Tag: theology

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city gate into Jerusalem

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boaz at the city gate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

This is the same righteousness and justice that the prophets have declared in the streets and on the corners of their society. Amos calls for “justice and righteousness” (Amos 5:22). Micah asks the question, “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice?” (Mic 6:8). Through the prophet Hosea, the Lord God promises to Israel, “I will take you for my wife in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy” (Hos 2:19). Isaiah ends his famous love-song of of the vineyard by declaring that God “expected justice” (Isa 5:7).

In the exile, Ezekiel laments that “the sojourner suffers extortion in your midst; the fatherless and the widow are wronged in you” (Ezek 22:7). Jeremiah encourages the people of Jerusalem with a promise that God will allow them to continue to dwell in their land if they “do not oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow” (Jer 7:5–7). Second Isaiah foresees that the coming Servant “will bring forth justice to the nations” (Isa 42:1) and knows that God’s justice will be “a light to the peoples” (Isa 51:4).

Later, the words of Third Isaiah begin with a direct declaration, “maintain justice, and do what is right” (Isa 56:1); his mission is “to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners” (Isa 61:1), thereby demonstrating that “I the Lord love justice” (Isa 62:8).

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

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

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

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

You can read the full sermon by Elizabeth at

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See my reflections on the current situation in Gaza at

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and

Reading the crucifixion as a scene of public shaming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Solomon, by the photographer James C. Lewis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An envisaging of part of Solomon’s army

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

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

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

An imagining of Solomon’s Temple

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

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

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

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

Churches in rural areas across Australia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See also

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For previous blogs, see

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

and on the whole sequence of this chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See previous blogs at

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

and on the whole sequence of this chapter

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

Have mercy on me … wash me thoroughly … blot out my iniquities (Psalm 51; Pentecost 11B)

Last Sunday we heard the story of David’s adultery with Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:1–15). In the passage that we hear this Sunday (2 Sam 11:26—12:13), the prophet Nathan regales him with a tale of a rich man with “very many flocks and herds” and a poor man with “nothing but one little ewe lamb” who was much loved and was “like a daughter to him” (12:1–3).

See

Nathan’s story ends with a powerful punchline: “he took the poor man’s lamb, and prepared that for the guest who had come to him” (12:4). The point is clear; the rich man has acted unjustly. David immediately erupts in anger at the selfish acts of the rich man. “As the Lord lives”, he exclaims, “the man who has done this deserves to die” (12:5). And yet, after a lengthy diatribe from the prophet, speaking forth the word of the Lord to the king (12:7–14), David changes his tune.

Nathan confronts David

“I have sinned against the Lord”, David says to Nathan, who then reassures him, “now the Lord has put away your sin; you shall not die” (12:13). Nathan has executed his prophetic role with power: calling David to account. At least the king recognises his sin and repents. God both punishes and forgives him.

Reflecting on the nature of repentance, and forgiveness, we are led to ponder Psalm 51: “have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions”, the psalmist sings. The first half of this song (Ps 51:1–12) is offered by the lectionary as the Psalm for this coming Sunday.

The ascription at the head of this psalm makes the traditional connection with David (as is also the case with 72 other psalms in the book), and provides a specific occasion for the writing of this psalm: “when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba”. It would seem that the psalm first this occasion quite neatly.

This is one of a dozen psalms that each has an ascription which relates the particular song to an incident in David’s life: “when he fled from his son Absalom” (Ps 3; 2 Sam 15); “when the Lord delivered him from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul” (Ps 18; 2 Sam 22); “when he pretended to be insane before Abimelech, who drove him away, and he left” (Ps 34; 1 Sam 21); “when Doeg the Edomite had gone to Saul and told him, ‘David has gone to the house of Ahimelech’” (Ps 52; 1 Sam 22); “when the Ziphites had gone to Saul and said, ‘Is not David hiding among us?’” (Ps 54; 1 Sam 23); “when the Philistines had seized him in Gath” (Ps 56; 1 Sam 21); “when he had fled from Saul into the cave” (Ps 57; 1 Sam 22); “when he fought Aram Naharaim and Aram Zobah, and when Joab returned and struck down twelve thousand Edomites in the Valley of Salt” (Ps 60; 2 Sam 8); “when he was in the Desert of Judah” (Ps 63; 1 Sam 22–23); and “when he was in the cave” (Ps 142; 1 Sam 22).

Whether any of these ascriptions do report the actual incident that motivated the psalm—or whether the historical note was added subsequently by a later person, on the basis that “this seems to fit”—we cannot definitively say. So whether this particular ascription for Ps 51 is historically accurate or not, it does provide an appropriate insight into the emotions that the writer presents, on an occasion when deep grief and profound contrition appears to have been stirred up.

If this psalm was written by David after he had raped Bathsheba, it could well indicate a profound transformation, from the all-powerful monarch to the humbly repentant sinner. If it is (as many scholars believe, on the basis of language and style) a later exilic creation, it still expresses the inner this formation that can come to a person of faith when they understand the extent of their sin and seek the loving forgiveness of the Lord. In this latter case, it is a psalm for all of us, when confronted with our sinfulness, and challenged to repent. It is a song that envisages a thoroughgoing moral transformation.

Personally, I am sceptical about the historical value of this ascription. Aside from the specific linguistic criticisms that have been advanced, it does not sit well with the character of David as revealed elsewhere in the historical narratives of 1–2 Samuel. The scheming of the king and the aggression of David’s men in battle after battle, both before and after this incident, do not indicate someone with a deep reflective capacity or a totally transformed personality.

David rose to power, maintained his power, and consolidated his kingdom through brute military force in many battles over the years. His kingship was a reign of sheer power; he was a warrior king. I have surveyed the battles that David was engaged in throughout his time as king in an earlier blog; see

David took the stronghold of Zion, which is now the city of David (2 Sam 5; Pentecost 7B)

After his confrontation with Nathan, David continues in this vein; he goes on to conclude his war against the Ammonites (2 Sam 12:26–31), refuses to punish Amnon for his rape of Tamar (ch.13), did battle against Absalom when he usurped the throne (chs. 15—18), put down an uprising led by Sheba son of Bichri (ch.20), and fought various battles against the Gibeonites and the Philistines (ch.21) before he dies (1 Ki 2:10). His character as warrior king remains unabated.

It is true that after his confrontation with Nathan, David does show mercy to various men: first, to his third son, Absalom (ch.14), and then to Shimei son of Gera, Mephibosheth the grandson of Saul, and Barzillai the Gileadite (ch.19).

However, it is quite telling that the final remembrance of King David is the list of “the warriors of David” with recounting of some of their exploits (ch.23) and then the census that he ordered (24:1–9)—although this latter act was something that he immediately regretted (24:10). Nevertheless, it seems that his character remains consistent with the warrior king David who raped Bathsheba and ordered the death of Uriah the Hittite.

So is Psalm 51 an authentically Davidic expression of remorse and repentance? J. Richard Middleton believes that, whilst there are some indications that do link this psalm with the narrative of 2 Sam 11–12, there are a number of disjunctures. He outlines his case in a carefully-argued article that compares the two passages of scripture.

“A Psalm against David? A Canonical Reading of Psalm 15 as a Critique of David’s Inadequate Repentance in 2 Samuel 12” (ch.2, pp.26 in Explorations in Interdisciplinary Reading. Theological, Exegetical, and Reception-Historical Perspectives, ed. Robbie F. Castleman, Darian R. Lockett, and Stephen O. Presley; Pickwick, 2017). See https://jrichardmiddleton.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/middleton-a-psalm-against-david-explorations-in-interdisciplinary-reading-20171.pdf

First, Middleton notes that the psalmist pleads to be delivered from death (Ps 51:16), yet David is explicitly told he will not die (2 Sam 12:13). Second, the psalmist envisages that the process of forgiveness will be lengthy and repetitive (Ps 51:1–2, 7, 9), whilst David receives immediate forgiveness (2 Sam 12:13).

Third, the psalmist offers petitions for many different things, but David only “pleaded with God for [his] child; David fasted, and went in and lay all night on the ground” (2 Sam 12:16). Finally, whilst the psalmist confesses “against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight” (Ps 51:4), David’s sins (as I have noted in previous blogs) are against Bathsheba and Uriah, as well as “against the Lord” (2 Sam 12:13).

Middleton adds to this the observation that there is a noticeable dissonance between the prose narrative and the poetic song in terms of the extent of moral reformation that follows on from the confession of sin. The psalmist prays “in verse 10 for a pure heart and a steadfast spirit and in verse 12 for a willing spirit—a request that is related to God’s desire for faithfulness in the inner person (which was articulated in verse 6)”.

In contrast to this, Middleton argues (on p.39) that “not only is this request never voiced by the David of the Samuel narrative, it is (more importantly) never fulfilled in David’s life”. He notes that “the David of the narrative certainly has the broken spirit and broken and crushed heart that the psalmist says is a true, godly sacrifice in verse 17”, he nevertheless “does not get beyond this to the moral reformation of character presupposed in the psalm”.

Middleton deduces from this that “while the psalmist is broken and crushed in spirit prior to receiving forgiveness, and so pleads desperately for cleansing and restoration, the David of 2 Samuel is broken and crushed in spirit after receiving forgiveness and remains an ambivalent character for the rest of the Samuel” (p.40). So what the narrator has conveyed in the account of David’s rather knee-jerk (and perhaps superficial) response to Nathan’s confronting words indicates that he falls far short of the personal angst that led the author of Psalm 51 to a deep personal transformation.

Which means both, that we treat with caution the way that David is so lauded and exalted and painted in such a positive way in much of the 1–2 Samuel narrative; and that we appreciate the profound nature of the thoughts and feelings expressed by the psalmist (most likely NOT King David) in Psalm 51. It could well be a psalm that each one of us could pray, at an appropriate occasion.

See also

A new and right spirit (Ps 51; Lent 5B)

You are that man! (2 Sam 11–12; Pentecost 11B)

Last Sunday we heard the story of David’s adultery with Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:1–15). It’s a story that has been known and remembered through the ages—although it has often been badly misinterpreted, in explanations that “blame the woman” for what, in the text, is clearly a series of actions undertaken explicitly by the man who has power, the man who decides to “take” the woman.

As we have seen in previous blogs, the person who emerges with most integrity from the story of David’s adultery and murder is Bathsheba. In the custom of the day, she had no choice but to obey the King and allow him to “lie with her” and make her pregnant (11:4–5). Bathsheba fittingly mourns for her husband (11:26). She will remain faithful to David, as king, over the years, as well as to her child, Solomon, who later becomes king (from 2 Sam 11:27 through until 1 Kings 2).

David, by contrast, continues his unseemly behaviour. In the passage that we hear this Sunday (2 Sam 11:26—12:13), the prophet Nathan regales him with a tale of a rich man with “very many flocks and herds” and a poor man with “nothing but one little ewe lamb” who was much loved and was “like a daughter to him” (12:1–3). Nathan’s story ends with a powerful punchline: “he took the poor man’s lamb, and prepared that for the guest who had come to him” (12:4). The point is clear; the rich man has acted unjustly.

David immediately erupts in anger at the selfish acts of the rich man. “As the Lord lives”, he exclaims, “the man who has done this deserves to die” (12:5). As was to be expected of the king—who was execute justice in Israel (Ps 72:1; 99:4; 1 Ki 10:9)—punishment for this selfish deed was rightly to be implemented.

What provoked this strong response? The prophet has told the king a story which cut right to his heart. We recognise this story as a parable, perhaps the best-known of all parables in the Hebrew Scriptures. Jesus, we know, used parables as the chief means of his story-telling. A parable is a story told in a specific way, often to make a single clear point. Parables are conundrums. They contain unresolved tensions. They invite multiple understandings. They press for exploration and investigation.

The parable form used by Jesus has deep roots in Hebrew traditions. In Hebrew Scripture, there are examples of the short, sharp, pithy parables, often identified as a ḥidah, or riddle. A classic short, simple riddle is that spoken by Samson, “out of the eater came something to eat; out of the strong came something sweet” (Judg 14:14). The narrative comment that follows is delightful: “for three days they could not explain the riddle”!

Another example is the proverb quoted by two prophets, about the impact of the Exile: “the parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge” (Jer 31:29; Ezek 18:2). The point of this saying is clear and telling. Likewise, the point is conveyed directly when Hosea laments the rebellion of the people, describing them as “like a dove, silly and without sense”, and noting how the Lord will discipline them; “I will cast my net over them; I will bring them down like birds of the air” (Hos 7:11–12).

This is the classic form of a comparison, a mashal, in which one item is compared with another item. A parable, at its heart, is a comparison: “this is like that”.

There are also more extended parables, with multiple characters and an extended storyline, such as in the parable that Nathan tells David in 2 Sam 12. Often, the simple comparison that is intended is developed into an allegorical tale. In an allegory, particular individual features can play an independently figurative role, so that the story told becomes a kind of riddle which invites a response from the listener. “What do you think?” becomes the implied way that the allegory-riddle ends. Listening to the story is not enough—the listener needs to engage, enter the conundrum, make up their mind!

In Hebrew Scripture, the allegory of the Eagles and the Vine (Ezek 17:3–10) is described as both ḥidah (“riddle”) and mashal. The parable first describes “a great eagle, with great wings and long pinions”, who carried seed far away where it took root and became a vine (a classic symbol of Israel). It then offers a further description of “another great eagle, with great wings and much plumage”, which the teller of the parable fears may seek to uproot the vine. “When it is transplanted, will it thrive”, the parable ends (v.10)—will Israel, transplanted into exile, manage to survive that experience?

Further parable-riddles occur in subsequent chapters in Ezekiel. There is the Lamenting of the Lioness (Ezek 19:2–9) and the Transplanted Vine (Ezek 19:10–14), and the stories of the Harlot Sisters (ibid. 23:2–21). There is also one of my favourites, the very vivid—and gruesome—parable of the Cooking-Pot (Ezek 24:3b—5).

In this parable, the prophet warns the people of judgement: “set on the pot … pour in water … put in the pieces, the thigh and the shoulder … fill it with choice bones” (that is, the meat and bones of the Israelites being punished). The prophet concludes with a booming denunciation: “woe to the bloody city … the blood is shed inside it … to rouse my wrath, I have placed the blood she shed on on a bare rock” (Ezek 24:6–8, and then the metaphor extended still further in 24:9–14).

Each of these parables are clearly allegorical, in that the overall point is clear, and yet also the details in the story invite connection with specific people or events. Ezekiel is a powerful speaker, who utilises this dramatic story-form with great flair, and effect. So, too, is Nathan, in the passage we hear this Sunday; the simple comparison is advanced through the story, in which various elements correlate with the situation involving David and Bathsheba.

For more on parables, see the links at the end of this post.

Nathan’s confronting story cuts to the heart of David. As the prophet declares, the king has acted in exactly the way that the man in the story has acted. He is privileged and well-to-do, and yet he seeks more through his selfish actions; there is pure evil in what he has done. Nathan berates David at length (2 Sam 12:7–10), climaxing with the warning of the Lord, “I will raise up trouble against you from within your own house” (12:11–12).

So David retreats from his anger and backs down in repentance: “I have sinned against the Lord”, he says to Nathan, who then reassures him, “now the Lord has put away your sin; you shall not die” (12:13). Nathan has executed his prophetic role with power: he speaks forth the word of the Lord into the immediate situation, calling David to account. At least the king recognises his sin and repents. God both punishes and forgives him.

Writing in With Love to the World, Sarah Williamson characterises this as “a classic revenge tale”. She notes that “David has ruined a family by killing Uriah and taking Bathsheba as his wife” and that “the prophet Nathan helps David see what he has done and as he comes to face his actions, he is told that his first born child will suffer the consequences.”

“This reflects the punitive nature of ancient Israelite thinking”, Sarah writes; and yet, “it is possible to understand this story with a different angle”. She explains: “It shows that, even though we may be ‘forgiven’, as was David for his actions, so our choices are not without consequence.”

This then raises questions to consider: “Could God deliberately harm a child for the actions of a parent? What sort of understanding do we have about the forgiveness of God? Is forgiveness free or does a price need to be paid?” Her reflection is that “our poor judgments can have a generational power; that which the parents do can affect the children and generations to come”.

And so she concludes that this reading may be “an invitation to reflect on our own theology of forgiveness and the consequences of our actions. Perhaps we may invite the notion of grace into this space and ask, what sort of a God do I see in this story, and how does it fit with my own faith?”

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

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

The Jewish Virtual Library article on “Parable” can be found at https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/parable

For further reading on parables in the rabbinic tradition, see

Click to access rabinnic-parables.pdf

https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/11898-parable

https://www.jerusalemperspective.com/2721/

See also

Bathsheba: “she was very beautiful” (2 Sam 11; Pentecost 10B)
David: “bring her to me, set him in the front of the fighting” (2 Sam 11; Pentecost 10B)

Controversy, Context, and Creativity in the Paris 2024 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony

There has been Controversy over the last day or so about elements in the long Opening Ceremony for the 2024 Olympic Games, being held in Paris. One focus of Controversy has been a scene which critics have said was disrespectful to “the Last Supper”. But was it?

Context is important. That could not have been made clearer from the controversy around this scene. First, the Context was one of Creativity. The whole long sequence of singers, dancers, and musicians was one that creatively represented things which were important in French life. There were some fascinatingly creative takes on many aspects of French life; the whole sequence proceeded through a consideration of Liberté (liberty), Égalité (equality), Fraternité (fraternity), Sororité (sorority, and obvious contemporary addition) and, for the context, Sportif/Sportive (sportsmanship).

Amongst the scenes was one which was seen by some to be poking fun at the famous portrayal of The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. But Context is important. The string of characters allegedly sitting along a table were actually spectators at a fashion parade—they are standing (at a lower level) on one side of the catwalk. Later in the sequence, models dressed in various clothes do actually walk along the catwalk. There are more than a dozen characters there. And, in fact, there are people on both sides of the catwalk, watching the models as they walk up and down. There’s no way it was a table setting,

And the person at the centre who allegedly had a halo, in the mode of Jesus, was actually the disc jockey, all dolled up for the occasion with a spectacular costume, spinning the discs as the models walked by. A careful examination of a still focussed on this character reinforces this view. It’s an expression of Creativity!

And besides all that, Context is important—for the alleged scene painted by da Vinci, with the apostles surrounding Jesus, seated at a table, along one side of the table, dressed in medieval garb, is a Creative take, paying attention to the Context in which it was painted, of that central scene. In fact, historically the scene would have been of Jesus (sans halo), surrounded by male and female followers (not only the twelve men), reclining (not sitting) around a table (not just on one side of the table), dressed in first century Jewish garb (not medieval dress), with children also present (since the Passover meal, assuming that was what was happening, was a big family gathering).

Context is important. Historically, da Vinci’s scene is rubbish. Creatively, it gripped the imagination of people around the world, through the centuries. That’s what a good Creative work does!

And later, when the characters gathered around the catwalk group together around a figure clearly intended to be Dionysus, the recollection of an Ancient Greek Bacchanalia could not be clearer. There is a classic painting of a Bacchanalian Feast, a gathering of the gods, which is worthy of comparison.

There are similar arm placements, similar cavorting in front of the table. At this point, the Parisian scene had morphed into a direct reference to the feast of the gods. In the centre was Apollo, with his crown—that is mirrored in the Parisian scene. So, yes, there is a direct allusion to this scene!

And Context is the key here: for the ceremony opens the Olympic Games, a modern restitution of an ancient practice. And those Olympic Games, in antiquity, did include bacchanalian feats. People had travelled (by foot) from numerous cities, coming together to engage in athletic contests. Of course, they had to eat, and of course, those occasions were celebratory, freeflowing, and even libertine, in the grand tradition of ancient feasts. Once again, Context is important—although, obviously, Creativity was at work in this recreation.

So Controversy: take a back seat.
The moment belongs to Context …
and, especially, to Creativity!!!

*****

Here in Australia, some years ago, a number of artists were commissioned to paint a picture of the Last Supper which showed the historical reality that women were present. The winning artwork was by Margaret Ackland:

For years in my office, I had an artwork with a most creative “take” on the Last Supper on the wall. The work, by Australian artist Sam Waterhouse, is now on the wall above our dining room table in Dungog.

Addendum: As far as I can work out, the Scène de la Cène à Paris sur la Seine description was the creative inspiration of a headline writer in the French magazine Le Soir, wanting to draw the comparison with the Last Supper.

Thomas Jolly, the creative producer of this most controversial section of the extravaganza, has been very clear about his intentions. My Facebook friend Lance Lawton has provided an English translation of what Jolly said (in French) on a French tv interview spot when asked if he was referencing “la cène” (the last supper). Here it is:

https://www.fullofgraceandtruth.net/Wired-to-write/Entries/2024/7/all-at-sea-en-seine.html