right to feel insulted?
B: (reservedly) Well, I suppose when you put it that way, you have a point. But still, a woman alone in public, crying out – I am not sure about this at all.
T: Then let me put it another way. If Jesus decided that after all, she had a case, and he decided to help her, then what is your problem? Remember what the law says about caring for widows and the oppressed. Baruch, you place great value in these laws, don’t you? So surely you should be prepared to some sympathy to this woman?
B: I am not entirely convinced. She must have been some sort of sinner or outcast to behave that way.
T: Nonsense. And actually, she behaved exactly like Lady Wisdom in the scroll of Proverbs. Bold, unafraid, in public alone and demanding justice. Are you saying Wisdom is a bad role model? After all, when Jesus did engage her in conversation, he accepted the woman’s argument as the right one and healed her daughter. I have also heard that he called her faith ‘great’.
B: Lady Wisdom? What rubbish. And why would Jesus commend the faith of a Canaanite woman?
T: Well, he did. And I believe that once she had convinced him that her faith was sound, he was making a point to those men in the Jewish faith who didn’t believe. Seems she knew the scripture about the Messiah better than they.
B: I grant you that there may have been extenuating circumstances. But you must understand that in Jewish custom, men do not speak to strange women in public. No wonder Jesus acted the way he did in the first instance.
T: Jesus did not shame her for being a woman. His quarrel with her was the fact she was not an Israelite. You Jews are so exclusive!
B: But he did concede the argument to her.
T: Are you saying then that she changed Jesus’ mind?
B: I suppose I am. I guess she must have been someone pretty special.
T: As I said, just like Wisdom. This woman stuck to her beliefs and cried out for justice. She was persistent, she was not going to be oppressed or pushed to the side. There is great power in the way that this woman acted.
B: She took quite a risk, then, in acting like this.
T: Indeed she did. It is an interesting point, isn’t it? Some people I have heard speaking about Jesus tend to claim that he is always the one who was right; that he will always persuade the other person, always win the debate. But in this instance, it is the woman who seems to be the one who speaks the deepest truth. In the end, Jesus admits that she is right, and he grants her request. Perhaps Jesus was the one who was transformed. So that doesn’t suggest a woman who is an outcast, does it? It suggests a woman brimming over with wisdom and spirit!
B: Well, it is clear that Jesus was affected by her. And I guess it follows that this must be good news for all of those people who aren’t Jews, but who want to follow Jesus.
T: Ah, now I think you are on to something. If the Messiah allows himself to be transformed, just think; if we emulate this, then we could transform our world, not just our two peoples. Think of it. The Canaanites were despised by Israel, whose ancestors took over their land. So the way that the disciples and Jesus responded to her at first, was simply the customary way. Such a response perpetuates resentment and hatred that then runs from people to people, from generation to generation.
B: Yes, I can see that humiliation, resentment, and violence have been passed down by people who do not stop to think that things may have changed, that there may be a better way. Jesus, with his final acceptance of the woman and his gift of healing, has set aside these conventions of ethnic hatred. In his final words, he treats the woman as one of the faithful, and opens up the way for all of us to do the same.
T: That appeals to me, for this is the attitude that can heal these historical rifts and create community. Imagine if our peoples reached out to each other in love and acceptance. And that in spite of a long history of enmity between us, we accepted that we are all equally loved by God, and that our faith and worship could be shared and celebrated together. What is to stop it happening now?
Why is it that we all just cannot talk to one another to heal the hurts of history?
*****
Today there are voices that want us to think that the foreigner or our indigenous and colonised races are a threat –a danger to be kept away, or a problem to be ignored. There are voices that press us to toe the line and follow the well-worn traditions of society and remain comfortable, settled, and unchanging. But the path of discipleship instead takes us to liminal borders and beckons us into an uncertain future. It invites us to question, consider and maybe even change our minds. It calls us to live out our beliefs, to put into practice our ideals, to venture into ambiguous places and to travel along the path less followed. Then maybe, like Jesus, we too will be transformed.
Mercy: doesn’t need to be pristine, nor need to be huge. It doesn’t need to be protected, nor kept in a pot with a lid and a lock – and oh-so-carefully parcelled out to those deemed ‘deserving’. And … just a crumb will do.
Mercy: is not like pie, nor is it mealy-mouthed or stingy. It can’t be measured, cannot help itself cannot be contained. No matter how some try, still, it overspills the tables of power and privilege, subversively escaping in scraps and crumbs that are limitless, boundary-breaking and render tables irrelevant. And … just a crumb will do.
Mercy: is subversive, spilling out for all, even those deemed (by some) as: ‘undeserving’, ‘different’, ‘not one of us’. It re-draws the circle wider than the edges of our imagination. Just a crumb contains more than enough: more grace and love than we will ever need. And … just a crumb will do.
Exorcising the Canaanite Woman’s Daughter by Peter Gorman (1990)
In an earlier post, we noted that the book of Genesis is dominated by people whose stories shaped the self-understanding and identity of the nation of Israel. Written in the form that we now have them by the priests who had held the stories of Israel through the decades of Exile, those stories comprise oral tales, told and retold over centuries before that Exile, remembered and passed on because they offered insights into who the people of Israel had become—committed, resilient, crafty, and faithful.
We heard these stories, from the second Sunday after Pentecost (Gen 12) through now to the twelfth Sunday after Pentecost (Gen 45). The stories are dominated by the men—Adam and Noah, Abraham and Isaac, Jacob and his twelve sons, most notably Joseph. In these stories, as we have noted, the men dominate. There are, to be sure, women who also play key roles in the stories that are collected into this first narrative book, as we have noted—Sarah and Hagar, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel, as well as others with lesser prominence in the stories (or, indeed complete absence from the story).
This blog focusses on women in Genesis 38 and onwards. On the women who were overlooked by the lectionary in the earlier chapters, see
In this blog, we turn first to Tamar, the wife of Er, whom Judah, son of Jacob, had conceived with his Canaanite wife, Shua (Gen 38:2–6). Tamar was sister-in-law to Onan and Selah, the two brothers of Er. With Er being struck dead for his sinfulness, Onan is urged by Judah to fulfil the responsibility of the Levirate law (Deut 25:5–10) by marrying Tamar and producing heirs (Gen 38:7–8).
Onan is remembered, however, for disobeying this instruction of his father-in-law; “since Onan knew that the offspring would not be his, he spilled his semen on the ground whenever he went in to his brother’s wife, so that he would not give offspring to his brother” (37:9). As this displeased God, Onan is struck dead (37:10)—a harsh penalty!
Judah then wants to reserve Tamar “until my son Shelah grows up”, when they can marry, in accordance with the Levirate law (37:11). Through a series of misunderstandings, Judah ends up impregnating Tamar, whom he appeared to believe was a temple prostitute (38:12–19). Nobody said that the men of this family were all upstanding moral exemplars!
However, Tamar was canny. She asserts herself when she lies with Judah, asking him for his signet, cord, and staff—so that she can later identify the father of the child and call him to account. Professor Tikva Frymer-Kensky, of the University of Chicago, writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, notes that this liaison was not illicit; it was in accord with the Levirate law. She also describes Tamar as “assertive of her rights and subversive of convention” and as “deeply loyal to Judah’s family”.
Months later, on learning that Tamar was pregnant, and not realising that he was responsible, Judah wanted her to be burned (38:24)—at which point “the big reveal” occurs, as Tamar shows the signet and the cord and the staff that she had taken from the man who impregnated her (38:18, 25). Judah, to his credit, accepts responsibility (38:26). Tamar gives birth to twins, Perez and Zerah (38:27–30).
Perez has a claim to fame in that the male line of descent from him arrives, eight generations later, at Jesse, father of David (Ruth 4:18–22) and thus of Jesus (Matt 1:3–6; Luke 3:32–33). So the origin of this ancestor of Jesus is a fascinating tale, consistent with a number of other enticing tales related to others amongst his ancestors.
Professor Tikva Frymer-Kensky notes that the assertive and loyal qualities of Tamar also show up in Ruth. “The blessing at Ruth’s wedding underscores the similarity in its hope that Boaz’s house ‘be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah’ (Ruth 4:12). These traits of assertiveness in action, willingness to be unconventional, and deep loyalty to family are the very qualities that distinguish their descendant, King David.”
Less well known amongst the descendants of Perez is Jashobeam, son of Zabdiel, “chief of all the commanders of the army” at the time that David was preparing to build the Temple, who had charge “of the first division in the first month; in his division were twenty-four thousand” (1 Chron 27:2–3). Years later, on return from exile in Babylon, “all the descendants of Perez who lived in Jerusalem were four hundred sixty-eight valiant warriors” (Neh 11:6).
The story of Onan, Tamar, and Judah is disturbing. Tamar was a faithful woman, obeying instructions to be married, to obey the Levirate law, and to wait for the appropriate time for another marriage. She asserts her rights and remains faithful in adversity. Yet Tamar is surrounded by men who misbehave badly—a sinful husband (Er),struck dead; his disobedient brother (Onan), also struck dead; and their opportunistic father (Judah), who at least, in the end, appears to recant of his deeds. Poor Tamar!
Writing elsewhere on the Jewish Women’s’ Archive about her namesake, Dr Tamar Kadari notes that whilst “the Rabbis spare no criticism of Judah and his sons, pointing out the sins that were responsible for their bitter fate”, they display a different attitude toward Tamar, praising her as “a woman with sterling qualities, who maintained the strictures of modesty and faithfully observed the laws of niddah”. (The laws of niddah govern the behaviour of menstruating women.)
Nevertheless, noting that Judah obeys the Levirate laws, she comments further that “the Rabbis find Judah’s conduct praiseworthy: even though the Torah had not yet been given, he nonetheless took care to observe all the commandments (Lev. Rabbah 2:10)”. One midrash claims that Tamar prayed: “May it be Your will that I not leave this house empty” (Gen. Rabbah 85:7), which indicates that her true aim “was to cleave to the house of Judah and provide a successor for his line”.
Dr Kadari reports that another midrash argues that it was “inconceivable that Judah thought [Tamar] to be a harlot because she covered her face, since, if anything, prostitutes show their faces. Rather, out of modesty, Tamar had always covered her face in her father-in-law’s home. Thus, when she disguised herself as a harlot and revealed her face, Judah did not recognize her (BT Sotah 10b).”
She further notes that “Another midrashic account has Judah saying: ‘This one is a harlot; of what concern is she to me?’ and continuing on his way. Once he had passed by, Tamar raised her eyes to God and said: ‘Master of the Universe, am I to go forth with nothing from the body of this righteous one?’ Then God immediately sent the angel Michael to bring Judah back (Tanhuma [ed. Buber], Vayeshev 17).” It was Tamar’s persistence in prayer that ensured the lineage of Judah.
And finally, amongst numerous other fascinating midrashic explanations that Dr Kadari reports, we note that it was seen that, because of his honesty in admitting he was the father and excusing Tamar from blame, Judah is blessed with the full line of the thirty kings of Judah, from David through to Zedekiah (Gen. Rabbah 97:8).
5 The wife of Potiphar
The wife of Potiphar is an intriguing presence in the section of Genesis that focusses on Joseph, one of Jacob’s twelve sons, while he was in Egypt (Gen 37—50). Potiphar was “one of Pharaoh’s officials, the captain of the guard” to whom the Midianites had sold Joseph (Gen 37:36). Potiphar’s wife is never named, but she plays a key role in Joseph’s story while he is serving as overseer to the household of Potiphar.
First, this woman attempts to seduce Joseph (39:7, 11–12), then she accuses Joseph of trying to seduce her (37:14–18). Of course this enraged Potiphar, who put Joseph in prison (37:19–20). No due process and fair trials in ancient Egypt, it seems! However, “the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love”; he enjoyed the favour of the chief jailer and “whatever he did, the Lord made it prosper” (37:21–23).
Some years ago, my wife Elizabeth Raine did a study of this particular woman (in a series that she wrote and taught about “ Women in the Bible”). She found that artists and commentators alike across the centuries have had a field day with the promiscuous nature of this unnamed woman—she was a shrewd villain, a seductress, a deceiver, the embodiment of temptation.
A third century text (attributed to the late 1st century bishop, Clement of Rome) railed against her: “did not a woman conceive an excessive passion for the beauty of this chaste and upright man? and when he would not yield and consent to gratify her passionate desire, she cast the righteous man into every kind of distress and torment, by bearing false witness”.
She found an online PowerPoint display that said, “no doubt she went on with her immoral behaviour; perhaps one day her husband found out the truth of her character, perhaps not; but certainly, one day, she will pay the ultimate penalty of her sinful life, separation from God, in a place of torment”.
However, we do not know whether Potiphar’s wife did want a sexual liaison. Perhaps she was jealous of Joseph when he replaced her as head of the household? Perhaps she did long for the emotional intimacy that Potiphar was not providing? The text is silent.
Jewish interpretation of this story seeks to be sympathetic about this woman. The Testament of Joseph, a 2nd century Jewish text, relates that Potiphar’s wife initially embraced Joseph like the son she lacked, and only gradually did she become seductive with him. Her nakedness before Joseph occurs when she is beset by grief at not being able to draw close to Joseph.
A little earlier, the Jewish scholar Philo of Alexandria sees Potiphar as a eunuch—he was an official in the court, so this was not an unusual supposition. His wife wished to “be with a man”, but as he tells the story, Philo presents the story as an allegory: the woman represents the physical pleasure of the body, but Joseph, committed to celibacy, represents the soul.
The Rabbis, of course, have various explanations: Joseph was attracted to the woman, but cooled off when an image of his parents appeared before him; or the woman wanted to seduce him in order to produce a son, which Potiphar had not given her, and that she saw a vision in which the stars showed that she would have children with Joseph; or Joseph is compelled by a vision from God to resist at all costs.
As is the case with a number of unnamed female figures in scripture, this particular woman is bequeathed a name as later tradition develops. The medieval commentator Sefer HaYashar, in his commentary on the Torah, gave her the name Zuleika.
In the Quran, this story is told in chapter 12. The woman Zulaikha overhears a group of women speaking about the incident involving Yusuf, verbally shaming Zulaikha for what she did. Wikipedia offers a helpful summary: “Zulaikha, angered by this, gives each woman a knife and calls for Yusuf. Upon his arrival, the women cut themselves with their knives, shocked by his beauty. Zulaikha, boosted by proving to the women that any woman would fall for Yusuf, proudly claims that Yusuf must accept her advances, or he will be imprisoned. Yusuf prays to Allah, begging Allah to make them imprison him, as Yusuf would rather go to jail than do the bidding of Zulaikha and the other women. Allah, listening to Yusuf’s request, makes the chief in power believe Yusuf should go to prison for some time, and so Yusuf does.”
6 Asenath
Whilst in Egypt, Joseph gained a reputation for his interpretations of dreams; he rose to power when he interpreted a dream of the Pharaoh (Gen 41:14–37). Pharaoh installed him into an office in his court and “set him over all the land of Egypt” with all the trappings of high office (Gen 41:41–43). Further, “Pharaoh gave Joseph the name Zaphenath-paneah; and he gave him Asenath daughter of Potiphera, priest of On, as his wife. Thus Joseph gained authority over the land of Egypt” (Gen 41:45).
So it is that Asenath, daughter of an Egyptian priest, wife of Joseph, enters the story. (As we noted in an earlier post, there is a rabbinic midrash that says that Asenath was the product of the union of Dinah and Shechem who was given to Potiphar’s wife to be raised.) She gives birth to two sons: Manasseh, meaning, “God has made me forget (nashani) completely my hardship and my parental home”, and Ephraim, meaning, “God has made me fertile (hiprani) in the land of my affliction”. These sons, grandsons to Jacob, would later have a key role (but the lectionary doesn’t include this part of the story). See Gen 41:50–52; 46:20.
Dr Kadari notes that “there are two approaches to the issue of Asenath’s descent in the Rabbinic texts”. One view sees Asenath as “an ethnic Egyptian who converted in order to be married to Joseph”, which is a plain reading of the text. The second approach argues that “Asenath was not an Egyptian by descent, but was from the family of Jacob, directed by God to end up in Egypt so that Joseph would find a suitable wife from among the members of his own family.”
In either case, Dr Kadari notes that Asenath is “accepted as part of the family and her sons are accepted as worthy descendants by Jacob.” The midrash that Asenath was the result of the rape of Dinah, as noted above, provides such an explanation. See
Dr Kadari notes that “the traditions that maintain that Asenath was a convert present her as a positive example of conversion, and include her among the devout women converts”. She cites Hagar, who was Egyptian, Zipporah the Midianite, Shiprah and Puah, Egyptian midwives, and the Egyptian wife of Pharaoh in the story of Moses, and the Rahab the Canaanite, Ruth the the Moabite, and Jael the Jenite. Asenath stands in fine company!
The closing chapters of Genesis contain a series of poetic blessings on the twelve sons of Jacob—those twelve men who are remembered as “the twelve tribes of Israel” (Gen 49)—before recounting a key familial reconciliation, the death of the great partriarch Jacob, and then the death of his son Joseph (Gen 50). The story ends with this long poetic set of blessings and then with these two key men of the sagas reconciled. And still, the women are missing from the story.
7 Asherah?
To conclude, we might note that there is another female who has been completely absent from the narrative of Genesis. She a figure that we know was present throughout the period when Israel was ruled by kings, a period when these stories were shaped and crafted to serve as as aetiological explanations for the nature of Israel. This woman is the goddess Asherah, whose presence is signalled in later narrative books (1 Ki 15:13; 18:19; 2 Ki 21:7; 23:4–14; 2 Chron 15:16).
Writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, Dr Susan Ackerman observes that there is evidence from a “late-thirteenth-century B.C.E. Lachish ewer” dedicated to Asherah which is “decorated with images of sacred trees”. See
She continues: “The Canaanite association of Asherah with sacred trees is also found in Israelite tradition. For example, one of the Canaanite epithets of Asherah, elat, “goddess,” is etymologically identical to the Hebrew word for the terebinth tree (ela). Another word for “terebinth” (alla) and two words for “oak” (elon and allon) are also closely related.”
As a result, Ackerman notes that “Gen 2:4b—3:24 may further suggest the association of Asherah with sacred trees, since the way that Eve, “the mother of all living” (3:20), is described in the Eden story mimics in certain respects the role of the Canaanite mother goddess Asherah. If a correspondence holds, then the trees of life and of knowledge in the Eden narrative may also reflect Asherah imagery.”
But beyond that story, it is not until the narrative quasi-historical texts which follow after the Pentateuch that we find reflections of “Israelite worship of “sacred poles or stylised trees associated with Asherah were erected by the Israelites” under the judges (Judg 6:25–26, 28, 30), the kings in the northern kingdom of Israel (1 Ki 14:15; 16:33; 2 Ki 13:6; 17:10, 16; 23:15; and parallel references in 2 Chronicles) and kings in the southern kingdom of Judah, in the south (1 Ki 14:23; 15:13; 2 Ki 18:4; 21:3, 7; 23:6, 14; and parallel references in 2 Chronicles).
Since the books of the Pentateuch—and Genesis in particular—were compiled and written during and after that long period of time, as the exiles returned to Israel, might there be nuances and hints in these ancient sagas concerning Asherah?
The lectionary, in characteristic style, picks and chooses select passages that it offers, week by week, as we move through the ancestral narratives that have been collected and consolidated in Genesis. As we have noted before, these stories have been told and retold, collected and written down, because they have shaped the self-understanding and identity of the ancient nation of Israel.
Written in the form that we now have them by the priests who had held the stories of Israel through the decades of Exile, these stories comprise oral tales, told and retold over centuries before that Exile, remembered and passed on because they offered insights into who the people of Israel had become—committed, resilient, crafty, and faithful. They have the nature of aetiology, explaining character through narrative, and they function as myths, or stories told in an entertaining style that are designed to convey important information .
So this week we jump from last Sunday’s tale of Joseph, sold off to the Egyptians (Gen 37), to this coming Sunday’s fraternal encounter. We now find Joseph as an important official in the court of Egypt, confronted by his starving brothers, who are begging for help from the grain-rich Egyptians (Gen 43–45). What has happened in between these two stories?
First, Potiphar made Joseph his personal attendant; he was in charge of the entire household. There is a subplot concerning Potiphar’s wife and Joseph, resulting in Joseph being imprisoned (Gen 39; but the lectionary skips over this). However, the chief gaoler liked Joseph and put him in charge of all the other prisoners, including Pharaoh’s butler and baker. One night both the butler and the baker had strange dreams, which Joseph interpreted in ways that soon came true. Joseph gained a reputation as a dream interpreter (Gen 40; again, we jump over this).
Two years later, Pharaoh had two dreams that his magicians could not interpret. Joseph was summoned and told Pharaoh that the dreams forecasted seven years of plentiful crops followed by seven years of famine. Following Joseph’s advice, Pharaoh made Joseph his second-in-command. He gave Joseph his ring and dressed him in robes of linen with a gold chain around his neck. Pharaoh gave him the Egyptian name Zaphenath-paneah and found him a wife named Asenath, daughter of Poti-phera the priest of On (Gen 41, not included in the lectionary).
Joseph traveled throughout Egypt, gathering and storing enormous amounts of grain from each city. During these years, Asenath and Joseph had two sons: Manasseh, meaning, “God has made me forget (nashani) completely my hardship and my parental home, and Ephraim, meaning, “God has made me fertile (hiprani) in the land of my affliction”. These sons, grandsons to Jacob, would later have a key role (but the lectionary doesn’t include this part of the story).
After seven years, a famine spread throughout the world, and Egypt was the only country that had food. Joseph was in charge of rationing grain to the Egyptians and to all who came to Egypt. The famine affected Canaan, so Jacob sent ten of his sons to Egypt. He kept back Benjamin, Rachel’s second son and Jacob’s youngest child, the son who had intervened to save Joseph years earlier (Gen 42).
The story assumes a rollicking-good-yarn feeling, as Joseph recognises the brothers but does not let on, and sends them back to Canaan. He kept Simeon in jail pending their return with Benjamin, as instructed, despite Jacob’s misgivings (Gen 43).
The brothers return to Egypt with Benjamin, along with a gift for Joseph as well as double the necessary money to repay the money that was returned to them. Again, there is a comedy-of-errors feel, as Joseph acts is if he does not know the brothers when they actually do; in the end he instructed his servant to fill the brothers’ bags with food, return each one’s money a second time, and put his own silver goblet in Benjamin’s bag. Then he sends his servant after them, to accuse them of theft. Benjamin is detained; Judah pleads with Joseph to release him (Gen 44). Will he do so?
This is the point at which the lectionary takes up the story (Gen 45:1), as Joseph reveals his true identity to his brothers. It is a narrative that is fraught with emotion: Joseph could no longer control himself (v.1), he wept loudly (v.2), his brothers are dumbstruck and dismayed (v.3). After a lengthy speech of explanation (vv.4–13), Joseph bursts into tears, as does Benjamin (v.14), and then Joseph “kissed all his brothers and wept upon them” (v.15). The emotions are deep-seated and visceral; the physical actions described signal the profound effect that the experiences have had on Joseph and his brothers.
What does this note mean, that Joseph “fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck” (v.14)? A discussion of this story on the Jewish website chabad.org notes that these chapters of Genesis tell “no mere family drama. The twelve sons of Jacob are the founders of the twelve tribes of Israel, and their deeds and experiences, their conflicts and reconciliations, their separations and reunions, sketch many a defining line in the blueprint of Jewish history.”
In particular, the website (based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the leader of the ultra-conservative Chanda-Lubavitcher movement, adapted by Yanki Tauber) comments that “The Talmud (Megillah 16b) interprets their weeping on each other’s necks as expressions of pain and sorrow over future tragedies in their respective histories”.
The website offers the Talmudic explanation: “[Joseph] wept over the two Sanctuaries that were to stand in the territory of Benjamin and were destined to be destroyed … and Benjamin wept over the Shiloh Sanctuary that was to stand in the territory of Joseph and was destined to be destroyed.”
Through a series of rabbinic treatments of biblical texts concerning “the neck” and “the Temple”, the conclusion is drawn: “The Sanctuary is the “neck” of the world, the juncture that connects its body to its head. A person’s head contains his highest and most vital faculties — the mind and the sensing organs, as well as the inlets for food, water and oxygen — but it is the neck that joins the head to the body and channels the flow of consciousness and vitality from the one to the other: the head heads the body via the neck. By the same token, the Holy Temple is what connects the world to its supernal Vitalizer and source. It is the channel through which G‑d relates to His creation and imbues it with spiritual perception and material sustenance.”
So rabbinic midrashic interpretation sees deep significance in the comments about Joseph and Benjamin each “falling on the neck” (Gen 45:14). See
The scene is also marked by tears. When “he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck”, Joseph wept (Gen 45:14). There have been tears before in the stories told in Genesis. When he first meets his cousin, “Jacob kissed Rachel, and broke into tears” (Gen 29:11). Reunited with Jacob, “Esau embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept” (Gen 33:4).
There are more tears after this particular story concerning Joseph, too. Reunited with his father, Jacob, Joseph embraces “him around the neck [and] wept on his neck a good while” (Gen 46:29). When Jacob dies, “Joseph flung himself upon his father’s face and wept over him and kissed him” (Gen 50:1). After his father’s death, when his brothers tell him that Jacob had commanded Joseph not to seek revenge, “Joseph was in tears as they spoke to him” (Gen 50:17).
Writing on this story on the Haaretz website, Dr Ariel Seri-Levi, of the Ben Gurion University of the Negev, notes that there were three reasons for weeping in Hebrew Bible stories: mourning for a dead person (Abraham for Sarah, at Gen 23:2; the prophet for Jerusalem at Lam 1:16; Joseph as Jacob dies, at Gen 50:1); distress directed toward a leader, either divine or human (the Israelites in the wilderness, Num 11:4, or the residents of Jabesh Gilead, 1 Sam 11:4–5); and weeping on “an encounter or reunion between relatives or close friends”. The weeping of Joseph, and Benjamin, in this scene, is of this nature.
Dr Seri-Levi writes that such “weeping confirms and expresses their bond. Thus, weeping does not necessarily express an emotional collapse or inner turmoil; conversely, a person’s avoidance of weeping does not necessarily reflect indifference.” He relates this to the need that Joseph had, initially, to conceal his identity, and then, at the release when he felt able to reveal his identity. It is a part of the craft of the storyteller, deployed to intensify emotion in the listener, or reader. It is a way to ensure we find ourselves “in the story”, right in the midst of all that is taking place.
*****
The section offered by the lectionary ends, then, in a very prosaic manner: “and after that his brothers talked with him” (Gen 45:15). The fractured relationships amongst the twelve has been repaired; the lines of communication between estranged individuals have been restored. It just remains for this to be communicated to Jacob—which is done in the rest of chapter 45. Jacob and his whole family, sixty-six persons in all, relocate to Egypt (Gen 46), but famine eventually strikes even Egypt (Gen 47).
Beyond the lectionary offerings from Genesis (since we jump, on the following Sunday, to Exodus 1), the book concludes with grand scenes of blessing and farewell. Jacob blesses Joseph (Gen 48:15–16), Joseph’s sons Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen 48:17–22), and then the full complement of his twelve sons (Gen 49:1–28), before Jacob dies amd is buried (Gen 49:29—50:14). In due time, Joseph himself comes to the end of his earthly life; aged 110, he was “embalmed and placed in a coffin in Egypt” (Gen 50:26).
“Here comes this dreamer. Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams” (Gen 37:19–20). There it is: “brotherly love” on display, for everyone to see!
The sons of Jacob, who became the sons of Israel, and then gave their names to “the twelve tribes of Israel”, as we saw in an earlier blog, are terrible role models. They show us fraternal jealousy and hatred at its worst. The story offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Pentecost 11A, pulls no punches (37:1–4, 12–28). These sons could be mean!
We have left behind the stories of the three patriarchs of Israel, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and their wives, the four matriarchs Sarah, Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel—although Jacob is still alive, and he will figure in some of the final scenes of Genesis in chapters 46 and 48—50. We turn our attention to Joseph, who had been born to Jacob’s wife Rachel, after years of waiting.
Only after his first wife Leah had given birth to six sons and a daughter, did Rachel give birth, as God “heeded Rachel and opened her womb” (Gen 30:22). As a sign of the passing of her barren state, Rachel declared, ‘God has taken away my reproach’; and we read that “she named him Joseph, saying, ‘May the LORD add to me another son!’ (Gen 30:23). That son, Benjamin, came years later, although Rachel tragically died giving birth (Gen 35:16–20).
We meet Joseph in the passage offered by the lectionary, which notes that, as he grew, Joseph was the favoured son (Gen 37:3). Of course, this fostered the jealousy of his brothers, who “hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him” (Gen 37:4). And so the scene is set for the problematic sequence of events that ensues, as his brothers initially plot to kill him (Gen 37:19–20), before Reuben intervenes (Gen 37:21–23).
We have already seen that the ethical standards of the people in these ancestral stories leaves something to be desired. Cheating, stealing, rape, incest, murder, and double dealing appear to be par for the course. Yet these brothers who plot to kill Joseph are the men who give their names to the tribes of Israel—names that are given pride of place in the priestly garments (Exod 1:1–4; 28:9–12, 21, 29; 39:6–7, 14) and in the later history of the people (1 Chron 2:1–2).
That these stories of their murky ways of operating have been preserved, passed on, and preached on with regularity, is quite remarkable! Perhaps we should reflect that human beings have always been flawed? Or that we should well expect that the ethical standards and cultural practices of our time are different from what held sway in past eras?
And perhaps we need also to note—and take caution from the observation—that this particular incident, selling Joseph for twenty pieces of silver, has fed into the unhelpful stereotype of the Jews who are always and in every way concerned about money. It’s a stereotype that has fed the burgeoning antisemitic attitude and actions of people throughout the Middle Ages, past the Enlightenment on into the modern age—culminating, of course, in the horrors of the Shoah (Holocaust) in Nazi Germany.
Back to the story of Genesis 37. That the brothers plot to kill Joseph, and are only dissuaded by the intervention of Reuben (Gen 37:21–23), is clearly a mark against them. That Judah then suggests that they sell him to a passing caravan of Ishmaelites (Gen 37:25–28), whilst it saves the life of Joseph, is yet another mark against the brothers.
Christian readers will perhaps compare the “twenty pieces of silver” that was paid for Joseph (Gen 37:28) with the thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas for handing Jesus over to the authorities (Matt 26:15). However, a number of passages in Hebrew Scriptures provide a more fitting contrast to the price paid for Joseph.
Abimelech, in his unsuccessful attempt to install himself as king in Israel, took “seventy pieces of silver out of the temple of Baal-berith with which [he] hired worthless and reckless fellows, who followed him” (Judg 9:4). So twenty pieces are significantly less.
And the story is told in Judges about when the lords of the Philistines bribed Delilah with eleven hundred pieces of silver to hand over Samson to them (Judg 16:5; 17:1–5), and in the Song of Songs the (poetically-exaggerated) claim is made that Solomon expected a thousand pieces of silver from each of the keepers of his vineyard (Song 8:11). So twenty pieces pales into utter significance, by comparison. Was Joseph worth so little.
The irony is that Israel as a whole is identified with reference to Joseph at a number of places in the Hebrew Scriptures. Both narrative texts and prophets refer to the whole nation as “the house of Joseph” (Josh 17:17; 18:5; Judg 1:22–23, 35; 2 Sam 19:20; 1 Ki 11:28; Amos 5:6; Obad 1:18; Zech 10:6).
The psalms sing of “the descendants of Jacob and Joseph” (Ps 77:15) and bring petitions to God, “Shepherd of Israel, you who lead Joseph like a flock” (Ps 80:1). Psalm 81 places Joseph alongside Jacob and Israel: “it is a statute for Israel, an ordinance of the God of Jacob, he made it a decree in Joseph, when he went out over the land of Egypt” (Ps 81:4–5). The name of Joseph was revered in the ongoing traditions of Israel.
So let us treasure and reflect on this story, in which Joseph is sold off to foreign travellers. His life had been saved from the plotting of his brothers by a compassionate intervention by one of their number; but he is taken off into Egypt—for what fate?
*****
Reading the story chapter-by-chapter, as it appears in Genesis, we don’t yet know the significance of Egypt (other than the account of the time that Abram and Sarai spent in Egypt in Gen 12:10–13:12). But people hearing the story when it was written into the scrolls, after the return from Exile, would know of the time of slavery spent by their ancestors in Egypt, when “the Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service” (Exod 1:13–14). They know the ominous threat that lies over Joseph at the end of this week’s story: “they took Joseph to Egypt” (Gen 37:28).
That fate is symbolised by the note in the immediately following verses, that the brothers of Joseph dipped his coat into the blood of a slaughtered goat and brought it back to Jacob. When Jacob recognized the coat, he concluded that “a wild animal has devoured him; Joseph is without doubt torn to pieces” (Gen 37:33). Jacob mourned for many days; despite the best efforts of his family, “he refused to be comforted, and said, ‘I shall go down to Sheol to my son, mourning” (Gen 37:35).
The narrative leaves Joseph with the tantalising comment that he was sold by the Midianites to Potiphar, one of Pharaoh’s officials (Gen 37:36), before veering off to tell a long story about Judah and Tamar (Gen 38). The question remains: what fate awaits Joseph?