Holy Week Preview

I’m still adjusting to the Synod’s liturgical change from a pure Palm Sunday to a Passion Sunday preceded by a Procession of Palms. Synod in its core meaning is “walking together” and I seriously attempt to do so. Part of the constitution of the Synod is both Article 3.7, “encourage congregations to strive for uniformity in church practice,” and Article 6.4, “exclusive use of doctrinally pure agenda, hymnbooks and catechisms in church and school.” Divergence isn’t necessarily heretical, but The Church is bigger than my personal feelings, wants or desires. After about a decade of denial and anger that they had changed it, and a year or two of bargaining, I just accepted the Sunday of Palms and Passion. But accepting that liturgical change on one day in Holy Week, I’ve started to think causes ripples in the entire week.

The biggest one is on Good Friday. My practice before – which is an option in the approved Altar Book – was the collective congregational reading of the passion story in the form of the Tenebrae service. Tenebrae is that service with the steady dowsing of the lights. It was not so much the theatrical elements, although those are fine, but the collective reading of the story. The Passion story is the core memory of all believers. That Good Friday service was a yearly remembrance almost like the Jewish Passover meal. But when you’ve read at least a good part of that on the Sunday prior, just repeating it seemed off.

But there is a very similar Good Friday service – maybe the actual origin of that Tenebrae – that is not about the entire passion – everything from after the Supper to Christ’s burial – but has a much tighter focus. Jesus across the four gospels says seven (7) things from the cross. It is often called the Seven Words from the Cross, or the Seven Last Words. This tighter focus also has roots deep into the Christian past. There are significant musical setting in Latin from the 1500’s, German settings from the 1600’s solidly post Reformation, with maybe Haydn’s 1787 work being the standout. There is also a pop version. Andrew Lloyd Webber kinda ends Jesus Christ Superstar with the seven words.

So, this Holy Week, this is what you can expect. Today, Palms and Passion, is the expansive view of everything. From the crowds singing Hosanna to shouting crucify. From the angst of the Chief Priests, “See the world has gone after him.” To their cruelty mocking him on the cross in what they think is their triumph. From all the disciples gathered to all of them scattered. From the life of a victory parade, to the hurried march to placement in the tomb. Palms and Passion becomes a story of contrasts. What does faith see in the entire scene?

Thursday, Maundy Thursday, is the institution of the Supper. Maybe it is just that I haven’t contemplated it yet. There is another tradition for this night, that of foot-washing. The Maundy comes from Latin Mandatum, mandate or command. The foot-washing is usually paired with the command to “love one another as I have loved you.” But that foot-washing scene is not that one that Jesus tells us to keep doing. On that night he says “do this in remembrance of me,” the this being the Supper. And in a Synod that attempts to hang onto closed communion – the Supper being for those who are baptized and profess belief – a yearly ceremonial focusing on the supper alone seems appropriate.

And Good Friday will maintain the Tenebrae, the dowsing of the lights structure, but it will be focused around those Seven Last Words. And our Hymnbook includes a hymn meditation to go along with them, LSB 447 Jesus, in Your Dying Woes. Having done the Seven Words a couple of times, I think you might be surprised at the emotional effect of meditating on their simplicity. While being tied to the very specific day of Crucifixion, they speak directly to our wants and worries in a powerful way.

Son of Man

“Son of Man” is Jesus’ nickname for himself. There are lots of reasons that get floated. Typically the story goes something like this. “Christ” or “Messiah” was too loaded a term. It had come to mean expected earthly conquest and revenge leader. This is the thing that even the recent Dune movies pick up on most. Oppressed people looking for a promised leader that will lead them to victory and revenge. Jesus did not want to give any credence to that idea, so he chose a relatively obscure yet still messianic title. “Son of Man” was used by the prophet Daniel. “I saw in the night visions, and behold, with the clouds of heaven there came one like a son of man, and he came to the Ancient of Days and was presented before him. (Dan. 7:13 ESV).” That is the single verse the messianic claims for the title rest upon.

The phrase itself – “son of man” – is used 189 times in the Bible. The New Testament appearances are mostly in the Gospels and Jesus’ self-reference. The others are clearly referencing Jesus. The Old Testament uses the phrase 107 times. That Daniel verse being one. Many of the others are like it’s first use in Numbers, “God is not man, that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change his mind. (Num. 23:19 ESV)” – a poetic sobriquet for a human that often makes a great distinction between God and man. But what really sent me down this rabbit hole is that out of those 107 Old Testament uses of “son of man” Ezekiel uses is 93 times. And it is almost always a direct address. It is God speaking to his prophet. Like his first use of it. “And he said to me, “Son of man, stand on your feet, and I will speak with you.” (Ezek. 2:1 ESV).”

And I wish I could reproduce the effect for you of reading through the list. If you want, ask me for a print of all the verses in order. The effect is a building sense that God is not just talking to the prophet Ezekiel, but he is talking to The Prophet.

“Son of man, I send you to the people of Israel, to nations of rebels, who have rebelled against me. (Ezek. 2:3 ESV)”

“You, son of man, be not afraid of them, nor be afraid of their words (Ezek. 2:6 ESV)”

“Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel. (Ezek. 3:17 ESV)”

“And you, O son of man, behold, cords will be placed upon you, (Ezek. 3:25 ESV)”

The drumbeat continues through the chapters. Until you get to our Old Testament lesson today.

The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out in the Spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. And he led me around among them, and behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley, and behold, they were very dry. And he said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” (Ezek. 37:1-3 ESV)

Son of Man, can these bones live?

That’s the question, isn’t it? Death has had free reign, like US Air Power over Iran. Death can strafe where it wants to. It can drop bombs that make huge craters anywhere. It could even go nuclear if it so desired. And the bones of a thousand generations lie in the dust they came from. There were very many and they were very dry.

Son of Man, can these bones live?

The prophet Ezekiel answers the question in the only way he could – “LORD GOD, you know.” But what about The Prophet? Has The Prophet made up his mind? Can these bones live? Or is this all a grand but failed experiment?

God tells Ezekiel to prophesy – to preach – to the bones. “Hear the word of the LORD.” And the final word of the LORD in the vision is the promise. “You shall know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people…I have spoken, and I will do it, declares the LORD.”

Can these bones live?

Absolutely.

Contrarian Light

I don’t know if I was born a contrarian, or if I was nurtured into one. Like in most of these situations the real answer is probably a little of both. I don’t remember a time where my natural inclination wasn’t to go in the opposite direction of the hoard. At the same time I don’t exactly remember a time that my mother didn’t go her own way. Maybe my favorite story of that involves a water park. We had been begging all summer to go. This is extreme Northern Illinois, so June and July are the warm months. Early August would be fine, but you get a touch of fall in late August. Mom’s response in June and July and even early August was “the hottest time is the end of August.” Daughter of Southern Illinois that she was. Now I don’t exactly know what was on her mind, whether it was the last week of summer vacation, an empty park, or if Mom truly believed that August 29^th in Northern Illinois would be the best weather for a water park. But that is when we went. And when we set out the temperature read 59 F. I think it maxxed out about 73 F. And by shortly after noon, three bluish boys were asking, “Can we go home?” To which mom said “It’s perfect, enjoy the day.” We left shivering about 3:30 PM.

Our lectionary texts this week all hinge on light and darkness, on blindness and sight. And of the many biblical metaphors for justification, these are the one that I am least comfortable with. I also think they tend to be the ones that a lot of preachers instinctively reach for. And I don’t know if this is an example of my contrarian streak, or something more meaningful. But let’s walk through some of my hesitance with these metaphors.

First, light and darkness are absolutely good metaphors for what God has done in Christ. “For at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the World (Ephesians 5:8).” I think my contrarian take is rooted in the next verse. “Walk as children of the light…and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord (Ephesians 5:9).” I just have little confidence in our ability to discern light and darkness. There are lots of things that get sold as light, that turn out to be deep darkness. Our world is awash in them. It certainly doesn’t help that Satan can “disguise himself as an angel of light (2 Corinthian 11:14).” Discernment is something that takes a sanctified lifetime to build. And when and if you develop it, you probably find yourself surrounded by blind people who won’t listen.

That leads to my second misgiving. Isaiah 42 from which our Old Testament lesson comes from starts out with one of the servant songs. It is a song about the justice and rightness of what the servant of the Lord will accomplish and one of praise – “Sing to the LORD a new song (Isaiah 42:10)” – for the zeal with which he will accomplish everything. And the pinnacle of this is “I will turn the darkness before them into light (Isaiah 42:16).” But what does Israel do when this servant is sent? They remain deaf and blind. “Because he is righteous, the LORD has exalted his glorious law. (Isaiah. 42:21 NLT).” But, “who among you gave ear to this, will attend and listen for the time to come? (Isaiah 42:23).” And the answer is not many.

If I’m preaching in the metaphor of light and darkness, it is only on the most sure things. The starkest law where discernment is not exactly needed. “Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. (Ephesians 5:11).” The unfruitful works of darkness like murder, adultery, theft, false witness, envy. You can find other lists like the one in Ephesians 5:3-7, interestingly cut off by our lectionary reading. Or preaching the opposite, the clearest light as from the resurrection tomb.

And it is that resurrection light that anchors this metaphor. “Awake O Sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you (Ephesians 5:14).” The light is not our work. We are more like the moon in that we only reflect the light of the Son. It is God’s work to enlighten, the Spirit’s specifically. God has raised his Son that we might see him clearly. We might not see everything clearly, but we can see the Son.

Unscrupulous

In business grad school I had this professor who also happened to be an orthodox Jew. By orthodox I don’t mean Haredi, who are often like urban Amish, completely separate from society. He kept the Sabbath, he followed the kosher laws, he wore the yarmulke. It is that yarmulke that I am thinking about. Because one day in class he takes it off. Something that an Orthodox Jew should not do. He takes a minute to say exactly that, but also that it was the perfect example for the concept he was teaching. The concept happened to be a parabolic shape like an upside down yarmulke and that the operational point we were looking for was that local minimum, the bottom of the upside down hat. And he concluded that he supposed the Lord would forgive the trespass of going hatless because it was done for the mitzvah, the good work of teaching.

Now almost 30 years later I don’t remember much about that class, but I remember that episode. And I also suppose that entire lesson might have been planned around that. That a business operations professor also wanted to teach something about God to a group of students much more interested in money. Christian Mark tied it immediately to Jesus walking through the wheat fields plucking some grain, and Jesus being met at the Pharisee’s door with the man with dropsy. My Orthodox Jewish professor’s understand of God and the law seemed to mirror Jesus in that laws can conflict. The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. Hence if the choice was Sabbath or hunger – and we are not talking about fat Americans here who could almost all skip a meal or two – take care of the hunger. And the second one maybe even closer. If you have the ability to do the good work – like healing the man of dropsy – even if it breaks the sabbath, do it.

There is an old-fashioned word – scrupulosity – that catches what I’m thinking about. It is old fashioned because we are all antinomians now. We are very used to dismissing the law or saying it doesn’t apply for many and sundry reasons. But like my professor, that is a bad habit. He really considered the law before taking his yarmulke off. The law of God is good and wise and we should not be quick to dismiss it. But there is a ditch on the other side. Scrupulosity is something that has often been hurled at Martin Luther himself. The Table Talk has Luther being thrown out of the confessional by von Staupitz and told not to come back until he had committed an actual sin. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, but we can carry that fear too long. Fear is the beginning. Love and trust are the completion. The person afflicted with scrupulosity is always worried about the little things. Like tithing the mint and cumin (Matthew 23:23). And they might come to see God as the galactic accountant scrupulously counting each penny.

But that is not God’s self-revelation. God is rather unscrupulous. David, that horn-dog, is called a man after God’s own heart. God seems to have no problem calling prophetesses – like Deborah we studied on Wednesday – even through that would seem to cross a law or two. Or Jesus himself defending the work of picking grain on the Sabbath or healing the diseased man. The God who has revealed himself is one full of mercy and abounding in steadfast love. He is a God who is going to do His good work. A God of whom it is said it is his glory to overlook offense (Proverbs 19:11). A God who removes sin and remembers it no more. We have an unscrupulous God. One who forgives the sin while we are still sinners. One who quickly holds that love covers a multitude of sins. And whose great command is to love one another.

Golden Mean vs. All-In

The wisdom of the world is often expressed as the golden mean. The Oracle said, “nothing in excess.” Aristotle talked about virtue as the path between extremes. Courage was the virtue between recklessness and cowardice. And it is not just a western thing. The Buddhist might chart the middle path between existence and non-existence which was the expansion of the Buddha’s original rejection of both extreme asceticism (non-existence) and self-indulgence (too much existence). And you can even find it in Christian thought. For Aquinas and Dante the middle path is that between insufficient love and excessive love. In our love infatuated age it might be hard to imagine that second pole of excessive love. But think again of courage and recklessness. Isn’t recklessness an excessive love of risk? It is hard to outgrow old training so I return to a finance example. If one part of our society is engaged in the attempt to eliminate all risk, like shutting down all society for a virus, is not the other, invested in prop bets on Draft Kings and Crypto coins, running to an excess love of it?

And you would be a fool to completely reject the golden mean. But there is something in the spiritual life that speaks against it. Let’s describe it as submission and aggression. God says to Abram, “Go, from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land I will show you (Genesis 12:1).” It is the demand of absolute submission. Not much later God would ask Abram to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, the only child of that promise. And Jesus uses demands like this. “”If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:26 ).” Or speaking in a way that people responded – “this is a hard teaching, who can listen to it” – “”Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. (Jn. 6:53).” You shall have no other gods before me is a call for complete submission.

Yet that submission is aggressive, it is not passive. “Abram was 75 years old when he departed from Haran. And Abram took Sarai…and Lot…and all their possessions…and set out (Genesis 12:4-5).” Sarah when Isaac was born told Abraham to get rid of Hagar and Ishmael, and God told him to listen to his wife. Joshua was told to conquer the land and Israel was only rebuked when they didn’t go far enough. And like Abram who “journeyed on (Genesis 12:9),” Jesus “sets his face to go to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51).” Within Jesus’ prayer at Gethsemane “Lord, not my will, but thine be done” are both the absolute submission and the aggression.

I think there is something here of what we need. Occasionally it is the law which says do this. And the “this” is usually some virtue or some golden mean. The golden rule – “treat your neighbor as you would like to be treated” – is akin to that golden mean. If we all lived that way, we would have no problems. But we don’t live that way. And as much as the philosophers might agree in theory, in practice each one has their own list of virtues and their ordering. And when we find ourselves off the middle way, and the true path is lost, it takes something radical to restore us. It takes the One who “gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist (Romans 4:17).”

It is that One, who is not at all the middle way, but a jealous God, that we need. And who has shown up not walking a middle path dispensing wisdom like the Buddha, but setting his face for the cross. And it is that One who has given us a promise like Abram. The Kingdom is yours.

A Life Well Lived?

It is Lent, so I get to be a little more somber. And Satan’s big lie to Eve is the bald assertion that “you will not surely die.” And it is a completely unfair lie. Did Eve even have a concept of death? Or maybe a better way of expressing that would be that Eve only had a concept of death. The naked reality of it is not something she was acquainted with. So even if she had a concept, she was working in the realm of theory. And we all know what happens to theory when it meets reality.

I watched a recent interview with former Senator Ben Sasse. He is 54 years old, about the same age as I am. Also has three kids with the youngest being 15. This past December he was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer and given a plus/minus of 90 days. He has not “given up” as the saying goes. A podcast he is recording with another friend is entitled Not Dead Yet. He has turned himself over to an experimental treatment delivering massive amounts of chemo drugs (i.e. poison) to the cancer. But the reality is still the reality. Unlike my 80-something father whose pancreatic cancer was caught in nascent stages because his appendix just happened to go bad and the surgeon saw something, Mr. Sasse has it all over including in the spinal column which requires massive doses of morphine for the pain. The entire interview is worth your time to watch (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8MO-i3CBZQ, Uncommon Knowledge with Peter Robinson) and to listen to what he has to say. And I don’t pass it along lightly. He is that exceedingly rare voice who is honest enough with himself, and open enough to share, and verbal enough to express it. And his message is that most rare of things – good.

It got me thinking about comparable works on grief and death and advice to the living and they are rare. The poets have an advantage: John Donne’s Death Be Not Proud and Dana Gioia’s Planting a Sequoia come to mind. Both of those are by people who have a functional theology and are struggling to live it. From a different place of white hot rage Mary Karr’s Face Down. “What are you doing on this side of the dark?…” Now Ms. Karr also has a theology, or she did last I knew, but sometimes it takes a while to travel from head to heart.

The prose writers are at a disadvantage. I know quoting C.S. Lewis is getting to be a cliché, but A Grief Observed is without peer. Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy was maybe the first Christian work on the subject of “A Good Death” or “Advice for Living from those at Death’s Door” written as he awaited the carrying out of his death sentence. Any critique I have of it says more about me than the work, but it’s a bit too much consolation and philosophy, compared to Lewis who truly lets you in the door. There are some others. Richard John Neuhaus attempted it in As I Lay Dying. But he survived, and I always had a feeling he “knew” he would survive. He was already thinking about the book he could write as he lay dying. Tolstoy fans would put forward A Confession. Marcus Aurelius has portions in his Meditations. Simone Weil and Joan Didion both attempted and they have their adherents. But it is a hard thing to pull off. You have to be remote enough from yourself to think and translate, while being close enough to feel.

That is where Mr. Sasse’s interview excels. He has something to say while he is on death’s door. For all of us creatures of dust, who might want to gather our rosebuds while we may, it is worth your time.

Olympic Training

I love the Olympics. I’m happy that the Winter Olympics are the closest I get to snow anymore. But there are two things that only the Olympics portray clearly. The first thing is a law of the universe. There is always someone faster, and they are probably faster by a lot. For example take the 1000m speed skating final. American Jordan Stolz won it rather easily finishing a half second ahead of the silver medalist. That silver medalist himself was a half second ahead of the bronze. Now a half second may not sound like much, but that is roughly 8 meters behind which is 26 feet. The next half second differential brings you all the way down to 8^th place. The 2^nd best US athlete was 2.2s off or 111 feet. Now think of it this way. That silver medalist was from the Netherlands, a country of 18 million people whose national identity is based on speed skating – Hans Brinker and the silver skates. That guy had never lost a race in his life. He spent high school lapping people. Just to finish 26 feet behind the winner. The bronze medalist was from China, a country over a billion people. The fastest skater amongst a billion people about 50 feet in the ice-dust.

Now I point this power law nature of reality out for two reasons. The first is roughly akin to the 2^nd use of the law. There is obviously a futility built into the law. Everyone loses. Yes, someone wins. Jodan Stolz. He even broke the Olympic record. It might last 4 to 8 years. Someone will be faster. Everything won by the law fades. “All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away (1 Cor. 9:25 NLT).” But the second reason I point to this power law nature of reality is that not a single skater out there, even Daniel Milagros of Spain, last place 5 seconds or 230 feet behind would say all the preparation all the self-discipline of training was worthless. Yes, the law crushes us. There is always someone faster. But there is also something good in it. We know where we stand. We have done our duty to the best of our ability. We have run the race.

Now the apostle Paul – himself seemingly a fan of the games – turns our turns out attention from their race to ours. “All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize. (1 Cor. 9:25 NLT)” If those athletes compete with such vigor for something that is gone tomorrow – Eric Heiden was in attendance at Stolz’s race. Does anyone remember what Eric did? – if they do it with joy for a prize that will fade away, should we not equal that for an eternal prize?

Now a good Lutheran might be turning this argument back to the futility of the law. According to the law we all lose. And the apostle has not suddenly become a Pelagian. His point is more subtle. There is a personal factor in it. “I discipline my body like an athlete, training it to do what it should. Otherwise, I fear that after preaching to others I myself might be disqualified. (1 Cor. 9:27 NLT).” But he universalizes that personal factor. “I don’t want you to forget, dear brothers and sisters, about our ancestors in the wilderness long ago. All of them were guided by a cloud that moved ahead of them, and all of them walked through the sea on dry ground,,, (1 Cor. 10:1 NLT).” Paul is pointing to the experience of Israel after the Exodus. God with grace and power and love had freed them from the house of slavey. They were baptized in the Sea and ate the spiritual food (manna) and drink the water from the rock which was Christ. Paul’s laying out the similarity. You were baptized and you have tasted the body and blood of Christ. “Yet God was not pleased with most of them, and their bodies were scattered in the wilderness. (1 Cor. 10:5 NLT).” They disqualified themselves.

The Corinthians that Paul was writing too were all about their freedom in the gospel. Yet they were neglecting their training. “You say, “I am allowed to do anything”– but not everything is good for you. You say, “I am allowed to do anything”– but not everything is beneficial. (1 Cor. 10:23 NLT).” It is not that the training saves us. It’s that we want to finish the race. There were two guys in that race who were disqualified (Gabriel Odor and Ziwan Lian). They impeded fellow racers in fact. Ziwan probably enough to deny another man a medal. The race is long. But we can’t let it sap us of the joy of being there. Because we run not for a wreath that fades, but an eternal one. A weight of glory which we can’t really measure today. Not the fading strains of the national anthem – which they don’t even show anymore. But the eternal music of the spheres.

What is a Fast?

Lent is still a little over a week away, but our Old Testament lesson is around the idea of fasting. Uniquely unsuited as I am to talk about fasting as the scale is long past a number I don’t like and is heading to don’t make me look at it territory. The idea of fasting has always taken up the same space in my head as how fast can I lose some weight? It’s a two for one deal, right? I lose weight and I get some spiritual rewards.

Even though I have much easier access to calories than the ancient Israelites, that two for one idea seems to be a human universal. The lesson (Isaiah 58:3-9) opens up with God quoting back to Israel their prayers. “Why have we fasted, and you not see? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you take no knowledge of it?” Already in the questions you can discern a dual purpose. The fast is not just a meaningful spiritual practice in itself, nor is it a fulfillment of the law, but it is carried out in order to capture God’s attention or favor. Hey, I fasted, why didn’t you give me some boon?

And God answers them. He calls out the multiplicity of their intentions. They fast, but they backfill the loss of food with some other pleasure. They give up a meal but take a meal from their workers. They cover quarrelling and fighting and injury with sackcloth. I think the modern word for this is virtue signals.

And then God pushes them. “Is such the fast that I choose?…Will you call this a fast, and a day acceptable to the LORD?” The outward signs are there: Humbling oneself, sackcloth and ashes, bowing with a low head. But does God want the outward signs? Does God need the outward signs? If you want God to see, is this what he is looking for?

The answer is of course no. Although Jesus might say something like: you ought to have done justice and mercy without neglecting the outward form (Matthew 23:23). God explains to them what acceptable fasting looks like. “This is the fast that I choose (Isaiah 58:6):” “loose the bonds of wickedness” which I would gloss as free people from Satan’s tyranny, “undo the straps of the yoke” which would be the proclamation of free grace, to “let the oppressed go free.” God has a right to eat from his creation. He made the vineyard or the garden. He has a right to the crop. But the LORD has broken the yoke. He fasts from his return and gives it to us freely. The kingdom is ours, and if the Kingdom is ours, will God not give us bread?

And since we have been given from the LORD’s fast freely, how should we act? “Is it not to share your bread with the hungry?…when you see the naked, to cover them, and not hide from your own flesh?” That last phrase I think captures something about our ways. When we see someone without, not because they are fasting or going without as a means of taming the body but because they just lack, what do we do? We turn away. We deny that this is our brother, our own flesh. We hide ourselves from such because the specter is too grim. It brings up our great fears. And the need makes demands from us. We are much more comfortable play-acting humility and obedience than doing it.

But this is the fasting that God is after. He has given us the largesse of his fast. And we are to share that with our neighbor. This is the fast that the LORD sees. A living out of the grace that we have been given. A love of all God’s creatures. A faith to walk humbly with God. “Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and he will say ‘Here I am.’”

Justice and Mercy

No, O people, the LORD has told you what is good, and this is what he requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God. – Micah. 6:8 NLT

He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? – Micah. 6:8 ESV

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God? – Micah. 6:8 KJV

If you’ve been in one of my bible studies you’ve probably caught my not-quite-rant about translations. It is a not-quite-rant because all of our translations are fine. You will get the meaning. But they tend to do one thing. They sand down distinctions. If you are doing woodwork, sanding things smooth is good. If you are doing words, it’s the distinctions that matter. And sometimes I wonder if the translation committees have read the bible. The only one I never wonder that about is the old King James. Those divines knew their Bible. They may not have always known their Hebrew or Greek that well. They certainly didn’t have that great work of 19^th and 20^th century scholarship – the compilation of every known manuscript. And their language is certainly dated today, but they knew their language which is still ours at a distance.

I fall into this not-quite-rant because our Old Testament lesson this week ends with one of the most quoted lines of the entire Old Testament. But the people who usually quote it, and the circumstances in which it is quoted, are often at odds with its true meaning.

The minor prophets, the 12 works collected at the end of our Old Testament, are compressed jewels from the beginning of the prophetic time until its close. Micah as a prophet overlaps Isaiah. He starts with the fall of the Northern Kingdom of Israel and by the end is looking at the fall of the Judah. And the charge in Micah 6 is Judah’s complaints against God. Judah is essentially saying to God, “What have you done for me lately?” And God has decided to respond. “O my people, what have I done to you? How have I wearied you? Answer me!” And the LORD recalls the highpoints of what he has done for them: redeemed you from the house of slavery, lead you to and gave you the promised land, brought blessings out of the mouths of those who wanted to curse you, gave you the sacrificial system yet not made that sacrificial system everything. “Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? (Micah 6:7).” And unlike the nations around them the LORD never requires your firstborn. The emphasis on all of this is the LORD has bestowed on his people his grace first. When they didn’t deserve anything, they were given it. And what does the LORD desire? The LORD insists that he has been clear.

Even if our translators have sanded things down they all get the question: What is good? “The LORD has told you what is good.” All the translations get that. What they mess up is the exquisite balance. The old King James gets it – “do justly, and love mercy.” There is always a tension between justice and mercy. Able’s blood for vengeance pleaded to the skies, but the blood of Jesus for our pardon cries, as the hymn puts it. And neither side is wrong. The LORD requires doing Justice. Contrary to the rioters in MN, we as a nation have laws that should be enforced – do justice. The LORD requires that we love mercy. Contrary to the harshest voices who would freely say “deport abuela,” we should love to temper that justice with mercy. And nobody has ever said this tension is easy to live or resolve. When you do not do justice – like leaving the borders open and letting in 20M people who do not have a legal right – you create a mess that compounds. And without someone desiring to grant mercy, you end up in the lex talionis where everyone loses eyes, or lives. With competing claims of “say her/his name.”

I’m sorry ESV, kindness doesn’t cut it. We are not asked to love kindness, but mercy. I’m sorry NLT, but “what is right” doesn’t cut it. We are asked to do justice. We ourselves have been given grace. What the LORD requires is not like that ancient law that kills. We walk in grace. In that tension of justice and mercy is how we humbly walk with God.

The Preaching of the Cross

1 Corinthians 1:18

(ESV) For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

(KJV) For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.

(NLT) The message of the cross is foolish to those who are headed for destruction! But we who are being saved know it is the very power of God.

Did you ever tell your kids to do something. It was somewhat complex so you had them repeat what you said back. They repeat it back fine and you leave for work. And then when you get home they have done something so mind bogglingly different you wonder if words mean the same thing? Maybe that is just a me thing, but I think it is a shared experience.

Even when you speak the same language, supposedly, and you are taking care in communication, exactly what is being said can be understood in different ways. Now layer on translation from one language to another. And I’m not rehearsing the difficulty to say it is impossible. We reverse the curse of Babel all the time. I’m thinking about this for three reasons.

In the young adult study on the Augsburg Confession, one of them asked a question roughly “why do we Lutherans make it so hard by disagreeing with everyone?” And the answer is not so much that we disagree with everyone, or that we make it rougher. It is that the Lutheran tradition has thought long and hard in multiple languages, and in our deepest doctrine we are trying to be exact. Because doctrine is like the answer book. You may not believe it just yet. You might not understand how you get there. But that is part of life. We believe things because we are told them all the time, and we set off to understand why or how.
Reversing the curse of Babel is the work of Pentecost. It is the work of the Holy Spirit. The Word goes out and it does not return empty because the Holy Spirit is at work in the world.
The deepest words are not given to us in words, but in the actions of a person. The person of Jesus Christ. The Word made flesh.

Up top I’ve put up three different English translations of the same verse. It’s a verse that is the Apostle Paul’s understanding of the gospel. It is preceded by Paul’s understanding of his purpose or mission. “For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power. (1 Cor. 1:17 ESV)” Paul was a preacher. A preacher might use philosophy on occasion, but the core of the apostle’s message didn’t need it – “not with eloquent wisdom.” The core of the message is the cross. The gospel is the message of the cross.

And that message…or the preaching…or the word…of the cross is always paradoxical. You can look at the cross and see another dead peasant who didn’t understand the way of the world. Pilate had rendered his judgement, and this is what always happens when you become inconvenient to power. Empire…power always wins. The cross is foolishness to those who are perishing. But if you have ears to hear the preaching. That cross is the power of God. The power of God that doesn’t work in a straightforward right-handed way, but it sneaks by with the left hand. It exposes the power of the world for what it is, that which would kill the innocent, even the innocent Son of God. And it proclaims the steadfast love of God for sinners. Behold, the lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.

For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is power of God.