I had a dream (Gen 28; Pentecost 8A)

There are some famous dreams throughout history. “I have a dream”, said the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr, speaking in Washington on 28 August 1963, “a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.” That may be the most famous dream in the 20th century.

There have been other significant dreams in modern times. Paul McCartney woke from a dream and wrote the whole score of “Yesterday”. Mary Shelley’s novel “Frankenstein” was inspired by a nightmare. Niels Bohr had a dream in which he saw “the nucleus of the atom, with electrons spinning around it, much as planets spin around their sun”; and thus he developed his theory of atomic structure—a theory later proven by experimental investigation.

In like manner, Albert Einstein is said to have posed his theory of relativity in a dream in which “he was sledding down a steep mountainside, going so fast that eventually he approached the speed of light … at this moment, the stars in his dream changed their appearance in relation to him”; while it was a dream that led Frederick Banting to develop insulin as a drug to treat diabetes.

I found these and other significant modern dreams described at

https://www.world-of-lucid-dreaming.com/10-dreams-that-changed-the-course-of-human-history.html

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The Hebrew Scripture passage that is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Gen 28:10–19a) includes a dream that Jacob had, as he slept one night during his journey from Beer-sheba, in the Negeb desert in the south of Israel, north towards Haran, the place from which Abram and Sarai had left on their journey towards the land of Canaan, the land which God had promised to him (12:1, 4–5).

So the journey that Jacob is undertaking is a reversal, in direction and orientation, of the earlier journey that his grandfather had undertaken. He was travelling to escape the anger of his brother Esau, after he had tricked their father Isaac into blessing him, Jacob, gifting him with the inheritance that was rightly owed to Esau (27:41). Abraham had travelled south in order to receive God’s blessing. Jacob travels in the other direction after having deceitfully gained his father’s blessing.

We are told that, understandably, “Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing with which his father had blessed him” (27:41), and that he threatens to murder his brother, once “the days of mourning for my father” are completed (27:42). Learning of this hatred, Rebekah advises her son, “flee at once to my brother Laban in Haran, and stay with him a while, until your brother’s fury turns away” (27:43–44).

Whether he had been tipped off about this by Rebekah, or not, Isaac commissions his son to journey back to the homeland—in another case of “don’t marry one of these folks, go back to our homeland and marry one of our own” (as we saw with Abraham and Isaac). Isaac says to Jacob, “you shall not marry one of the Canaanite women; go at once to Paddan-aram to the house of Bethuel, your mother’s father; and take as wife from there one of the daughters of Laban, your mother’s brother” (28:1–2). So Jacob obeys him.

It is on this journey of escape that Jacob has his striking dream. Jacob is not the first to have encountered God in a dream, in these ancestral sagas. Abimelech of Gerar heard from God in a dream (20:3–7). After Jacob’s dream at Bethel (28:12–15), Jacob has a further dream regarding a flock of goats, relating to his inheritance, urging him to return to Isaac in the land of Canaan (31:10–16). At the same time, God appeared in a dream to Laban (31:24), conveying instructions which he disobeyed.

The two great “dreamers” in Hebrew Scripture are, of course, Joseph, one of the sons of Jacob, and Daniel, one of the courtiers of Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, many centuries later. Both men not only dream dreams, but offer interpretations—and interpret dreams that have been dreamt by others. Jeremiah, too, knew of those who claimed that they encountered God in dreams, but warns that understanding those dreams correctly is important (Jer 23:28; 29:8–9).

And dreams as the vehicle for divine communication is found in an important New Testament story, when Joseph learns of the pregnancy of Mary, in Matt 1–2. “Dreaming dreams” is actually an activity inspired by the Spirit, as Joel prophesied (Joel 2:28) and Peter reminds the crowd on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2:17).

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As Jacob sleeps, he dreams that “there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it” (28:12). What do we make of that dream?

In My Jewish Learning, Pinchas Leiser quotes from a book entitled Ruah Chaim (“the breath of life”), by Rabbi Haim of Volozhin. The Rabbi, who lived from 1749 to 1821, was a student of the Vilna Gaon (1695–1785), the pre-eminent sage of Lithuanian Jewry whose ideas were fundamental for the development of modern Jewry. Rabbi Haim writes:

“Our sages come to teach us that we ought not think that, because of our base material, we are truly despicable, like mere plaster on a wall. About this it says, a ladder stationed on the earth–that is Sinai; and its top reaches the heaven–which represents our soul’s life, which is in the highest sphere. There are even souls that see God, and they are the highest of the high, higher than ministering angels, and by this status can the soul cleave to Torah . A whole person is like a tree whose roots are above, and whose trunk extends downward, which is the body, and which is fastened to its supernal roots.”

Pinchas Leiser, a Jewish psychologist and educator, comments: “Thus, Rabbi Haim of Volozhin views Torah learning as a Sinaitic event, since Torah is what connects the heavens and the earth. With Torah, one can ascend and descend between the two spheres. The people who do so are angel-like.”

This is a penetrating insight into the nature of human beings. We are not spiritual beings, trapped in the prison of the material world, as Plato imagined (and as many writers, including Paul, who were influenced by his philosophy, wrote). Rather, we are fully nephesh, creatures of God containing both material and spiritual characteristics. We belong both to earth and to heaven.

The ladder which Jacob saw reveals this true nature, and tells us that we can transport ourselves between the two places, if we would only open ourselves to the possibility. Jacob’s dream was archetypal—it illustrated exactly who we are and how we can live!

And for me, as a Christian reader, it is important to note that this story (and, indeed, many others in Hebrew Scripture) undermine the crass stereotyping of ancient Israelites—and modern Jews—as alienated from God, crushed under unbearable burdens, far from the grace of God. For this ancient story, told orally for many years before it was ever written down, portrays the possibility of a close and enduring relationship with God, accessible from the patriarch Jacob onwards.

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A related approach is taken by the Rev. Sunny Lee, writing in With Love to the World. Sunny Lee says, “As he hears the voice of God, Jacob feels the dynamic presence of God and he is assured that God will never leave him. Jacob could never go beyond God’s keeping. The angels will go with him to northern Mesopotamia, which was his destination (Gen 29:1). And they will keep going up and coming down on the ladder. Also, they will accompany him for twenty years in Haran and return to the land (Canaan) with him (Gen 31:11; 32:1). Here, we can see that there will always be a ladder! Always the angels! Always God! (with Jacob).”

Sunny sees a sign of God’s grace in this story: “Jacob was outcast and alone because he deceived his father. He was not seeking God. Nevertheless, he was guided by God in his misery. God revealed God’s care and assurance for the future. Even though he was not expecting grace, grace was unleashed upon his soul with no word of blame.”

So there is a sign of God’s grace in this story—the ladder connecting heaven and earth, on which “angels” ascend and descend at will. God meets Jacob, even as he is running away from family, and perhaps also running away from God; God meets Jacob in a dream. Jacob was fleeing the consequences of his deception of his father. He wanted to be far away from Isaac, whom he deceived, and Esau, from whom he stole the birthright. And in the midst of that journey, God offers a sign of acceptance and grace in this dream.

Indeed, scripture had offered an earlier sign of God’s grace, in the story of Noah. This is a terrible story—God deliberately and intentionally destroys the world, and “starts all over again”. Only Noah and his family, and the animals on his ark, are saved. The rainbow in the sky is the sign of God’s grace for those who have survived, signalling that God will never again destroy the creation.

The ladder represents the commitment that God has, to an enduring connection with human beings, no matter what their situation. It is a sign of God’s grace—for which we can be thankful.

A fully-developed theology from just one psalm? (Psalm 119; Pentecost 7A) §§6, 7

Psalm 119, the longest of all psalms, is the 176–verse grand acrostic of the Hebrew Scriptures (22 section s of eight verses each, commencing in order with the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. A small portion of this psalm (119:105–112) is offered by the lectionary this coming Sunday. I am exploring the questions: what would a theology look like, using only the verses in this psalm? and how full (or inadequate) would that theology be? See earlier instalments at

6 The life of a faithful person

So a sixth element in the psalm, which also correlates with a standard section in a fully-developed theology, is what it says about the life of a faithful person. This life is characterised most strikingly by delight—a quality that is articulated ten times in the psalm. The second section ends in a paean of praise: “I delight in the way of your decrees as much as in all riches. I will meditate on your precepts, and fix my eyes on your ways. I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your word.” (vv.14–16).

The psalmist continues, “your decrees are my delight, they are my counselors” (v.24); “lead me in the path of your commandments, for I delight in it” (v.35); “I find my delight in your commandments, because I love them” (v.47); “I delight in your law” (v.70), “your law is my delight” (v.77, 174); “your commandments are my delight” (v.143); and, most powerfully, “if your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my misery” (v.92). The requirements of the law bring delight to the person of faith.

A second characteristic of the life of a person of faith is that it is marked by love. In typical style, this love—which is a response to the steadfast love of God (see above)—is focussed on Torah, the source of knowledge about, and relationship with, God. Nearing the end of the psalm, we hear the psalmist say, “consider how I love your precepts; preserve my life according to your steadfast love” (v.159), drawing together the two expressions of love—love of God for humans, love of humans for God’s word in Torah.

The psalmist exults, “I find my delight in your commandments, because I love them; I revere your commandments, which I love, and I will meditate on your statutes” (vv.47–48). They exclaim, “Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all day long” (v.97) and affirm that “truly I love your commandments more than gold, more than fine gold” (v.127).

So much is Torah valued, that it apparently offers perfection: “I have seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment is exceedingly broad” (v.96). In this regard, the psalmist’s appreciation for Torah as perfection seems to reflect the priestly desire for people to offer perfect sacrifices, without blemish (Lev 22:21), and Solomon’s desire to build the Temple as a perfect house for God (1 Ki 6:22).

Indeed, such a conception of perfect Torah also resembles the sage’s musings regarding Wisdom: “to fix one’s thought on her is perfect understanding” (Wisdom 6:15), and thoughts found in a prayer attributed to Solomon: “even one who is perfect among human beings will be regarded as nothing without the wisdom that comes from you” (Wisdom 9:6).

The writer clearly loves Torah. This love leads to joy: “your decrees are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart” (v.111). Joy is manifest in praise: “let me live that I may praise you, and let your ordinances help me” (v.175). And God’s love also provides comfort: “let your steadfast love become my comfort according to your promise to your servant” (v.76). This is the fulfilment of God’s promise to the believer: “let my supplication come before you; deliver me according to your promise” (v.170).

The psalmist prays “give me life” a number of times, linking this life with God’s ways (v.37), righteousness (v.40), word (v.107), promise (v.154), and justice (v.156). In return, the psalmist makes a whole-of-being commitment; this is the way I believe that the Hebrew nephesh should be translated. (It is regularly translated as “soul”, but this fails to convey the sense that the Hebrew has, of the whole of a person’s being.)

So the author prays, “my [whole being] is consumed with longing for your ordinances at all times” (v.20), “your decrees are wonderful; therefore my [whole being] keeps them” (v.129), and “my [whole being] keeps your decrees; I love them exceedingly” (v.167).

Another way that the Hebrews spoke about the whole of a person’s being was to refer to the “heart” (Hebrew, leb). The psalmist opens with the declaration, “happy are those who keep [God’s] decrees, who seek him with their whole heart” (v.2), place the phrase about seeking “with their whole heart” in apposition to “walk in the law of the Lord” (v.1). With their heart, the psalmist praises God (v.7), seeks God (v. 10), implores God’s favour (v.58), and cries to God (v.145).

The psalmist’s heart “stands I awe of [God’s] words” (v.161), and it is in their heart that they treasure God’s word (v.11), observe God’s law (v.34), and keep God’s precepts (v.69). Truly “your decrees are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart; I in line my heart to perform your statutes forever, to the end” (vv.111-112). Diligence in attending to Torah is clearly to the benefit of the psalmist; they pray, “may my heart be blameless in your statutes, so that I may not be put to shame” (v.80).

Likewise, shame is avoided when the psalmist looks towards the commandments (v.6). They confess that, as they are “looking at vanities”, God needs to “turn their eyes”(v.37); they confess, “my eyes shed streams of tears because your law is not kept” (v.136). So it is with their whole being (nephesh), their whole heart (leb), and also with their eyes (ayin) that the psalmist demonstrates this whole of being commitment to Torah. “I will meditate on your precepts and fix my eyes on your ways” (v.15), they pray; and yet these eyes “fail from watching” (vv.82, 123), so the psalmist petitions, “open my eyes” (v.18).

With knowledge of Torah, the psalmist is able to walk in God’s way. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (v.105) is the best known statement of this; but we have also “when I think of your ways, I turn my feet to your decrees” (v.59) and “I hold back my feet from every evil way, in order to keep your word” (v.101).

Finally, along with sight and touch, the sense of taste is engaged in responding to God. “How sweet are your words to my taste”, the psalmist sings, “sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (v.103). These words are reminiscent of the same praise in Psalm 19, when reflecting on the words of Torah:”more to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold; sweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycomb” (Ps 19:10).

4QPs Dead Sea Scroll Psalm 119 First Century CE

7 The future

Most classic articulations of a full theology end with a view looking forward into the future. This is perhaps the least-developed aspect of Psalm 119. The writer is focussed on obedience to Torah in the present, simply as an expression of faithfulness and commitment. There is full acceptance of the Deuteronomic view that this life is when God rewards those who are faithful and punishes disobedience and evil. There is not yet any sense of the later Pharisaic development that there will be a “resurrection of the dead” and that rewards (and punishments) can be deferred to be experienced in the afterlife.

For the psalmist, the future is simply as far ahead within this life as can be envisaged. In light of that, they sing to God, “your faithfulness endures to all generations; you have established the earth, and it stands fast” (v.90). Throughout all of those generations, what is required is continuing faithfulness: “long ago I learned from your decrees that you have established them forever” (v.152), and so “I incline my heart to perform your statutes forever, to the end” (v.112), for “every one of your righteous ordinances endures forever” (v.160). The psalmist prays, “your decrees are righteous forever; give me understanding that I may live” (v.154).

The viewpoint has strong resonances with words of Jesus which Matthew reports: “until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished” (Matt 5:18).

Indeed, what undergirds this confidence is the affirmation that “the Lord exists forever; your word is firmly fixed in heaven” (v.89). That stanza continues with deep assurance, “your faithfulness endures to all generations; you have established the earth, and it stands fast; by your appointment they stand today, for all things are your servants” (vv.90–91).

Whatever may come, it seems, the author of this psalm will hold fast with confidence to the way set before them. It is as if they “lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and … run with perseverance the race that is set before us”—although, rather than “looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith” (Heb 12:1–2), they look to Torah as the foundation and indeed the perfection of their faith (cf. Ps 119:96).

A fully-developed theology from just one psalm? (Psalm 119; Pentecost 7A) §§4, 5

Psalm 119, the longest of all psalms, is the 176–verse grand acrostic of the Hebrew Scriptures (22 sections of eight verses each, commencing in order with the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. A small portion of this psalm (119:105–112) is offered by the lectionary this coming Sunday. I am exploring the questions: what would a theology look like, using only the verses in this psalm? and how full (or inadequate) would that theology be? See earlier instalments at

4 Relationship to God

Like all of the psalms, this psalm indicates a firm belief that God can be directly involved in the life of the believer. This is yet another topic which features in a fully-developed theology. The author invites God to “turn to me and be gracious to me, as is your custom toward those who love your name” (v.132); there is a clear sense that God is at hand, hearing the song, and willing to respond.

In one section (vv.81–88), the author sounds a classic lament, indicating that they are languishing, feeling “like a wineskin in the smoke” (v.83); they are persecuted, facing pitfalls, “they have almost made an end of me on earth” (v.87). Yet although they fear their life (v.88), they endure, with hope, and keep “watching for your promise” (v.82).

Confidence in God’s ability to intervene and strengthen the person of faith is expressed in a multitude of ways throughout this psalm. The psalmist prays, “revive me according to your word” (v.25), and is grateful to report that when “I told of my ways, you answered me” (v.26).

“Confirm to your servant your promise, which is for those who fear you”, the psalmist prays (v.38), offering a hope that God will “give me life” (v.37, 107, 154). This is a hope that is regularly expressed throughout the psalm: “in your righteousness, give me life” (v.40), “your promise gives me life” (v.50), “I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have given me life” (v.93), and “consider how I love your precepts; preserve my life according to your steadfast love” (v.159).

The mutuality of this relationship (as befits the covenantal relationship) is well-expressed in the couplet, “in your steadfast love, hear my voice; O Lord, in your justice, preserve my life” (v.149). The confident trust that the psalmist has in God is declared in the affirmation, “great is your mercy, O Lord; give me life according to your justice” (v.156). The intensity of this desire is articulated by the affirmation, “in your steadfast love, spare my life, so that I may keep the decrees of your mouth” (v.88).

The psalmist has this deep confidence in their personal relationship with God, for “this blessing has fallen to me” (v.56), echoing the favoured situation that was enjoyed by many in the past who were blessed by God: Noah and his progeny (Gen 9:1), Abram (Gen 12:1–3; 24:1), Isaac (Gen 25:11; 26:12), Jacob (Gen 27:23–29; 28:1; 35:9), Joseph (Gen 48:15–16), the twelve tribes (Gen 49:28), and then all the people who journeyed in the wilderness and entered the land (Deut 2:7; 7:14; 28:1–6)—and, of course, in the foundational creation story, all human beings themselves (Gen 1:28; 5:2).

On the basis of this deep confidence, the psalmist therefore asks God, “I implore your favour with all my heart; be gracious to me according to your promise” (v.58) and “turn to me and be gracious to me, as is your custom toward those who love your name” (v.132). Those who love the name of the Lord are also described, in typical scriptural terms, as “those who fear you” (vv.38, 63, 74, 79, 120). More often, the psalmist relates their love, not directly for God, but for God’s commandments (vv.47–48, 127), decrees (vv.119, 167), precepts (v.159), and law (vv.97, 113, 163, 165).

Quite characteristically, the psalmist looks to the Lord to teach—after all, the root sense of Torah is actually teaching, as already noted. “Put false ways far from me and graciously teach me your law” (v.29) is the psalmist’s prayer; “teach me your way” (vv.12), or “your ordinances” (v.108), or most often, “your statutes” (vv.26, 33, 64, 68, 124, 135, 171). Such teaching will provide and enlarge understanding (vv.32, 34, 73, 125, 144, 169).

The psalmist is clear that “the unfolding of your words gives light; it imparts understanding to the simple” (v.130), and so they are able to assert, “through your precepts I get understanding” (v.104), and, indeed, “I have more understanding than all my teachers, for your decrees are my meditation” (v.99).

This is an active, engaged deity, relating directly with the person singing this lengthy prayer. God relates specifically through the words of Torah, yes; but nevertheless, those words draw the psalmist into a close relationship with the Lord God—a relationship that feels intimate, a relationship that is based on solid trust and firm confidence.

On the basis of this confident trust in God, the psalmist affirms, “you are my hiding place and my shield; I hope in your word” (v.114), and again, “my hope is in your ordinances” (v.43). So the psalmist prays for God to “remember your word to your servant, in which you have made me hope” (v.49) and “my [whole being] languishes for your salvation; I hope in your word” (v.81).

The motif of hope is consistently expressed throughout: “uphold me according to your promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope” (v.116), “I rise before dawn and cry for help; I put my hope in your words” (v.147), and “I hope for your salvation, O Lord” (v.166).

The relationship with God that the psalmist demonstrates throughout is strong, trusting, confident, and hope-filled. It is an intensely personal relationship—which puts to lie to the terrible discriminatory caricature of Jews in the past having no personal relationship with God, and feeling weighed down by the demands of the Law.

4QPs Dead Sea Scroll Psalm 119 First Century CE

5 Revelation in Torah

What is striking about this psalm is that at every point, the understanding of God, and the expectation that God will relate closely to faithful human beings, is grounded in Torah. Torah was the essence of what God gave to Moses on Mount Sinai, and which Moses then passed on the people of Israel (Exod 19:1–9; 24:12–18; Deut 4:45–46; 6:1–9).

The psalmist values, appreciates, and is committed to Torah in every aspect that they are aware of. Torah does not oppress or bind; on the contrary, Torah gives life and offers salvation.

The psalm is thoroughly embued with the presence of Torah; this is the means by which God communicates to those singing and hearing the psalm. Not only does every one of the 8–verse stanzas of the psalm contain references to Torah, but also, a set of eight related words are deployed in ever-changing sequences of synonymous parallelism within each section. The most commonly word used, of course, is Torah, translated as law. It occurs 25 times in the 176 verses.

Synonymous with Torah (and, indeed, describing elements of it) are decrees (23 times), statutes (22), precepts (21), commandments (20), promises (15), and ordinances (14). The eighth word is word itself, appearing 21 times—most famously in the verse, “your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (v.105), which is often used in Christian liturgies to introduce the reading of scripture.

(If you add up the statistics in the previous paragraph, you find that there are 161 occurrences of these words for Torah; and as there are 176 verses in the psalm, this means that one of this cluster of terms appears in almost every single verse!)

This recurrent use of a set of synonyms expands the pattern that is found in the second section of Psalm 19, where the terms law, decrees, precepts, commandment, ordinances (and “fear of the Lord”) appear in parallelism in a section praising Torah (Ps 19:7–10).

Of this Torah, the psalmist affirms the word from God very early on, “I have commanded your precepts to be kept diligently” (v.4), to which they respond, “O that my ways may be steadfast in keeping your statutes!” (v.5). This way that is to be taught is important; “teach me, O Lord, the way of your statutes, and I will observe it to the end” (v.33).

The term way, of course, appears in the very first verse of the psalm as a synonym for those “who walk in the law of the Lord” (v.1) and then recurs a further six times (vv.9, 14, 27, 30, 32, 33). This is in contrast to “every evil way” (v.101), “every false way” (v.104, 128). It is the same contrast that expressed so succinctly in another psalm, “see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Ps 139:24).

“The Way” is important in the story of Israel: both the way in the wilderness, escaping from Egypt and heading towards the promised land—“the way that the Lord had commanded you” (Exod 32:8; Deut 9:16; 13:5; 31:29); and also the way out of Exile, back across that wilderness—“the way of the Lord“ which is to be prepared, to make way for “the glory of the Lord [to] be revealed” (Isa 40:3–5).

In Proverbs, the sage declares that “the way of the Lord is a stronghold for the upright, but destruction for evildoers” (Prov 10:29), whilst the prophet Jeremiah equates “the way of the Lord” with “the law of the Lord” (Jer 5:4–5), and Ezekiel compares the righteous “way of the Lord” with the unrighteous ways of sinful Israel (Ezek 18:25–29; 33:17–20).

Seven times the psalmist refers to the “righteous ordinances” or “righteous commandments” of the Lord, including, “you are righteous, O Lord, and your judgments are right (v.137); “the sum of your word is truth; and every one of your righteous ordinances endures forever” (v.167); and “seven times a day I praise you for your righteous ordinances” (v.164).

Three times, the truth of Torah is affirmed as “the word of truth” comes from the mouth of God (v.43), “your law is the truth” (v.142), and “you are near, O Lord, and all your commandments are true” (v.151). In many ways, Torah functions as a central pivot in this psalm in the same way that “the word of the cross” functions as the central theological claim in Paul’s letters, and indeed the Gospels; and the way in which “the Bible” has a determinative, guiding, and even controlling role in Protestant evangelical theologies. This is how God can best be known, and this is what guides and informs the life of the believer.

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The final post is at

A fully-developed theology from just one psalm? (Psalm 119; Pentecost 7A) §§2, 3

Psalm 119, the longest of all psalms, is the 176–verse grand acrostic of the Hebrew Scriptures (22 section s of eight verses each, commencing in order with the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. A small portion of this psalm (119:105–112) is offered by the lectionary this coming Sunday. I am exploring the questions: what would a theology look like, using only the verses in this psalm? and how full (or inadequate) would that theology be? See the first instalment (Introduction, and on God) at

2 The human condition

The psalmist demonstrates a keen awareness of the human condition, lamenting that their very being (nephesh) “clings to the dust” (v.25), “melts away for sorrow” (v.28), and “languishes” (v.81), as well as offering the confession, “before I was humbled I went astray, but now I keep your word” (v.67).

Early on, they declare, “I live as an alien in the land; do not hide your commandments from me” (v.19). This is a curious statement, given that the psalm is intended for pious Israelites, holding fast to God’s Torah. Identifying with “the alien in the land” is a striking rhetorical move—although Torah is abundantly clear that “the alien in the land” is to be treated with compassion and equity in all ways (see Exod 12:47–49; 22:21; 23:9; Lev 19:33–34; 23:22).

This key ethical commitment, of respecting of the alien, is read back into the ancestral stories of Abram (Gen 21:22–24), Isaac (Gen 26:1–5), and Jacob (Gen 28:1–5; also Ps 105:23–25), as well as Joseph (Gen 37:1 and all that follows), and then Moses and Zipporah (Exod 2:15–22; 18:1–12). This central aspect of the story of Israel is then presented as the reason for respecting the alien (Exod 22:; 23:9; Lev 19:34; Deut 23:7; cf. Deut 26:5–9).

So the psalmist places themselves (and those who hear, and eventually, read, the psalm) in the position of “the alien in the land”, dependant on the grace of the Lord God, demonstrated through those surrounding them in the land (Ps 119:19). Whilst the phrase reflects the grounding of the people of the covenant in the land of Israel, perhaps to later Christian readers it also has resonances with the later notion that human beings are aliens in the material realm (Heb 11:13)?

More generally, the psalmist is acutely aware of the way that sin and evil grips human beings. This is an observation found elsewhere in Hebrew Scripture. Although the creation story describes humanity as created by God “in the image of God” (Gen 1:27) and declared by God to be “very good” (Gen 1:31), there is a clear recognition that “the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth” (Gen 8:21).

This latter statement comes at the end of the story of the flood in the time of Noah—a flood that was deemed necessary because “the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually” (Gen 6:5). This evil is acted out by Cain (Gen 4:8) and indeed is reflected in the story of Adam and Eve (Gen 3:1–24).

Evil is also an explanation given for the forty years of Israel’s wandering in the wilderness (Num 32:13) and evil is foreseen by Moses as taking place once the,people are in the land, when the worship other gods (Deut 17:2–7; and note the refrain, “purge the evil from your midst”, at 17:12; 19:19; 21:21; 22:21, 22, 24; 24:7). The people acted with evil during the time of the Judges (Judg 2:11; 3:7, 12; 4:1; 6:1; 10:6; 13:1), and a string of kings from the time of David onwards are accused of “doing evil in the sight of the Lord” (2 Sam 12:9; 1 Ki 11:6; 14:22; 15:26, 34; 16:7, 19, 25, 30; 21:25; 22:52; 2 Ki 3:2; 8:18, 27; 13:2, 11; 14:25; 15:9, 18, 24, 28; 17:2; 21:2, 6, 9, 16, 20; 23:32, 37; 24:9, 19).

Sin is acknowledged in this psalm. First, the author’s own sin is to the fore: “I treasure your word in my heart, so that I may not sin against you” (v.11), and “I hold back my feet from every evil way, in order to keep your word” (v.101). So the psalmist prays, “put false ways far from me and graciously teach me your law” (v.29), and, using the recurrent biblical motif of a straying sheep, “I have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek out your servant, for I do not forget your commandments” (v.176).

Evil is seen, in addition, in other people—those characterised as “those who persecute me” (v.84, 86, 150, 161), the wicked … [who] forsake your law” (v.53; see also vv.61, 95, 110, 119, 155), evildoers (v.115), and adversaries (v.157). It is the arrogant who “utterly deride me” (v.51), “smear me with lies” (v.69), and have “dug pitfalls for me” (v.85). In each case, they are accused of flouting the Torah. So the psalmist prays, without regret, “let the arrogant be put to shame, because they have subverted me with guile” (v.78). The response of the psalmist is clear: “as for me, I will meditate on your precepts” (v.78; see also vv.15, 23, 27, 48, and 148).

In terms of how human beings are understood, then, this psalm reflects the view that, not only are we “made and fashioned” by God, but we are afflicted by sinfulness—a condition which requires addressing.

4QPs Dead Sea Scroll Psalm 119 First Century CE

3 Salvation

God’s way of addressing the human condition comes through salvation. As the psalmist meditates on Torah, they receive confirmation of God’s salvation, which is another key aspect of a classic theological structure. “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Tim 1:15) is a classic Christian formulation, valued as central to Christian theology over the centuries.

In the Gospels, Jesus declares, “the Son of Man came to seek out and save the lost” (Luke 19:10). Paul identifies Jesus as Saviour (Phil 3:20), proclaims good news “through which also you are being saved” (1 Cor 15:2), and celebrates that “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Rom 10:13, quoting Joel 2:32). Indeed, there are many indications in Hebrew Scriptures of the saving purposes of God.

The Chronicler reports that when David places the ark of God into the tent on Mount Zion, he instructs the Levites to sing, “save us, O God of our salvation, and gather and rescue us from among the nations” (1 Chron 16:35). A number of psalms include the petition, “save me, O God” (Ps 22:21; 31:16; 54:1; 55:16; 59:2; 69:1; 71:2–3; 142:6; 143:9; and twice in Psalm 119, at verses 94 and 146).

The prophet Isaiah affirms that “the Lord will save me” (Isa 38:20) and the prophet Habakkuk reflects that the Lord God “came forth to save your people, to save your anointed” (Hab 3:13). Later, when King Sennacherib of Assyria besieges Jerusalem and presses King Hezekiah of Judah to surrender, he addresses “all the people of Judah that were in Jerusalem”, ironically asking them, “Is not Hezekiah misleading you … when he tells you, ‘The Lord our God will save us?'” (2 Chron 32:9–11).

Subsequently, the prophet Jeremiah assures his fellow exiles that “the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel” promises, “I am going to fulfill my words against this city for evil and not for good … but I will save you on that day” (Jer 39:16–17). It is no wonder that God is addressed as Saviour by kings (David, 2 Sam 22:3) and prophets (Isa 43:3, 11; 45:15, 21; 49:26; 60:16; 63:8; Jer 14:8; Hos 13:4), in psalms (Ps 17:7; 106:21) and in later wisdom literature (Judith 9:11; Wisdom of Solomon 16:7; Sirach 51:1).

In Psalm 119, thus, it is no surprise that as the psalmist cries out, “let your steadfast love come to me, O Lord”, they equate that love precisely with “your salvation according to your promise” (v.41). Unsurprisingly, the psalmist places their trust in Torah as the means for attaining that salvation: “my [whole being] languishes for your salvation, I hope in your word” (v.81).

Indeed, this waiting requires persistence; “my eyes fail from watching for your salvation, and for the fulfillment of your righteous promise” (v.123). By contrast, “salvation is far from the wicked, for they do not seek your statutes” (v.155). This salvation is intimately bound up with keeping Torah (vv.94, 146, 166, 174); “I do not forget [Torah]” is a persistent affirmation (vv.16, 61, 109, 141, 153, and in the final verse, 176).

The psalmist twice implores God to redeem them, another classic theological concept: “redeem me from human oppression” (v.134), “look on my misery and rescue me” (v.153), and “plead my cause and redeem me; give me life according to your promise” (v.154). That comes, of course, from the redemption won in the Exodus story (Exod 15:13; Deut 7:8; 9:26; 13:5; 15:15; 21:8; 24:18; Neh 1:10; Ps 74:2; 77:15; 78:42).

This understanding is further reflected in the times that God is addressed as Redeemer (Ps 19:14; 78:35; Job 19:25; Isa 41:14; 43:14; 44:6, 24; 47:4; 48:1, 17; 49:7, 26; 54:8; 59:20; 60:16; 63:16; Jer 50:34; and in the Hebrew epilogue to Sirach 51). Psalm 119 resonates with a common biblical motif, that salvific redemption is a key factor in the relationship that a person of faith has with God.

*****

Further posts are at

Paul, the law of the Spirit, and life in the Spirit (Rom 8; Pentecost 7A)

Last week, we considered the section of Paul’s letter to the Romans which the lectionary offered: Paul grappling within “the sin that lives within me” (Rom 7:14–25a). In probing that state, Paul came to a rather pessimistic conclusion: “wretched man that I am! who will rescue me from this body of death?” (7:24), before immediately switching to a grateful “thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (7:25). See

This week, the lectionary continues the argument that Paul is developing, as he presses on to rejoice that “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (8:1). The passage proposed by the lectionary (8:1–11) marks a dramatic change in tone. Whilst he still recognises that “the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law” (8:7), the primary focus that Paul now has is on the claim that “the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death” (8:2).

Paul considers the state of humanity: “to set the mind on the flesh is death … the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Rom 8:6–8). He has already grappled with this in the previous chapter. Here, he presses on to celebrate that, as he tells the believers in Rome, “you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you” (8:9).

Because of what the Spirit effects in the lives of believers, Paul is embued with great hope—a quality that he expresses in other letters he wrote. He rejoices with the Thessalonians that they share with him in “hope in our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thess 1:3) and tells the Galatians that “through the Spirit, by faith, we eagerly waits for the hope of righteousness” (Gal 5:5).

He reminds the Corinthians that “faith, hope and love abide” (1 Cor 13:13), and then in a subsequent letter to believers in Corinth, he asserts that “he who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to secure us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again” (2 Cor 1:10)

Paul has already reported to the Romans that “we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (Rom 4:2) and that “we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (5:2). He will go on to refer to “the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus” (8:2), and explain how the work of the Spirit gives hope to the whole creation, currently “in bondage to decay”, which will “obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (8:21). And so, Paul declares, it is “in hope that we were saved” (8:24).

Towards the end of the letter, Paul offers a blessing to the Romans: “may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (15:13). That the Spirit produces this hope is a fundamental dynamic in the process of “setting [believers] free from the law of sin and of death” (8:2).

The Spirit is rarely mentioned in the first seven chapters of this letter. Paul does note that it was “according to the spirit of holiness by resurrection from the dead” that Jesus was “declare to be Son of God with power” (1:4), and that it was “through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” that “God’s love has been poured into our hearts” (5:5). And he notes that it was by being “discharged from the law” that believers entered into “the new life of the Spirit” (7:6).

But from 8:1 onwards, the Spirit becomes an active presence in what Paul writes about. The Greek word pneuma appears 33 times in the letter to the Romans; most of these are referring to the Holy Spirit. Strikingly, 19 of these occurrences are in chapter 8; a further eight instances then occur in chapters 9–15.

We might contrast this with the word that is often seen to be the key to this letter, dikaiosunē, which appears 57 times in Romans—including the programmatic key verse of 1:17, 13 times in ch.3, 11 times in ch.4, nine times in ch.5, and then nine more times in chs.9–11. Whilst righteousness is indeed an important word, the Spirit is also of crucial significance in Paul’s argument throughout Romans.

Rom 8:1–11 makes a strategic contribution to what Paul is explaining in this letter—that in the Gospel, “the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith” (1:17), that “the righteousness of God has been disclosed, and is attested by the law and the prophets, the righteousness of God through faith in [or of] Jesus Christ for all who believe” (3:21–22).

As he develops his argument, drawing on the story of Abraham (Gen 15), Paul affirms that this righteousness “will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification” (4:24–25), concluding that “since we have been made righteous by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (5:1), and asserting that “if Christ is in you … the Spirit is life because of righteousness” (8:10).

Incidentally, when we look at the statistics of word occurrences in the seven authentic letters of Paul, we see that “righteousness” occurs a total of 87 times (57 of them in Romans, 13 in Galatians), whilst “spirit” can be found 117 times: as well as the 33 times in Romans, there are 39 occurrences in 1 Corinthians and a further 15 occurrences in 2 Corinthians, and then 19 more appearances in Galatians. Spirit is a fundamental component in Paul’s theology.

Paul believes that it is by the Spirit that the gift of righteousness is enlivened and activated within the believer. He hammers this point with a series of clear affirmations in this week’s passage (8:1–11): “there is no condemnation” (v.1), “the law of the Spirit has set me free” (v.2), “God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and to deal with sin” (v.3), “the Spirit of God dwells in you” (v.9), “the Spirit is life” (v.10), and “he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you” (v.11).

Important for Paul is for the believer to know that “you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you” (8:9) and that “his Spirit … dwells in you” (8:11). This is an idea that Paul also articulates in his first letter to a Corinth, when he poses the rhetorical question, “do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” (1 Cor 3:16). The answer to this rhetorical question which is expected (but not stated) is, of course, “yes, we do know that God’s Spirit dwells in us”.

A similar rhetorical strategy can be seen as Paul draws this section (Rom 8:1–11) to a close. He poses a matched pair of conditional possibilities: “if Christ is in you” (v.10), “if the Spirit dwells in you” (v.11). The possibility, in each case, is crystal clear: since Christ is in you, “the Spirit is life because of righteousness” (v.10), and since the Spirit dwells in you, “he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you” (8:11).

For Paul, then, the role of the Spirit in enlivening and energising the believer is crucial. That is the important contribution that this passage makes to Pauline theology, and to our understanding of the Christian life.

See also

A fully-developed theology from just one psalm? (Psalm 119; Pentecost 7A) §1

I set myself a challenge: develop a fully-rounded theology from just one psalm. Easy, I thought; the shortest psalm, 117, has a number of key elements in its two verses: praise (“praise the Lord” twice, at the beginning and the end), adoration (“extol him”), a recognition of divine love (“great is his steadfast love towards us”), the universal orientation of that love (“all peoples”), and the assurance of divine fidelity (“the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever”).

There: done and dusted! … although, I think, on further reflection, that this looks more like the outline of a litany (praise—adoration—intercession —blessing) than a fully-developed theology. As a litany, it is succinct; as a theology, it is still quite deficient.

So, what about a challenge to develop a fully-rounded theology, not from the shortest psalm, but from the longest psalm? For just two psalms later, we have the 176–verse grand acrostic of the Hebrew Scriptures: Psalm 119—a small portion of which (119:105–112) is offered by the lectionary this coming Sunday. What would a theology look like, using only the verses in this psalm? And how full (or inadequate) would that theology be?

I love the way that this wonderfully artistic creation contains key elements of a theological understanding of the world. There are components regarding the nature of God, the human condition, and the divine response to that human condition. There is much to be gleaned regarding revelation and also salvation. And there are indications that touch on the character of living a faithful life, as well as signs of what the future is to be. All of these elements contribute to a fully-developed theology, surely?

This longest psalm of all, Psalm 119, is an acrostic series of 22 eight-verse stanzas (arranged alphabetically) in which the author(s) consistently affirm the value and importance of the teaching (Hebrew, torah) which sits at the centre of faith for the person singing this psalm. “I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your word” (Ps 119:16). By contrast to “the arrogant”, whose “hearts are fat and gross”, the psalmist declares, “I delight in your law” (Ps 119:70).

The psalm includes the petition, “let your mercy come to me, that I may live, for your law is my delight” (Ps 119:77), noting that “if your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my misery” (Ps 119:92). It also affirms, “I long for your salvation, O Lord, and your teaching (torah) is my delight” (Ps 119:74). Echoing these words many centuries later, Paul, in the midst of his agonising about Torah in Romans 7, is able to affirm, “I delight in the law of God in my inmost self” (Rom 7:22). Delight for the Law runs through Jewish history.

This longest of all psalms is a series of 22 meditations on teachings, or Torah, which is usually translated as “law”. It contains regular affirmations of the place of Torah in personal and communal piety: “give me understanding, that I may keep your law and observe it with my whole heart” (v.34); “Oh, how I love your law! it is my meditation all day long” (v.97).

The psalmist contrasts their devotion to Torah with those who neglect or ignore it: “I hate the double-minded, but I love your law” (v.113); “I hate and abhor falsehood, but I love your law” (v.163). They rejoice that “great peace have those who love your law; nothing can make them stumble” (v.165). From this long and persistent affirmation of Torah throughout all 22 stanzas, we can indeed devise a fully-fledged theology, canvassing many of the key issues that we have come to associate with theology.

(In what follows, I will refer to the psalmist as “they”, making no assumptions about who they were, even their gender. As psalms were collective songs, it is reasonable to suggest that they were developed within the community, by members of the community—so “ they” is a reasonable assumption, I feel.)

4QPs Dead Sea Scroll Psalm 119 from the First Century CE

1 God

Undergirding the joyful appreciation of Torah in the lengthy psalm is a consistent trust in God, who is consistently acknowledged as the author and giver of Torah, but is also celebrated as creator: “your hands have made and fashioned me” (v.73). That affirmation reflects famous words sung in another psalm, “I praise you [God], for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are your works; that I know very well” (Ps 139:14).

God’s creative power is at the centre of Hebrew Scripture. It is celebrated in passing in many psalms (Ps 8:3–8; 33:6–7; 74:16–17; 95:4–5; 96:5; 100:3; 103:14; 115:15; 121:2; 124:8; 136:4–9; 146:5–6); in the majestic celebratory psalm, Psalm 104, which rejoices, “Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all” (Ps 104:24); and in the carefully-crafted priestly account of creation that stands at the head of Hebrew Scripture (Gen 1:1–2:4a). It is noted with appreciation also in psalm 119 (v.73).

A second element in this psalm is that God’s mercy is valued; “great is your mercy, O Lord” (v.156), and so the psalmist prays, “let your mercy come to me, that I may live; for your law is my delight” (v.77). This is a common refrain in other psalms, where God is asked to show mercy (Ps 25:6; 40:11; 51:1; 123:2, 3). As one proverb says, “no one who conceals transgressions will prosper, but one who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy” (Prov 28:13). A similar sentiment is offered by Isaiah: “the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you, for the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him” (Isa 30:18).

Then, we might note the love of God. A recurrent refrain in Hebrew Scripture is a celebration of “the steadfast love of the Lord” (Exod 34:6; 2 Chron 30:8–9; Neh 9:17, 32; Jonah 4:2; Joel 2:13; Ps 86:15; 103:8, 11; 111:4; 145:8–9). This affirmation presents God as “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation”.

God is praised for showing love by redeeming the people in the Exodus (Exod 15:13) and then guaranteeing abundance in the land is promised to the people: “he will love you, bless you, and multiply you; he will bless the fruit of your womb and the fruit of your ground, your grain and your wine and your oil, the increase of your cattle and the issue of your flock, in the land that he swore to your ancestors to give you”, says Moses (Deut 7:13).

Solomon later praises God, saying “you have shown great and steadfast love to your servant my father David … and you have kept for him this great and steadfast love, and have given him a son to sit on his throne today” (1 Ki 3:6; also 2 Chron 1:8), and then as he dedicates the Temple, he prays “there is no God like you in heaven above or on earth beneath, keeping covenant and steadfast love for your servants who walk before you with all their heart” (1 Ki 8:23; 2 Chron 6:14).

When the foundations of the Temple are laid, after it has been destroyed by the Babylonians, the people sing, “praising and giving thanks to the Lord, ‘for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel” (Ezra 3:11). When a covenant renewal ceremony takes place under Nehemiah, he addresses God as “a gracious and merciful God” and continues, “the great and mighty and awesome God, keeping covenant and steadfast love” (Neh 9:31–32). A number of prophets refer to God’s enduring, steadfast love (Isa 16:5; 43:4; 54:8, 10; 63:7; Jer 9:24; 31:3; 33:11; Dan 9:4; Hos 2:19; 11:3–4; Jonah 4:2; Micah 7:18–19; Zeph 3:17).

Reference is made to the steadfast love of God on seven occasions in this psalm (verses 41, 64, 76, 88, 124, 149, and 159). Such love is often linked with Torah—“the earth, O Lord, is full of your steadfast love; teach me your statutes” (v.64); and again, “deal with your servant according to your steadfast love, and teach me your statutes” (v.124). An important function of Torah is thus to communicate the extent of divine live.

In tandem with God’s mercy and steadfast love, so divine justice is also noted. “Great is your mercy, O Lord; give me life according to your justice” (v.156); and “in your steadfast love hear my voice; O Lord, in your justice preserve my life” (v.149).

Justice, of course, is at the heart of the covenant that God made with Israel. Moses is said to have instructed, “justice, and only justice, you shall pursue” (Deut 16:20), the king is charged with exhibiting justice (Ps 72:1–2; Isa 32:1), whilst many prophets advocate for justice (Isa 1:17; 5:7; 30:18; 42:1–4; 51:4; 56:1; Jer 9:24; 22:3; 23:5; 33:15; Ezek 18:5–9; 34:16; Dan 4:37; Hos 12:6; Amos 5:15, 24; Mic 3:1–8; 6:8).

So God, says the psalmist, holds the people of the covenant to the standard set in Torah: “you rebuke the insolent, accursed ones, who wander from your commandments” (Ps 119:21). The assumption throughout this psalm is that the creator God is personal, approachable, relatable; just and fair, kind and loving.

See further posts at

Twins! (Gen 25; Pentecost 7A)

“Is it a boy or a girl?” For many years, that has been a standard question after a woman has just given birth. In more recent times, due to the advances in medical technology that have occurred, that question can no be put to pregnant couples: “Is it a boy or a girl?” Ultrasounds can now apparently reveal the gender of the foetus from about 11–13 weeks.

So it is always a surprise when the answer to that question is not “boy” or “girl”, but “both”—in the case of male-and-female twins—or “two boys” or “two girls”, as the case may be, in other instances.

“Isaac prayed to the Lord for his wife, because she was barren; and the Lord granted his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived”, we read in the Hebrew Scripture passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Gen 25:19–34). Here, we meet another barren woman in the ancestral sagas of Israel. Years before, Isaac’s mother Sarah had been barren, and that state had lasted for many decades—and indeed “the Lord had closed fast all the wombs of the house of Abimelech because of Sarah, Abraham’s wife” (20:18).

And other barren women are yet to come in those ancestral sagas; the rabbis note that there are seven significant women who were infertile in scripture: Sarah (Gen 11:30), Rebekah (Gen 25:2), Rachel and Leah (Gen 29:31), Manoah’s wife (Judg 13:2), Hannah (1 Sam 1:2), and Zion (Isa 54:1). The eventual gifting of children to these seven is related by the rabbis to a textual variant in 1 Sam 2:5, reading “the barren has borne seven” as “on seven occasions has the barren woman borne”.

The seventh in this list, Zion, is not an individual who lived in the past but is the personified Israel of some future time, based on Second Isaiah’s characterization of Zion as a barren woman: “Sing, O barren one who did not bear, burst into song and shout, you who have not been in labour; for the children of the desolate woman will be more than the children of her that is married, says the Lord” (Isa 54:1).

The result of God’s intervention, in Rebekah’s case, was a surprise: not one, but two, boys! But the time for shouting with joy is short, for poor Rebekah is given sobering news about her twin boys: “two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided” (25:23a). Not only that, but “the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger” (25:23b).

Isaac and Rebekah have brought into the world two boys—the older, who “came out red, all his body like a hairy mantle”, who was named Esau (meaning “hairy”), and the younger, hot on the heels of his brother (literally), who followed immediately “with his hand gripping Esau’s heel”, who was named Jacob (meaning “supplanter”).

The other twins that are (in)famous in Hebrew Scripture are Perez (“a breach”) and Zerah (“brightness”), twin sons of Tamar, daughter-in-law of Judah, who had liaised with her whilst visiting his sheepshearers (38:12–30). In the New Testament, “Thomas the Twin” is one of the named twelve disciples (John 11:16; 20:24; 21:2), although his sibling is never identified.

Who calls their child “the one who supplants” at the moment of birth? The names, identified in the narrative at the moment of birth (25:25–26), must surely be retrojections into the story, for the names prefigure events as they later transpired. This story, like many of the stories in the book of Genesis, is an aetiological narrative—a story told to explain how things are as they are.

I have noted previously that such narratives tell of something that is said to have occurred long back in the past, but the focus is on present experiences and realities, for “such explanations elucidate something known in the contemporary world by reference to an event in the mythical past”.

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

The name of Jacob is given to explain his role in the story that is unfolding: first, Jacob tricks his brother Esau to sell his birthright to him (25:29–34). As firstborn, Esau should have inherited from Isaac; now, Jacob has supplanted him (as his name indicates). In subsequent passages that the lectionary skips over, Jacob deceives his father in order to receive the blessing that was intended for the firstborn (27:1–29).

As Esau subsequently laments to his father, “Is he not rightly named Jacob? He has supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright; and look, now he has taken away my blessing” (27:36). His fate as the one no longer relevant for the continuation of the family line, promised to Abraham and continuing through Isaac to Jacob, now, comes when he marries “Mahalath daughter of Abraham’s son Ishmael, and sister of Nebaioth, to be his wife in addition to the wives he had” (28:9). See my earlier reflections on Ishmael at

So Jacob lives up to his name. And we know well his name, through the seven places in the New Testament where we find formulaic references to the three patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Mark 12:26; Matt 8:11; 22:32; Luke 13:28; 20:37; Acts 3:13; 7:32), as well as the many references to them together in the Hebrew Scriptures (Gen 50:24; Exod 2:24; 3:6, 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).

Yet the irony is that Jacob’s name is later changed, to a name that would become still more famous—and live on into the modern world as the name of the nation of people who see themselves as the chosen ones. After wrestling all night with a man at the ford of the river Jabbok, Jacob is told “you shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed” (32:28; see Pentecost 10A).

And that story, of course, is yet another aetiological narrative; for the name given, Israel, means “the one who strives with God”, which was the fate of Jacob on that night, and of the people of the nation over the centuries and millennia to follow. So the story of this change of names is an important one to remember and pass on.

In this story, however, the names of the boys born to Isaac and Rebekah are the key point: one is born hairy, the other is a supplanter. And the trick that he played to gain the inheritance of his father plays a crucial role in the self-understanding of the people who were telling this story, and passing it down the generations, and remembering it to this day. It is the second-born (even if just by a few seconds in time) who supplants the firstborn.

So Isaac was preferred over his older brother, Ishmael. Jacob gained the birthright of his (slightly) older twin brother Esau. Joseph gained ascendancy over his many older brothers. Jacob, at the end of his life, blessed the younger son of Joseph, Ephraim, rather than his older son, Manasseh. Moses was chosen as God’s spokesperson in Egypt, in preference to his older brother, Aaron. And instead of any of the seven older sons of Jesse, the ruddy, handsome youngest, David, received the blessing of the prophet Samuel to be anointed as king. In each case, it was the younger who was preferred over the older—a striking set of stories to be remembered!

Esau, we are told, is the ancestor of the Edomites, to the south of Israel (Gen 36:1–43), whilst the descendants of Jacob (Gen 25:19–28), of course, populated the land of Canaan, known as Israel, after the name later given to Jacob (Gen 32:28; see Pentecost 10A).

Paul and the Law, sin and the self (Rom 7; Pentecost 6A)

“I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind” (Rom 7:23). So Paul writes, in the section of the letter written “to all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints” which is offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Rom 7:15–25a).

The lectionary wants us to end this reading with the words of gratitude, “thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (15:25a). But in my analysis, Paul’s argument reaches its conclusion with the stalemate of verse 23—a clash between “the law of God” and “the law of my mind”. “Wretched man that I am”, he explodes in exasperation (7:24), after a lengthy and complex consideration of the issues which has led him to this damning conclusion.

What Paul is writing about in this complex section (7:1–25) is about the battle of wills, as God’s will comes into conflict with human will. The argument throughout this chapter—as, indeed, the argument throughout much of Romans—is presented as a dialectic, in which one point of view is put, to be met by an opposite point of view; followed by a rebuttal by the first voice, and a further oppositional claim by the second voice.

The thesis for discussion has been set out in 7:1–6, using the marriage relationship between husband and wife and “another man” (7:1–3) as the basis for an analogy (“in the same way”, 7:4) for the relationship between humans, “living in the flesh” (7:5) whilst also having “the new life of the Spirit” (7:6).

The use of analogy, already developed in earlier Greek rhetoric and used extensively by philosophers and political orators, does reflect rabbinic practice. The deployment of analogy, gezerah shewah, was one of Hillel’s principles of interpretation, indicating the influence of hellenistic thought and ideas on Jewish teachers and writers. So Paul here may well be operating as a rabbi, in the way that he sets out and developed his case.

But the fundamental dualism which underlies this whole chapter—the law of sin and death, the holy law of God—is thoroughly Greek in origin and character. Plato’s view of the soul trapped in the prison of the material world, which he set out in his Allegory of the Cave and which marks so many of his Dialogues: a clear line of demarcation between the spirit and the flesh, the body and the mind, the idea and the particular object.

So Paul, trained as a Pharisee, being “far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors” (Gal 1:14), brings into the discussion a “delight in the law of God in my inmost self” (Rom 7:22). He affirms that he upholds the Torah (Rom 3:31), alluding to various commands in The Ten Words which he insists are worth obeying (2:17–22), and affirming that, in its essential character, “the law is holy, and the commandment is holy and just and good” (7:12).

Yet his calling to be “apostle to the Gentiles” (Rom 11:23; Gal 2:8) led to his experience of eating at table with Jews and Gentiles together, in breach of kosher food laws (Gal 2:11–13)—an issue that is clearly in view decades later, as Luke writes his account of the early years of the Jesus movement, siding with Paul in the view that God has set aside the requirement for separate foods and separate tables (Acts 10:1–11:18; 15:19–20, 28–29).

This, in turn, leads Paul to his missionary goal of bridging the gap between Jews and Gentiles in practical ways (Rom 15:25–27), undergirded by the message that he preaches, affirming that salvation is offered “to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek” (Rom 1:16; see also 2:10; 10:12; Gal 3:28; and the post-Pauline development in Eph 2:11–22). He is driven by the scriptural claim that “God shows no partiality” (Rom 2:11; Deut 16:19–20; 2 Chron 19:7; Sir 35:15–16).

So Paul brings a firm commitment of this universal availability of salvation into this discussion in Rom 7:1–25. The argument that he has set out in the thesis of 5:1, “since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we obtained access to this grace in which we stand”, is argued throughout the ensuing verses, and given a ringing affirmation at the end in 6:23, that all humanity is able to know and access “the free gift of God [which is] eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (6:23).

This sounds, to us today, like a formal debate: three speakers, alternating between the Government for the proposition, the Opposition against the proposition, and then short concluding remarks, before the adjudicator declares a result and announces a winner. In the ancient world, however, Paul is writing in the style of a diatribe—a form that was developed in Ancient Greece and which was widely practised by Greek rhetoricians, philosophers, and teachers during the Hellenistic period.

See my analysis of the diatribe style in Rom 4 at

In the diatribe that Paul develops in Rom 7, he needs to address what he now sees as the inadequacy of Torah, given his affirmation that “God shows no partiality” (2:11) and his commitment to Jews and Gentiles eating together, without scruples regarding the food being shared. This deficiency in the law runs throughout the argument of Romans; it is impossible to keep the law (2:17–3:20).

Since his calling to work amongst the Gentiles, Paul has come to see that the law brings wrath (4:15) and increases sin (5:20), and indeed he maintains that the law “brought death” (7:9). As a consequence, righteousness must be gifted by God “apart from law”(3:21).

Paul, as we have seen, uses the scriptural example of Abraham, who “believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (4:3), to argue that “the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham” (4:16). See

And so, he declares that “you have died to the law through the body of Christ, so that you may belong to another, to him who has been raised from the dead” (7:4), and thus “we are discharged from the law” (7:6). Paul then demonstrates this in what immediately follows. The law is not sin in and of itself; and yet, “if it had not been for the law, I would not have known sin” (7:6). This is seen, first, through the educational function of the law, which teaches for example, about covetousness (7:7–8a).

Then Paul notes that, paradoxically, the essential nature of the law reveals and activates sin (7:8b—10), so that “the very commandment which promised life proved to be death to me”, before he intensifies this with the claim that “sin, finding opportunity in the commandment, deceived me and by it killed me” (7:11).

He concludes this section with affirmation of the law as “holy, just, and good” (7:12), before clarifying that it was not the Law which brought death to him, but rather “it was sin … working death in me through what is good … through the commandment” (7:13). Paul has worked hard to differentiate sin from the Law; the one is evil, the other is good.

And yet, as he continues his diatribal discussion, more problems emerge (of course, since this is the nature of a diatribe!). Here is the dilemma: “we know that the law is spiritual; but I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin” (7:14). What follows is a foray into the murky mind of Paul, where, as he says, “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (7:15)—although he immediately attempts to excuse himself by stating that “it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me” (7:17).

That sits uncomfortably alongside Paul’s claim to the Galatians, that “it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me”, and thus, Paul now “lives to God” (Gal 2:19–20). In writing to the Romans, Paul claims that “nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh” (7:18), for it is “sin that dwells within me” (7:17, 20). The contradiction is confusing. What is the essential force that “lives within” Paul; it is Christ, as in Gal 2, or sin, as in Rom 7?

The confusion caused by “sin that dwells within me” (7:20) whilst still claiming that “I delight in the law of God in my inmost self” (7:22), drives Paul deeper into the hellenistic dualism, seeing “in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members” (7:23). No wonder he throws his hands up in despair, exclaiming, “wretched man that I am! who will rescue me from this body of death?” (7:24).

The argument runs a parallel course three times, as my schematic structuring (below) demonstrates. For each proposition that is put (introduced often by the Greek particle gar, “for”), a counter-proposition is offered (introduced by the Greek particle de, “but”).

Modern psychological insights have been used to dig deeper into what Paul writes in Romans 7. Paul appears to be fixated on his own self, using the Greek word egō many times (7:9, 10, 14, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, and 25). And the language of “sin” and “death” which runs through this chapter exacerbates the tendency to adopt this approach. Declaring that these malicious forces are at work within his inmost being appears to present Paul as a figure consumed with internal contradictions and unresolved tensions. In short, he is a prime candidate for psychological investigation, if not psychiatric intervention!

Who is the person, the egō, who is referenced in these verses? Some interpreters consider that Paul here is talking about his “old self”—the person he was before he encountered the risen Jesus and was commissioned for the task he now undertakes, as “apostle to the Gentiles”. This chapter, reflecting Paul the pious and intense Jew, living under the Law, desperately seeking to obey it in every detail, is thus contrasted with the following chapter, portraying Paul the apostle, fervent and passionate for the mission he is undertaking, freed from the Law and living in the liberty of divine grace.

That simplistic analysis, however, owes more to the 19th century Pietism that was driving interpreters of that time, who considered the Christian life inevitably involved a fierce inner struggle with sin which fermented and eventually erupted into an existential crisis that would, hopefully, ultimately result in a decision to live a new, Christ-centered life. We can see how that dynamic can be extracted from Paul’s agonising words in Rom 7.

A second way of dealing with this chapter, by contrast, has been to claim that the struggle about which Paul here writes reflects precisely the struggle he was enduring after that dramatic encounter with Christ.

The commission that Paul received in that encounter is reported in graphic terms, many decades later, by Luke, who makes the moment into a grand call–and–commissioning scene (Acts 9:3–8; 22:6–11; 26:12–18). Of course, Luke was not present for this event, so he shaped in along the lines of classic call-and-commissioning narratives that existed in earlier Jewish writings. (I have explored this in detail in my commentary on Acts in the Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, 2003). In Paul’s own writings, by contrast, this mentioned only briefly, in passing (1 Cor 9:1 and Gal 1:1, 11–12).

Whatever took place in that encounter, it is clear that, as a believer, Paul was not exempt from the ongoing struggle between the desire to do what is pleasing to oneself, but is sinful (Rom 7), on the one hand; and on the other hand, the delight of living a life redeemed by grace (Rom 8). So the passage offered by this week’s lectionary (7:14–25a) is offered as a counterpoint to that which we have on the following Sunday (8:1–11).

This has been the line of interpretation advocated, to various degrees, by Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, and Calvin—but it has fallen into disfavour with contemporary interpreters, who see this as too simplistic and as presenting an unresolved and unintegrated egō. Surely Paul was not caught in that immature state?

So a third line of interpretation has been that Paul here is setting forth the general, universal condition of the human being. The egō is Paul’s way to talk about “all of us”, for we are all still wrestling with that key characteristic of the human condition: we all, each one of us, “do not do the good [we] want, but the evil [we] do not want is what [we] do” (7:19).

This interpretation was proposed by Kümmel and has been followed by Bultmann, Käsemann, and Dunn, amongst others. Dunn argues that the struggle of Rom 7 provides the key to the argument developed by Paul throughout Rom 5—8 as a whole.

Beyond that, Kristen Stendhal has mounted a persuasive case, that the egō of Rom 7 should not be connected with Paul’s inner being, but rather with the broader issue to which Paul is addressing himself throughout the whole letter of Romans—what place does the Law have in the new community of faith, where both Jews and Gentiles are sharing together in fellowship? How might the demands of the Law function within such a context?

It’s a proposal that I find attractive and helpful, for indeed that broader question is what Paul comes back to in 8:1–8, and then in 9:30–33, 10:1–4, and 11:25–32; and finally in 13:8–10. The egō of Rom 7 is not the last word on this matter; Paul has “yet more light and truth to break forth” on this complex matter!

*****

You can look ahead to what I have to say about some of those passages, at

A ring on her nose, and bracelets on her arms (Gen 24; Pentecost 6A)

For this coming Sunday, the lectionary provides us with part of a larger story from the section of Genesis dealing with Abraham (Gen 24:34–38, 42–49, 58–67). As Abraham’s son Isaac comes to age, Abraham knows that there is a need to find him a wife.

Abraham now appears not to be living with his wife, Sarah—he is in Beersheba, with his servants (22:19) whilst Sarah remains at Hebron, where she dies (23:1–2). Was this because of the tension that grew between the patriarch and the matriarch after he had almost sacrificed his son? This is the story we read last week; see

Tensions were already evident earlier in the story, when Sarah had banished Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness of Beersheba (21:10–14). To send them on their way, Abraham made sure that they had bread and water to sustain them in the wilderness (21:14). We do not see Abraham and Sarah together again in the story. In discussing this with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, last week, she proposed that Sarah was so upset with Abraham’s actions on Mount Mariah, threatening the life of their son Isaac (Gen 22:1–14), that she left him behind at Beersheba and moved to Hebron, some 42km to the north.

It is only on her death that Abraham travels to where Sarah had been living, in Hebron. Abraham sought to purchase a field there to serve as the burial place for Sarah. Ephron the Hittite, moved with compassion, wanted to gift him a field with a cave where Sarah’s body could be laid (23:7–12), but Abraham insisted and paid Ephron the value of the field, 400 shekels of silver (23:12–16). So he was doing the honourable thing for his wife after her death, even though there seems to have been a relationship breakdown prior to this.

Despite the fact that he willingly enters into these dealings with the Hittites in Beersheba, and the fact that he had earlier entered into a covenant with Abimelech, King of Gerar, a Philistine (21:22–34), Abraham is now concerned that Isaac not marry locally, to a Canaanite, but that a wife be found for him in “my country” and amongst “my people”, as he instructs his servant (24:4–5).

We may perhaps know of people who share that desire that their children not marry “foreigners”, but find a partner from amongst their own. So it is an ancient story with very modern resonances. Marlene Andrews, Church leader at Ngukurr, shares her perspective on this passage in the current issue of With Love to the World, a daily Bible study resource.

(Ngukurr is a town of about 1,000 people, located about 330 kilometres south-east of Katherine on the Roper Highway. Ngukurr is one of the largest Aboriginal communities in the Roper Gulf region.)

She says: “This story is about Abraham, his son. Abraham wanted the best for his son in marriage. Abraham knew that God was with him at the time of his decision-making. Abraham was faithful to God’s calling. Abraham knew how to go about finding a good wife for his son, Isaac. It was important that his son’s wife came from Abraham’s country. That is where Abraham came from, and where he wanted his son to connect to. Abraham knew the culture and the background of his people. Abraham knew in finding a wife for his son, she had to come from his homeland.”

The marriage is arranged, at a distance, by Abraham. Isaac plays no part in the whole saga that is recounted in detail in Genesis 24. Abraham sends his servant all the way north to a well near the city of Nahor, which was back in Aramea, the homeland of Abraham. This was in the area we know as the Fertile Crescent, in between the two rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates (24:10). The well near Nahor becomes the location for the match-making that Abraham undertakes, through the servant whom he sent there (24:10–14).

Isaac will, much later in time, notice Rebekah, the daughter of Bethuel, “son of Milcah, the wife of Nahor, Abraham’s brother” (24:15), but this is not until the story has almost come to its close (24:62–67). It is understandable that Isaac was agreeable to the arrangement that his father had made, for “the girl was very fair to look upon, a virgin, whom no man had known” (24:16).

This last comment is important, in the light of the drastic provision in the Torah that, if evidence of the young woman’s virginity is lacking, “they shall bring the young woman out to the entrance of her father’s house and the men of her town shall stone her to death, because she committed a disgraceful act in Israel by prostituting herself in her father’s house” (Deut 22:21).

Reckoning that the woman was able to be considered for marriage (we have to trust the insight of the narrator at this point), the servant was prepared for what he hoped would transpire; he had with him “a gold nose-ring weighing a half shekel, and two bracelets for her arms weighing ten gold shekels” (24:22).

After Rebekah has brought her brother Laban into the story (24:28–29), and he noticed the nose-ring and bracelets (24:30), he offered hospitality to the servant, which was duly accepted (24:31–33). The purpose of the nose-ring and bracelets is then revealed—although surely those who heard this story in antiquity would be well aware of their significance. Brokering a marriage is the clear intention (24:34–41).

The woman had had a ring placed in her nose, and bracelets put around her arms (24:47); the action presumably took place at 24:22–27, although it was not explicitly narrated there. The ring and bracelets were obviously the custom for women in the time when the story was initially told, and they held their place within the story as it was passed down from generation to generation, even if customs may have changed.

Marriage customs do vary across time and place, from one culture to another. What held in the days of the patriarchs (or, at least, in the days in ancient Israel when people told stories about how they imagined things were in the “olden days” of the patriarchs) does not necessarily hold good for our time, today. A story of a man who married a woman so that, after a prescribed period of time (seven years!) he could marry her sister, as was the case with Jacob, Rachel, and Leah (Gen 29–30), for instance, would not hold today! And whilst rings remain the most common sign of a marriage, they are placed around fingers, and not into noses, in most modern cultures!

So Isaac, eventually, enters the story (some 47 verses after Rebekah was first introduced!). He notices, first, the camels which had come all the way from Nahor to the Negeb (24:62–63); and then, “Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent; he took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her” (24:67). All is well, that ends well—thanks to the well!

However, even though Isaac had never been to the well at Nahor where the marriage agreement was made, this well was the first of a number of wells where marriages were negotiated and confirmed within the sagas of ancient Israel. Jacob met his wife-to-be, Rachel, beside a well in Canaan, later Samaria (Gen 29:1–3). Moses, when travelling in Midian, “sat down by a well”, where, in due time, the local priest Jethro gave one of his daughters, Zipporah, to Moses in marriage (Exod 2:15–21).

The well in Canaan, known as Jacob’s well, is much later on the location for another famous encounter, between Jesus of Nazareth and an unnamed woman of Samaria (John 4:4–30)—although no marriage resulted from this encounter!

The two marriages, of the son and grandson of Abraham, which resulted from encounters beside the two wells, are important, for they demonstrate that the promise made to Abraham, of many descendants who will be blessed by God (Gen 12:2–3), will be guaranteed. Sure enough, Isaac and Rebekah produce twin boys, Esau and Jacob; and Jacob, in turn, is the father of twelve sons, whose names provide the identification of the twelve tribes of Israel. So these wells are integral to the divine promise!

Isaac was the son of Abraham; Rebekah was the granddaughter of Nahor, the brother of Abraham; so they were cousins. Tracy M. Lemos, Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible and ancient Near Eastern language and literature in the Faculty of Theology of Huron University College at Western University in London, Ontario, writes in Bible Odyssey that “Biblical texts make clear that marriages between cousins were strongly preferred”. She continues, “different Israelite communities and authors had diverse viewpoints on marriage and that Israelite viewpoints evolved over time”. See

https://www.bibleodyssey.org/passages/related-articles/weddings-and-marriage-traditions-in-ancient-israel/

The conclusion of Prof. Lemos, that “many biblical customs would be unfamiliar or even objectionable to many people living in western societies today”, certainly stands with regard to the passage we are offered for this coming Sunday. The detailed story that is told in Gen 24 is a fascinating insight into another world, another time, another culture. Yet it is part of our shared heritage, as Jews and Christians, in the modern era. It is good to hear the story, once again, as the lectionary offers it to us this Sunday.

She laughed. But what else do we know about Sarah? (Gen 11–23, for Pentecost 6A)

We know that “she laughed”. And that she produced a miracle baby at the ripe old age of 90 (or so it is said). But what else do we know about Sarah? Before she disappears from view in the Hebrew Scripture passages that the lectionary is offering us, let’s spend some time thinking about Sarah.

During this season after Pentecost, the lectionary has been offering us stories selected from the ancestral sagas of Israel, tracing the way that the promise to Abraham—“I will make of you a great nation” (Gen 12:1), “look toward heaven and count the stars … so shall your descendants be” (Gen 15:5)—was able to come to fruition.

Over successive Sundays, we have read of the call to Abram (ch.12), the promise of a child to Sarah (ch.18), the banishment of Abraham’s son through his slave girl Hagar (ch.21), the near-sacrifice of the preferred son, Isaac (ch.22), and the manoeuvring by Abraham to ensure a wife for Isaac who is of “my country and my kindred” (ch.24).

In future Sundays, we move on to stories about the twin boys born to Isaac and his wife Rebekah (ch.25), Jacob’s dream at the Jabbok (ch.28), Jacob and his marriages to, first Leah, and then Rachel (ch.29), and then the story of Jacob at Penuel, which explains how he had his name changed to Israel (ch.32). The story then focusses on one of Jacob’s twelve sons, Joseph, who is taken to Egypt (ch.37) and later saves his brothers during a famine (ch.45).

These stories—have you noticed?—follow the male line of descent, and place the male at the centre of the story. It is Abram’s call, Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac, Isaac who needs a wife, Jacob who has a dream, Jacob who obtains two wives, Jacob who wrestled with God, and Joseph who becomes the saviour of his brothers.

What role is played by the women in the story? We do know the names of the matriarchs—Sarah, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel—and they do figure in the stories; but the focus is quite patriarchal, as would befit the nature of ancient society.

Sarah, whom we meet initially as Sarai (11:29), is essential to the storyline at various points; and she has come to be venerated alongside Abraham in later traditions. Paul refers to her as the means by which God’s promise is fulfilled (Rom 9:9) and he even offers her and Hagar together as providing an allegory for “the present Jerusalem, in slavery … and the Jerusalem above [who is] free, our mother” (Gal 4:21–26).

In the letter to the Hebrews, Sarah is named (in contrast to many other women) and takes her place alongside Abraham as part of “so great a cloud of witnesses” (Heb 12:1)—although all that is said of her is the stark declaration, “Sarah herself was barren” (Heb 11:11). The miracle, it would seem, was that “from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born” (Heb 11:12)—that is to say, it was the transformation of the “as good as dead Abraham” that is being celebrated here.

In 1 Peter, Sarah is put forward as one of the “holy women who hoped in God”—although, in this instance, what is said of her again mirrors the patriarchal dominance of society; “Sarah obeyed Abraham and called him lord. You have become her daughters as long as you do what is good and never let fears alarm you” (1 Pet 3:5–6).

It takes an exilic prophet, whose words were appended to the earlier scroll of Isaiah, to give Sarah (almost) equal billing with Abraham: “Listen to me, you that pursue righteousness, you that seek the Lord. Look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you; for he was but one when I called him, but I blessed him and made him many.” (Isa 51:1–2).

So, what do we know of Sarah from those ancestral narratives which were told by word of mouth, handed down the generations, and ultimately (sometime in the Exile in Babylon) written down in the form we now have them, in the scroll entitled Bereshit, which we know as the book of Genesis?

We meet Sarai (meaning “my princess”) in the list of descendants of Terah, the father of Abraham (Gen 11:29), although (as in the Hebrews reference) it is simply noted that “Sarai was barren; she had no child” (11:30). That’s a serious roadblock in a passage that is listing descendant upon descendant!

In that same passage, we are told that Sarai, daughter-in-law of Terra, accompanied the family when they journeyed from Ur of the Chaldeans to Haran, where they settled (11:31). The journey had been intended to go as far as Canaan; that would not take place until the Lord called Abram to “go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (12:1). Sarai is there, as well as Lot and his perpetually-unnamed wife, “and all the possessions that they had gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran” (12:5).

The next story involving Sarai is perplexing and disturbing. Because of a famine, Abram “went down to Egypt to reside there as an alien” (12:10). We know that Sarai accompanies him, because he forewarns her, “I know well that you are a woman beautiful in appearance; and when the Egyptians see you, they will say, ‘This is his wife’; then they will kill me, but they will let you live. Say you are my sister, so that it may go well with me because of you, and that my life may be spared on your account.” (12:11–13).

The story is repeated twice more in Genesis; once when Abraham repeats this ruse in Gerar, before King Abimelech (20:1–7), and again when Isaac tells the same Abimelech that Rebekah is his sister (26:6–11)! It seems that the fruit does not fall far from the tree; Isaac exactly replicates his father’s devious strategy.

In between those two instances of spousal deception in Gen 12 and Gen 20, Sarai has been the cause of plagues falling onto Pharaoh and his house (12:17), settled with her husband “by the oaks of Mamre, which are at Hebron” (13:1, 18), and presumably learnt from Abram about the covenant which the Lord made with him (15:1–21)—although the text is silent about where Sarai was as this revelation came to Abram.

Sarai is front and centre, however, in the next story told, as she offers her Egyptian slave-girl, Hagar, to Abram so that he might reproduce, and fulfil the divine promise (16:1–3). Tension between the servant girl and her mistress resulted, so “Sarai dealt harshly with her, and she [Hagar] ran away from her [Sarai]” (16:6). Eventually, an angel instructed Hagar to “return to your mistress, and submit to her” (16:9), so she did, and in time bore a child to Abram.

In the next story, the circumcision of Abram and “every male among you” (17:1–27), we might wonder what role was played by Sarai. Did she witness the ceremony? Did she and her women assist those who were subjected to this procedure? Certainly, in the midst of the conversation that Abram has with God at this time, both he and his wife are given new names: “no longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham” (17:5), and “as for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name” (17:15).

Abram, whose name describes his status in the story as “exalted ancestor”, will henceforth be known as Abraham, “ancestor of a multitude”, in keeping with the promise of God that “you shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations” (17:4), while Sarai, “my princess”, will henceforth be known simply as “princess”, without any inflection indicating that she is “owned” by anyone.

So Sarah takes her place at the centre of the story at this point. Her status as princess means that “she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her” (17:16), and the birth of a son, Isaac, is predicted (17:19) and his role in continuing the lineage is confirmed (17:20). That birth is again foreshadowed when three visitors stay with Abraham and Sarah at Mamre (18:10). Sarah’s sceptical laughter (18:12) was already prefigured in the name allocated to her son, Isaac—meaning “he laughs” (17:19).

Before Isaac is born, however, the terrible story of inhospitality and divine vengeance on Sodom and Gomorrah is told in some detail (18:16–19:29), and the origins of the southern neighbours of Israel, the Moabites and Ammonites, is told (19:30–38), as well as the deception of Abraham in Gerar, when he passes the pregnant Sarah off as his sister (20:1–7).

Then comes the birth of Isaac (21:2–3), after which she rejoices, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me” (21:6)—after which Sarah again orders Hagar, and also Ishmael, to depart into the wilderness. Sarah instructs Abraham to “cast out this slave woman with her son” (21:10); “the matter was very distressing to Abraham on account of his son” (21:11).

And so the schism between Abraham and Sarah is opened up; the events of the next incident, when Abraham takes Isaac to a mountain in Mariah, to sacrifice him (22:1–3), appear to seal the split. As I was talking with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, about this difficult story last week, she pointed out to me that we do not see Abraham and Sarah together in the same place after this.

Abraham now appears not to be living with his wife, Sarah—he is in Beersheba, with his servants (22:19) whilst Sarah remains at Hebron, where she dies (23:1–2). Was this because of the tension that grew between the patriarch and the matriarch after he had almost sacrificed his son? This is the story we read last week; see

Tensions were already evident earlier in the story, when Sarah had banished Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness of Beersheba (21:10–14). To send them on their way, Abraham made sure that they had bread and water to sustain them in the wilderness (21:14). As Elizabeth noted, we do not see Abraham and Sarah together again in the story.

It is only on her death that Abraham travels to where Sarah had been living, in Hebron, some 42km further north. Abraham sought to purchase a field there to serve as the burial place for Sarah. Ephron the Hittite, moved with compassion, wanted to gift him a field with a cave where Sarah’s body could be laid (23:7–12), but Abraham insisted and paid Ephron the value of the field, 400 shekels of silver (23:12–16). He dies at least honour her appropriately at the point of her death.

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Writing in My Jewish Learning, Jewish educator Rachael Gelfman Schultz notes that “Genesis contains the greatest concentration of female figures in the Bible (32 named and 46 unnamed women). The fact that Genesis consists of a series of family stories (including several genealogies) accounts for the remarkable concentration of female figures.” Sarah is an important figure in that list of women. Rabbinic tradition lists her among the seven women prophets, the others being Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah, and Esther.

See https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/sarah-in-the-bible/

Nissan Mindel, writing in Chabad.org, observes that “Sarah was just as great as Abraham. She had all the great qualities that Abraham had. She was wise and kind, and a prophetess. And G‑d told Abraham to do as she says.”

He describes the home that they made in Beersheba, noting that whilst Abraham received visitors, offered them hospitality, and conversed with them (following the pattern shown in Gen 18), “Sarai was busy with the women folk, and long after all visitors were gone, or had retired to sleep, Sarai would sit up in her tent, making dresses and things for the poor and needy.

“When everybody was fast asleep, there was still a candle burning in Sarai’s tent, where she was sitting doing some hand-work, or preparing food for the next day. So G‑d sent a special Cloud of Light to surround her tent. For miles and miles around, the Cloud of Glory could be seen hovering over Sarai’s tent, and everybody said, “’There dwells a woman of worth.’”

See https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/112057/jewish/Abraham-And-Sarah.htm

So there is much to value, and honour, about Sarah, princess, prophet, and matriarch supreme. We would do well not to overlook her, the matriarch of matriarchs, amidst the stories of the patriarchs.

Among egalitarian religious congregations of Jews throughout the world, the most popular addition to the traditional liturgy is the mention of the Matriarchs in birkat avot (the blessing of the ancestors), the opening blessing of the Amidah:

Praised are You, Adonai our God and God of our ancestors, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, God of Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, and Leah, great, mighty, awesome, exalted God who bestows lovingkindness, Creator of all. You remember the pious deeds of our ancestors and will send a redeemer to their children’s children because of Your loving nature.

https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/matriarchs-liturgical-and-theological-category