In a March column from this year, the journalist Nicholas Kristof considers the transition from “ink on dead trees” journalism to online news. While it is possible to argue that proliferating online news exposes readers to a greater diversity of viewpoints, Kristof argues the opposite: “When we go online, each of us is our own editor, our own gatekeeper. We select the kind of news and opinions that we care most about. Nicholas Negroponte of M.I.T. has called this emerging news product "The Daily Me.”
Kristof goes on to describe a study in which Democrats and Republicans were both offered mailings purporting to contain political research. In the study, both sides were eager to see on the one hand, research that would confirm their own views, and on the other hand, “manifestly silly” arguments in favor of views they oppose.
Kristof’s conclusion is that it Americans increasingly live in insulated chambers, and that our access to media can reinforce, rather than puncture, social divisions. He cites statistics that almost half of Americans live in “landslide counties” that vote overwhelming Democrat or Republican: a change from the 60s and 70s. As a result, Kristof recommends that readers regularly engage with partners with views unlike their own, and ends with a joke that he is off to read the Wall Street Journal’s editorial page.
I submit that a similar dynamic can often play out in American Christian communities. One can imagine the above research study playing out along similar lines if “Evangelical” and “Liberal” were substituted for “Democratic” and “Republican.”
Continuing in 2 Corinthians, this week’s lectionary reading contains a passage that, like the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, has become a universal trope in the English language: the thorn in the side, or, depending on the translation, thorn in my flesh. The context, as I described earlier, is a series of letters to a Corinthian church in the wake of conflict. Paul sarcastically derides the “Super-Apostles” with whom he disagrees, and makes a series of appeals to mend the relationship with the Corinthians. We do not know exactly the nature of this conflict—Paul was writing to an audience familiar with the details, and thus does, like a character in a play, launch into a monologue answering the Who What When Where Why questions. Similarly, the nature of the “thorn in the flesh” is never made clear:
7To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. 10That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong (2 Corinthians 12, 7-10).
In the context of this passage, Paul is making an appeal for the legitimacy of his teaching. Just as Ezekiel does in the lectionary passage from Hebrew Scripture, Paul claims that he received divine revelation to validate the truth of his words. His rhetorical aim is: “don’t believe what these others (“Super-Apostles”) tell you; believe me.” While the context is not explicit, the book of Acts describes the kinds of conflict that early Christians faced; at one point, Paul argues that circumcision is not essential for those who want to follow Christ.
Yet Paul interrupts his description of visions, making an abrupt switch from the 3rd person to the 1st person. He emphasizes that he is not telling the Corinthians about his revelations just so they will admire him and think him extremely fortunate: “To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.”
While there has been much speculation as to the nature of the actual condition Paul refers to metaphorically as a thorn, it is simply not clarified in the letter. One possibility is that Paul is nursing an injury from physical abuse he survived on his missions. Just before this moment he writes, "Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep" 2 (Corinthians 11:25). However, the mysterious nature of the thorn invites readers who have undergone chronic pain of any kind to identify with Paul.
In an essay called The Bible and Suffering, Rev. Peter Gomes draws attention to the line in which Paul states that the thorn comes from “Satan,” not from God. Gomes describes how frustrating it can be for victims of a great loss when well-wishers come up and say, “This is God’s will.” He quotes a man who had undergone a great loss saying, “God was the first who cried.” Gomes writes of Paul, “The source of his trouble, whatever it is, is not God” (Gomes, 216, 218).
However, Paul is able to reinterpret his suffering. He perceives the thorn, not as a meaningless burden, but as a steady source of humility in the context of his mission. Paul’s thorn links him to the pain Christ endured on the cross:
“This is not suffering for sufferings sake; it is suffering for Christ’s sake, so that Paul and all who see and learn from him might learn of the strength that Christ supplies. We learn as well that God’s role is not to relieve suffering or to spare us from it, but to enable us to bear and endure it so that even our suffering is redemptive for ourselves and others” (Gomes, 218-219).
In the passage, Paul does not immediately accept his suffering. He describes appealing three times to God to relieve the thorn—implying faith that in some instances, God responds to prayer for healing. The many narratives in which Christ heals those who appeal to him arguably emboldened Paul to also ask directly for healing in prayer. Yet Paul does not understand the absence of relief from the thorn as a sign that God has abandoned him. Gomes writes,
“Thus, God will not interfere despite the three appeals of the apostle. Why not? So that Paul will learn that he can rely upon Christ when he needs him, that is, in his weakness. The sufferings, the persecutions, the calamities, the insults and hardships, all of these are not ends in themselves but means to a greater end, the demonstration that Christ gets us through such things” (Gomes, 219).
After reading Nicholas Kristof’s article about the polarization of American civic life, I decided to try harder to understand religious traditions outside my own, even if I do not share their beliefs. In the nonfiction book God’s Daughters: Evangelical Women and the Power of Submission, Marie Griffith describes her fieldwork attending meetings of Women’s Aglow Fellowship International, an interdenominational organization of charismatic Christian worshippers. While Griffith takes an analytical, academic approach in her project of describing the group to a larger audience, the portrait that emerges does not depict women who passively embrace second-class status in a religious patriarchy. This complexity is evident in the chapter discussing how members respond to sources of pain that, like Paul’s thorn, do not recede with prayer.
In one example with which I will conclude, Griffith describes the account of a young woman, “Joyce,” diagnosed with cancer. Although she and her family and friends pray for healing, her symptoms worsen. She describes how her faith helps her, not to heal her disease, but to take pleasure in the life she has that remains: ‘The difference is . . . I’m living again. I’m watching the flowers bloom. I’m hearing the birds sing. I’m cuddling (my children)” (Griffith, 90). Summarizing common themes that appear in the evangelical women’s accounts of suffering, Griffith writes,
“Here again, the lesson to be learned about faith is not about the fulfillment of physical healing but about accepting death and appreciating everyday pleasures in the meantime. Her wistful closing words about her husband and children, ‘And they will remember me when they laugh,’ are poignantly suggestive of the heartache entailed in forsaking her family for the promise of heaven, a task that Joyce suggests is ongoing and perhaps never wholly finished until death” (Griffith, 90).
Other lectionary readings for this week are: 2 Samuel 5: 1-5, 9-10 or Ezekiel 2:1-5; Mark 6: 1-13; and Psalm 48.
--Elizabeth Fels
Sources:
Gomes, Peter. The Good Book: Reading the Bible with Heart and Mind. HarperSanFrancisco: San Francisco, California, 1996.
Griffith, R. Marie. God’s Daughters: Evangelical Women and the Power of Submission. University of California Press: Berkeley, California, 2000.
Kristof, Nicholas. “The Daily Me,” published at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/19/opinion/19kristof.html?scp=2&sq=kristof%20wall%20street%20journal&st=cse
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
June 28: Wisdom, Theodicy, & Immortality
The two options for the Hebrew scripture reading for this week’s lectionary are 2 Samuel 1, 17-27, and The Wisdom of Solomon, 1:13-15 and 2:23-24. This week I will focus on the passages from The Wisdom of Solomon (Wisdom).
The books in the Biblegrouped under the heading “Wisdom Literature” are rich in poetry and lyricism. In the Protestant canon, these include Ecclesiastes, Job, and the Song of Solomon. The Wisdom of Solomon is in the Protestant Apocrypha, but it is a part of the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox canons. Books such as Ecclesiastes and Job stand out from other Hebrew Scripture books, as they do not include extended textual references to Israelite history. The literary form they take is that of poems and stories, without an explicit attempt to fit their narratives into the historical line of patriarchs and prophets like Abraham, Moses, Jacob, and David.
Two central motifs in The Wisdom of Solomon are “immortality” and “wisdom.” Although the author uses “Solomon” as a pseudonym, this book has been dated to approximately the first century BCE, or the early first century CE, after the Greco-Roman Empire extended into Mesopotamia. The editors of NOAB write that the book “reflects extensive interaction with Greek literary and philosophical conventions” (AP 70). For example, in Wisdom 8:7 the writer extols the four cardinal virtues recognized in Greek philosophy: self-control, prudence, courage, and justice. The opening chapters take the rhetorical structure of a diatribe used by Greek and Roman philosophers. A diatribe often features an extended argument with an enemy; in this case, the writer, contrasts the actions of those he calls wicked and those he calls righteous. The writer was likely a Jewish person addressing a community Jewish in exile to remind them of the core principles of their faith. He appropriates aspects of Greek culture to argue for the vitality of Judaism (AP 70-72).
In so doing, the writer elevates a term that is present in older Hebrew texts, although not heavily highlighted or laid out with clarity: the immortality of the soul.
. . . God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living.
For he created all things so that they might exist;
the generative forces of the world are wholesome,
and there is no destructive poison in them,
and the dominion of Hades is not on earth.
For righteousness is immortal. (1:13-15)
. . . for God created us for incorruption,
and made us in the image of his own eternity.
But through the devil’s envy death entered the world,
And those who belong to his company experience it. (2:23-24)
The book is written in Greek—we can see this even in translation, since in the passage above, the term Hades is used to describe what we would call hell. According to Greek mythological understanding, Hades was an underground, cavernous place where all souls went after death, in a comparatively emaciated, subdued existence compared to life on earth. Greek myths in which the location Hades figures prominently include the Orpheus narrative, in which Orpheus tries and fails to rescue his beloved from Hades, and the Persephone narrative, in which Ceres, the goddess of the harvest, succeeds in gaining her daughter’s freedom from Hades for half of each year, resulting in the changing seasons. In Hebrew texts, the term for what we call hell is Sheol. Sheol appears in the well-known passage from The Song of Solomon, not to be confused with The Wisdom of Solomon, that can be translated, “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is as strong as death, passion as fierce as the grave” (8:6).
In Greek, the noun for wisdom, Sophia, has a feminine gender. In the first chapter, the writer, like the writer of Proverbs, personifies wisdom in terms that can be described as human, and yet also evoke descriptions of the Holy Spirit, the third part of the Trinity: “. . . for wisdom will not enter a deceitful soul,” and “For wisdom is a kindly spirit . . .” (1:4, 6). There is similarity to the female personification of Wisdom in the first chapter of Proverbs:
Wisdom cries out in the streets,
in the squares she raises her voice.
At the busiest corner she cries out;
At the entrance of the city gates she speaks . . . (1:20-21).
The term “wisdom” has loomed large in political media recently, because of the attention given to Judge Sonia Sotomayor’s remark about a “wise Latina woman.” The controversy surrounded her hearing has given way to reflections of all stripes as to what, indeed, constitutes wisdom.
In Wisdom Ways, the feminist biblical scholar Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza describes it thus:
“Wisdom is a state of the human mind and spirit characterized by deep understanding and profound insight. It is elaborated as a quality possessed by the sages but also treasured as folk wisdom and wit. . . . Its root meaning comes to the fore in the Latin word sapientia, which is derived from the verb sapere=to taste and to savor something. . . . Wisdom, unlike intelligence, is not something with which a person is born. It comes only from living, from making mistakes and trying again and from listening to others who have made mistakes and tried to learn from them” (ESF, 23).
The picture of the Divine that emerges from the passages in the lectionary is absolutely not that of God who, from a vengeful perch on high, uses death as a means of punishing humans. The image is one of beneficence and generative power:
“God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living. For he created all things so that they might exist;
the generative forces of the world are wholesome . . .” The passage uses the motif that humans are made in the image of God: “for God created us for incorruption, and made us in the image of his own eternity.”
The Wisdom of Solomon as whole is noteworthy for the answer it gives to what is often called the theodicy problem, concerning the justice of God. For readers interested in learning more on this topic, I recommend C. S. Lewis’ book, The Problem of Pain. The philosophical question, simplistically formulated, is as follows: How can God be omnipotent and benevolent, when innocent beings suffer in the world? Either God must be A) benevolent but not omnipotent, B) omnipotent but unjust, or C) unjust and not omnipotent. Public acts of unprovoked suffering and death, such as the death of the girl Neda, cause many to consider this line of questioning.
The writer provides an answer to the theodicy problem through his explanation of immortality. In chapter 2, taking on the voice of the wicked lying in wait for a righteous man, the Wisdom author writes,
Let us test him with insult and torture,
so that we may find out how gentle he is,
and make trial of his forbearance.
Let us condemn him to a shameful death,
for, according to what he says, he will be protected. (1:19-20).
The answer of the Wisdom writer to this problem is formulated well by Michael Coogan:
“The doctrine of the immortality of the soul solves the problem of theodicy, of divine justice in this life: God will reward the good in the life to come. The wicked will have sided with death (who in 1:16 is almost a deity, like the Greek god Hades, the ruler of the underworld that has his name), but God has created life for the righteous, a life that is immortal. The way to achieve this eternal life is through the pursuit of wisdom, to which the author next turns” (Coogan, 521).
Other lectionary readings for this week are the following: Psalm 130 or Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43 (optional Psalm reading: Lamentations 3:23-33).
--Elizabeth Fels
Works Cited:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Coogan, Michael D. The Old Testament: a Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2006.
Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth. Wisdom Ways: Introducing Feminist Biblical Interpretation. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 2001.
The books in the Biblegrouped under the heading “Wisdom Literature” are rich in poetry and lyricism. In the Protestant canon, these include Ecclesiastes, Job, and the Song of Solomon. The Wisdom of Solomon is in the Protestant Apocrypha, but it is a part of the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox canons. Books such as Ecclesiastes and Job stand out from other Hebrew Scripture books, as they do not include extended textual references to Israelite history. The literary form they take is that of poems and stories, without an explicit attempt to fit their narratives into the historical line of patriarchs and prophets like Abraham, Moses, Jacob, and David.
Two central motifs in The Wisdom of Solomon are “immortality” and “wisdom.” Although the author uses “Solomon” as a pseudonym, this book has been dated to approximately the first century BCE, or the early first century CE, after the Greco-Roman Empire extended into Mesopotamia. The editors of NOAB write that the book “reflects extensive interaction with Greek literary and philosophical conventions” (AP 70). For example, in Wisdom 8:7 the writer extols the four cardinal virtues recognized in Greek philosophy: self-control, prudence, courage, and justice. The opening chapters take the rhetorical structure of a diatribe used by Greek and Roman philosophers. A diatribe often features an extended argument with an enemy; in this case, the writer, contrasts the actions of those he calls wicked and those he calls righteous. The writer was likely a Jewish person addressing a community Jewish in exile to remind them of the core principles of their faith. He appropriates aspects of Greek culture to argue for the vitality of Judaism (AP 70-72).
In so doing, the writer elevates a term that is present in older Hebrew texts, although not heavily highlighted or laid out with clarity: the immortality of the soul.
. . . God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living.
For he created all things so that they might exist;
the generative forces of the world are wholesome,
and there is no destructive poison in them,
and the dominion of Hades is not on earth.
For righteousness is immortal. (1:13-15)
. . . for God created us for incorruption,
and made us in the image of his own eternity.
But through the devil’s envy death entered the world,
And those who belong to his company experience it. (2:23-24)
The book is written in Greek—we can see this even in translation, since in the passage above, the term Hades is used to describe what we would call hell. According to Greek mythological understanding, Hades was an underground, cavernous place where all souls went after death, in a comparatively emaciated, subdued existence compared to life on earth. Greek myths in which the location Hades figures prominently include the Orpheus narrative, in which Orpheus tries and fails to rescue his beloved from Hades, and the Persephone narrative, in which Ceres, the goddess of the harvest, succeeds in gaining her daughter’s freedom from Hades for half of each year, resulting in the changing seasons. In Hebrew texts, the term for what we call hell is Sheol. Sheol appears in the well-known passage from The Song of Solomon, not to be confused with The Wisdom of Solomon, that can be translated, “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is as strong as death, passion as fierce as the grave” (8:6).
In Greek, the noun for wisdom, Sophia, has a feminine gender. In the first chapter, the writer, like the writer of Proverbs, personifies wisdom in terms that can be described as human, and yet also evoke descriptions of the Holy Spirit, the third part of the Trinity: “. . . for wisdom will not enter a deceitful soul,” and “For wisdom is a kindly spirit . . .” (1:4, 6). There is similarity to the female personification of Wisdom in the first chapter of Proverbs:
Wisdom cries out in the streets,
in the squares she raises her voice.
At the busiest corner she cries out;
At the entrance of the city gates she speaks . . . (1:20-21).
The term “wisdom” has loomed large in political media recently, because of the attention given to Judge Sonia Sotomayor’s remark about a “wise Latina woman.” The controversy surrounded her hearing has given way to reflections of all stripes as to what, indeed, constitutes wisdom.
In Wisdom Ways, the feminist biblical scholar Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza describes it thus:
“Wisdom is a state of the human mind and spirit characterized by deep understanding and profound insight. It is elaborated as a quality possessed by the sages but also treasured as folk wisdom and wit. . . . Its root meaning comes to the fore in the Latin word sapientia, which is derived from the verb sapere=to taste and to savor something. . . . Wisdom, unlike intelligence, is not something with which a person is born. It comes only from living, from making mistakes and trying again and from listening to others who have made mistakes and tried to learn from them” (ESF, 23).
The picture of the Divine that emerges from the passages in the lectionary is absolutely not that of God who, from a vengeful perch on high, uses death as a means of punishing humans. The image is one of beneficence and generative power:
“God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living. For he created all things so that they might exist;
the generative forces of the world are wholesome . . .” The passage uses the motif that humans are made in the image of God: “for God created us for incorruption, and made us in the image of his own eternity.”
The Wisdom of Solomon as whole is noteworthy for the answer it gives to what is often called the theodicy problem, concerning the justice of God. For readers interested in learning more on this topic, I recommend C. S. Lewis’ book, The Problem of Pain. The philosophical question, simplistically formulated, is as follows: How can God be omnipotent and benevolent, when innocent beings suffer in the world? Either God must be A) benevolent but not omnipotent, B) omnipotent but unjust, or C) unjust and not omnipotent. Public acts of unprovoked suffering and death, such as the death of the girl Neda, cause many to consider this line of questioning.
The writer provides an answer to the theodicy problem through his explanation of immortality. In chapter 2, taking on the voice of the wicked lying in wait for a righteous man, the Wisdom author writes,
Let us test him with insult and torture,
so that we may find out how gentle he is,
and make trial of his forbearance.
Let us condemn him to a shameful death,
for, according to what he says, he will be protected. (1:19-20).
The answer of the Wisdom writer to this problem is formulated well by Michael Coogan:
“The doctrine of the immortality of the soul solves the problem of theodicy, of divine justice in this life: God will reward the good in the life to come. The wicked will have sided with death (who in 1:16 is almost a deity, like the Greek god Hades, the ruler of the underworld that has his name), but God has created life for the righteous, a life that is immortal. The way to achieve this eternal life is through the pursuit of wisdom, to which the author next turns” (Coogan, 521).
Other lectionary readings for this week are the following: Psalm 130 or Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43 (optional Psalm reading: Lamentations 3:23-33).
--Elizabeth Fels
Works Cited:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Coogan, Michael D. The Old Testament: a Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2006.
Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth. Wisdom Ways: Introducing Feminist Biblical Interpretation. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 2001.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
June 21: Afflication and Consolation
In this entry I will focus on the lectionary reading passage 2 Corinthians 6:1-13.
In the letters dating from the 50s CE, Paul addresses a Christian community that he founded with assistance of Timothy, Priscilla, Aquila, and Phoebe. At that time, Corinth was a Greek metropolis of approximately 250,000, huge by the standards of that time. It was located by the isthmus running between Peloponnesus and the Greek mainland. To see a copyright-protected map of Corinth in relationship to other cities Paul visited, click on http://www.bible.org/assets/netbible/jp1.jpg.
Although the Romans had destroyed Corinth in 146 BCE for leading a rebellion, it was rebuilt in 44 BCE. According to NOAB, it was “a colony to which the Roman patricians sent surplus population from Rome itself, such as recently freed slaves, displaced peasants, and army veterans. Corinth quickly developed into a busy hub of east-west trade in the empire, and the center of Roman imperial culture in Greece” (NT 267).
As indicated in Acts 18:11, Paul organized gatherings in private homes in Corinth with the assistance of Timothy, Priscilla, Aquila, and Phoebe for approximately a year and a half (NT 267). The letters to the Corinthians are thus an indication of the leadership roles women took on in the early church, as well as the importance of what today are called house circles.
While I was living in Germany in 2006, on my way to watch friends compete in the German college debating championships, I met a young Iranian at a train station. Soccer’s World Cup was on, and I was thus able to recognize that the shirt he wore was an Iranian Jersey. As we talked about why we were living in Germany, Mahmoud, as he introduced himself, explained that he had been forced to immigrate after converting to Christianity.
Mahmoud described seeing American Christian programming on television, and writing the show to request a Bible in Persian. The organization he corresponded with sent him the Persian Bible, as well as music recordings. Mahmoud became a Christian and plugged himself into the underground Christian network in his home town, which, like Corinth in the 50s, organized through private gatherings in homes.
One night when Mahmoud hosted a Bible study at his house, he invited a Muslim friend, who made a video recording. The friend lived with his family; his father, upon finding this recording, turned it in to the police. Shortly later, officials arrived at Mahmoud’s house to arrest him, but he was not home at that time.
Mahmoud’s being away from his home during the arrest attempt possibly saved his life. In Iran, although it is not illegal to be a Christian, attempts to convert a Muslim, that is, actions that could be interpreted as proselytizing can be punished by execution. Mahmoud’s family told him to immediately leave for Turkey. Through Turkey he immigrated to Germany, where he found work at a carpet store. When I asked whether it was difficult for him to adjust to life in Germany, he seemed surprised; “Ich kann hier einfach beten,” he said, meaning, “I can simply pray here.”
Over the last days, I have been in touch with Iranian friends studying in Massachusetts who express frustration with the results of the election. They describe how Iranians are upset, both by the likelihood of a rigged voting process, and by the prospect of the leader least supportive of personal freedom and international peace efforts remaining in power.
Readers interested in reading an Iranian’s perspective on the election on Facebook can find commentary here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/note.php?note_id=111235289609&id=33821&ref=share
Stories like Mahmoud’s remind me of the difficulties early communities must have faced in the Roman Empire. As records of early Christian martyrs indicate, religious activity perceived as a threat to political authority in the Roman Empire could have been punished by death, by crucifixion (Jesus, Peter), or as public entertainment (http://www.christianitytoday.com/ch/131christians/martyrs/perpetua.html)
2 Corinthians, because of its fragmentary structure, has been described as a collection of letters Paul wrote to the Corinthian Christian community in response to a crisis. The nature of the crisis is not clearly spelled out, as it would have already been known to the audience (NAB). In the introduction to 2 Corinthians, the editor(s) of the New American Bible write,
“The letter is remarkable for its rhetoric. Paul falls naturally into the style and argumentation of contemporary philosophic preachers, employing with ease the stock devices of the ‘diatribe.’ By a barrage of questions, by challenges both serious and ironic, by paradox heaped upon paradox, even by insults hurled at his opponents, he strives to awaken in his hearers a true sense of values and an appropriate response. All his argument centers on the destiny of Jesus, in which a paradoxical reversal of values is revealed. But Paul appeals to his own personal experience as well” (usccb.org).
The passage reads as follows, from the NIV:
1As God's fellow workers we urge you not to receive God's grace in vain. 2For he says,
"In the time of my favor I heard you,
and in the day of salvation I helped you." I tell you, now is the time of God's favor, now is the day of salvation.
The phrase “the time of God’s favor” is a reference to Isaiah 49:8 in the Septuagint, or the Greek translation of Hebrew Scripture. The editors of NAB note that this phrase is parallel to “on the day of salvation.”
3We put no stumbling block in anyone's path, so that our ministry will not be discredited. 4Rather, as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: in great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; 5in beatings, imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger;
Paul makes an appeal to the Corinthians to see him as authentic, listing the suffering he has endured while trying to build up Christian communities and spread the Gospel. I once heard sermon in which the speaker explained how he would be afraid to face the trials Paul did, which included beatings and being imprisoned.
6in purity, understanding, patience and kindness; in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love; 7in truthful speech and in the power of God; with weapons of righteousness in the right hand and in the left; 8through glory and dishonor, bad report and good report; genuine, yet regarded as impostors; 9known, yet regarded as unknown; dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and yet not killed; 10sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything.
This passage powerfully builds on the theme which the NOAB commentary call “affliction and consolation,” begun in the first chapter and elaborated throughout the book (NT 293-294). Paul take up a motif one could trace back to the Sermon on the Mount, as well as to the “Inappropriate Heroes” of Hebrew Scripture like Gideon, of power located in weakness: God uses human weakness to showcase divine strength.
11We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians, and opened wide our hearts to you. 12We are not withholding our affection from you, but you are withholding yours from us. 13As a fair exchange—I speak as to my children—open wide your hearts also.
Other lectionary passages for this week include 1 Samuel 17:(1a, 4-11, 19-23), 32-49; Psalm 9:9-20; Mark 4:35-41.
Sources:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
New American Bible notes on 2 Corinthians. Published by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, and found on (http://www.usccb.org/nab/bible/2corinthians/2corinthians6.htm).
Xenos Christian Fellowship notes on 2 Corinthians (www.xenos.org).
In the letters dating from the 50s CE, Paul addresses a Christian community that he founded with assistance of Timothy, Priscilla, Aquila, and Phoebe. At that time, Corinth was a Greek metropolis of approximately 250,000, huge by the standards of that time. It was located by the isthmus running between Peloponnesus and the Greek mainland. To see a copyright-protected map of Corinth in relationship to other cities Paul visited, click on http://www.bible.org/assets/netbible/jp1.jpg.
Although the Romans had destroyed Corinth in 146 BCE for leading a rebellion, it was rebuilt in 44 BCE. According to NOAB, it was “a colony to which the Roman patricians sent surplus population from Rome itself, such as recently freed slaves, displaced peasants, and army veterans. Corinth quickly developed into a busy hub of east-west trade in the empire, and the center of Roman imperial culture in Greece” (NT 267).
As indicated in Acts 18:11, Paul organized gatherings in private homes in Corinth with the assistance of Timothy, Priscilla, Aquila, and Phoebe for approximately a year and a half (NT 267). The letters to the Corinthians are thus an indication of the leadership roles women took on in the early church, as well as the importance of what today are called house circles.
While I was living in Germany in 2006, on my way to watch friends compete in the German college debating championships, I met a young Iranian at a train station. Soccer’s World Cup was on, and I was thus able to recognize that the shirt he wore was an Iranian Jersey. As we talked about why we were living in Germany, Mahmoud, as he introduced himself, explained that he had been forced to immigrate after converting to Christianity.
Mahmoud described seeing American Christian programming on television, and writing the show to request a Bible in Persian. The organization he corresponded with sent him the Persian Bible, as well as music recordings. Mahmoud became a Christian and plugged himself into the underground Christian network in his home town, which, like Corinth in the 50s, organized through private gatherings in homes.
One night when Mahmoud hosted a Bible study at his house, he invited a Muslim friend, who made a video recording. The friend lived with his family; his father, upon finding this recording, turned it in to the police. Shortly later, officials arrived at Mahmoud’s house to arrest him, but he was not home at that time.
Mahmoud’s being away from his home during the arrest attempt possibly saved his life. In Iran, although it is not illegal to be a Christian, attempts to convert a Muslim, that is, actions that could be interpreted as proselytizing can be punished by execution. Mahmoud’s family told him to immediately leave for Turkey. Through Turkey he immigrated to Germany, where he found work at a carpet store. When I asked whether it was difficult for him to adjust to life in Germany, he seemed surprised; “Ich kann hier einfach beten,” he said, meaning, “I can simply pray here.”
Over the last days, I have been in touch with Iranian friends studying in Massachusetts who express frustration with the results of the election. They describe how Iranians are upset, both by the likelihood of a rigged voting process, and by the prospect of the leader least supportive of personal freedom and international peace efforts remaining in power.
Readers interested in reading an Iranian’s perspective on the election on Facebook can find commentary here: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/note.php?note_id=111235289609&id=33821&ref=share
Stories like Mahmoud’s remind me of the difficulties early communities must have faced in the Roman Empire. As records of early Christian martyrs indicate, religious activity perceived as a threat to political authority in the Roman Empire could have been punished by death, by crucifixion (Jesus, Peter), or as public entertainment (http://www.christianitytoday.com/ch/131christians/martyrs/perpetua.html)
2 Corinthians, because of its fragmentary structure, has been described as a collection of letters Paul wrote to the Corinthian Christian community in response to a crisis. The nature of the crisis is not clearly spelled out, as it would have already been known to the audience (NAB). In the introduction to 2 Corinthians, the editor(s) of the New American Bible write,
“The letter is remarkable for its rhetoric. Paul falls naturally into the style and argumentation of contemporary philosophic preachers, employing with ease the stock devices of the ‘diatribe.’ By a barrage of questions, by challenges both serious and ironic, by paradox heaped upon paradox, even by insults hurled at his opponents, he strives to awaken in his hearers a true sense of values and an appropriate response. All his argument centers on the destiny of Jesus, in which a paradoxical reversal of values is revealed. But Paul appeals to his own personal experience as well” (usccb.org).
The passage reads as follows, from the NIV:
1As God's fellow workers we urge you not to receive God's grace in vain. 2For he says,
"In the time of my favor I heard you,
and in the day of salvation I helped you." I tell you, now is the time of God's favor, now is the day of salvation.
The phrase “the time of God’s favor” is a reference to Isaiah 49:8 in the Septuagint, or the Greek translation of Hebrew Scripture. The editors of NAB note that this phrase is parallel to “on the day of salvation.”
3We put no stumbling block in anyone's path, so that our ministry will not be discredited. 4Rather, as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: in great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; 5in beatings, imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger;
Paul makes an appeal to the Corinthians to see him as authentic, listing the suffering he has endured while trying to build up Christian communities and spread the Gospel. I once heard sermon in which the speaker explained how he would be afraid to face the trials Paul did, which included beatings and being imprisoned.
6in purity, understanding, patience and kindness; in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love; 7in truthful speech and in the power of God; with weapons of righteousness in the right hand and in the left; 8through glory and dishonor, bad report and good report; genuine, yet regarded as impostors; 9known, yet regarded as unknown; dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and yet not killed; 10sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything.
This passage powerfully builds on the theme which the NOAB commentary call “affliction and consolation,” begun in the first chapter and elaborated throughout the book (NT 293-294). Paul take up a motif one could trace back to the Sermon on the Mount, as well as to the “Inappropriate Heroes” of Hebrew Scripture like Gideon, of power located in weakness: God uses human weakness to showcase divine strength.
11We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians, and opened wide our hearts to you. 12We are not withholding our affection from you, but you are withholding yours from us. 13As a fair exchange—I speak as to my children—open wide your hearts also.
Other lectionary passages for this week include 1 Samuel 17:(1a, 4-11, 19-23), 32-49; Psalm 9:9-20; Mark 4:35-41.
Sources:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
New American Bible notes on 2 Corinthians. Published by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, and found on (http://www.usccb.org/nab/bible/2corinthians/2corinthians6.htm).
Xenos Christian Fellowship notes on 2 Corinthians (www.xenos.org).
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
June 14th: Innappropriate Leaders
Then Samuel went to Ramah; and Saul went up to his house in Gibeah of Saul.
Samuel did not see Saul again until the day of his death, but Samuel grieved over Saul. And the LORD was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel. (1 Samuel 15: 34-35)
The passage, preceding the anointing of David, anthropomorphizes the divine. The authors of 1 Samuel, typically identified as the Deuteronomistic historians, do not portray God as omniscient, but as experiencing the emotion of regret to have made Saul the king of Israel. This odd moment at the start of Israel’s monarchic period arguably reflects tension, not just regarding Saul’s kingship in particular, but the concept of kingship itself that characterizes the book as a whole.
I Samuel is set during the time period in which the Philistines, after an unsuccessful naval attack on Egypt, settled along the coast of Israel. Building up cities at sites including modern-day Gaza and making use of fertile land along the plains, the Philistines began to launch military attacks on the Israelites who had already settled the hill country to the east.
Although the word “Philistine” today is used to refer to an uncouth, materialistic person who has no sensitivity to art or beauty (“What a Philistine!”), the actual Philistines came from Crete, leaving an archeological record of pottery in the style we associate today with ancient Greeks. Archeologists have found parts of war chariots dating from this time period in territory controlled by the Philistines, but in no adjoining lands, indicating their advanced military technology. The description of Goliath’s spear, armor, shield, and helmet in I Samuel 17 matches the archeological record of armor that Philistines used in battle.
A phrase that crops up in high school history class is “the divine right of kings.” Few countries today still have kings who wield tangible authority. Yet it is not difficult to point to recent leaders whose rhetoric implies a belief that their actions are not only politically justified, but imbued with a divine mandate. This particular passage, and the chapters succeeding it, offer a portrayal of a king who has lost what the authors refer to as “the spirit of the LORD,” and how the religious community deals with the ensuing conflict.
I Samuel, and this lectionary passage in particular, raise questions that are relevant in light of recent current events. For example: from where does a political ruler derive legitimacy? How might religious communities go about determining whether obeying the political ruler corresponds with right action? The crisis in I Samuel is not just one of military self-determination, but concerns the religious identity of the community. Rather than giving a clear-up, unambiguous answer to these questions, the authors offer a complex portrait of both the advantages and pitfalls of kingship.
Leading up to the introduction of monarchy in Israel, dated as approximately the end of the 11th century BCE for Saul’s reign and the beginning of the 10th for David’s, Israel was governed by what were called Judges. During the time of Judges, the Israelite tribes were a loose confederation rather than a unified power, and thus vulnerable to outside attack.
In her essay “There Were No Kings in Israel,” which takes its title from the phrase repeated in the book of Judges, Jo Ann Hackett characterizes premonarchic Israel as follows:
“. . . the lack of centralization of the society in religious, political, and military matters and the concomitant lack of a permanent administration, including a standing army . . . clarify one of the most interesting aspects in the book of judges as presented in the biblical text: the heroes themselves are often unlikely. In these contexts, women and outcast men can seize power that would be beyond their reach in a society ruled by a hereditary elite. The theological interpretation of this lack of a predicable organization and of the noticeable inappropriateness of many of the era’s leaders was that Israel’s only true leader was Yahweh . . .” (Hackett, 134).
Hackett calls attention to Gideon as an example of an “inappropriate leader” from this era. Like Moses protesting that he is not eloquent, when Gideon receives a divine calling, he protests that he is the least important member of the poorest clan (Hackett, 135). Yahweh’s response, “but I will be with you,” (Judges 6:16), indicates the theological point that humans cannot ensure victory themselves, but are instruments of Yahweh (Hackett, 135). After he has saved Israel, Gideon refuses to be made a king and start a dynasty (Hackett, 136).
In The People Called: the Growth of Community in the Bible, Paul Hanson describes how Israel’s origins as a group of liberated slaves, attributing their freedom to Yahweh’s gracious acts, rendered the community suspicious of kings. If escape from a system of kingship in Egypt hugely influenced the tribes’ identity, it stands to reason that distrust of absolute power would shape leadership structures. Hanson refers to Samuel’s angry reaction in I Samuel 8, when the Israelites beg for a king in order to fend off attackers. The rhetorical pattern Samuel uses is that if the Israelites elect a king, “He will take your X to be his Y.” The fear expressed is that the power inherent in the office of a king, even if it might result in short-term victory, will usher in a fundamental institutional change (Hanson, 93):
So Samuel reported all the words of the LORD to the people who were asking for a king. He said, these will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots . . . He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards . . . And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the LORD will not answer you. (1 Samuel 8:10-18).
In the passage from this week’s reading, David is described as coming from the same vein of “inappropriate leaders” Hackett describes. Receiving a directive from the LORD, Samuel goes to Jesse of Bethlehem to find a replacement for Saul. Jesse brings all of his sons before the esteemed judge and prophet except for the youngest, David, who is tending the sheep: “Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to Jesse, ‘The LORD has not chosen any of these’” (10). When Samuel sees David, he anoints him, and “the spirit of the LORD came mightily upon David from that day forward” (13).
Although the chapters immediately following portray David as a hero, rescuing the Israelites from the Philistines, later chapters show David indeed falling to temptations arguably foreshadowed by 1 Samuel 8. For example, he sleeps with a married woman, Bathsheba, and then intentionally sends her husband to the frontlines of battle where he is killed. The narrative of Tamar gives a negative portrayal of David as a father, unable to shield his daughter from rape or punish her rapist.
In closing, the chapter immediately preceding this week’s reading is likely to be extremely disturbing to modern readers. It puts forward a portrayal of God that many readers, including me, may reject as bloodthirsty, and refuse to claim as part of their community’s religious heritage. Virtually everyone who grew up attending Sunday School is familiar with the story of David and Goliath, and it is not unusual to conceptualize Saul as the “bad” king and David as the “good “king. Yet the reason the Deuteronomic authors give for Saul falling out of Yahweh’s favor is his hesitance to immediately kill all people and animals of the Amalekites. The following passage is worthwhile keeping in mind when “Amalekites” are mentioned in contexts of modern warfare:
Thus says the LORD of hosts, ‘I will punish the Amalekites for what they did in opposing the Israelites when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and attack Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have; do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey’ (1 Samuel 15:2-3).
Other readings for the lectionary this week are as follows: I Samuel 15:34-16:13; Psalm 20; II Cor 5:6-10; 14-17; Mark 4:26-34.
--Elizabeth Fels
Sources:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Hackett, Jo Ann. “There Was No King in Israel’: the Era of the Judges,” in Coogan, Michael D. The Oxford History of the Biblical World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998.
Hanson, Paul J. The People Called: the Growth of Community in the Bible. Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1986.
Samuel did not see Saul again until the day of his death, but Samuel grieved over Saul. And the LORD was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel. (1 Samuel 15: 34-35)
The passage, preceding the anointing of David, anthropomorphizes the divine. The authors of 1 Samuel, typically identified as the Deuteronomistic historians, do not portray God as omniscient, but as experiencing the emotion of regret to have made Saul the king of Israel. This odd moment at the start of Israel’s monarchic period arguably reflects tension, not just regarding Saul’s kingship in particular, but the concept of kingship itself that characterizes the book as a whole.
I Samuel is set during the time period in which the Philistines, after an unsuccessful naval attack on Egypt, settled along the coast of Israel. Building up cities at sites including modern-day Gaza and making use of fertile land along the plains, the Philistines began to launch military attacks on the Israelites who had already settled the hill country to the east.
Although the word “Philistine” today is used to refer to an uncouth, materialistic person who has no sensitivity to art or beauty (“What a Philistine!”), the actual Philistines came from Crete, leaving an archeological record of pottery in the style we associate today with ancient Greeks. Archeologists have found parts of war chariots dating from this time period in territory controlled by the Philistines, but in no adjoining lands, indicating their advanced military technology. The description of Goliath’s spear, armor, shield, and helmet in I Samuel 17 matches the archeological record of armor that Philistines used in battle.
A phrase that crops up in high school history class is “the divine right of kings.” Few countries today still have kings who wield tangible authority. Yet it is not difficult to point to recent leaders whose rhetoric implies a belief that their actions are not only politically justified, but imbued with a divine mandate. This particular passage, and the chapters succeeding it, offer a portrayal of a king who has lost what the authors refer to as “the spirit of the LORD,” and how the religious community deals with the ensuing conflict.
I Samuel, and this lectionary passage in particular, raise questions that are relevant in light of recent current events. For example: from where does a political ruler derive legitimacy? How might religious communities go about determining whether obeying the political ruler corresponds with right action? The crisis in I Samuel is not just one of military self-determination, but concerns the religious identity of the community. Rather than giving a clear-up, unambiguous answer to these questions, the authors offer a complex portrait of both the advantages and pitfalls of kingship.
Leading up to the introduction of monarchy in Israel, dated as approximately the end of the 11th century BCE for Saul’s reign and the beginning of the 10th for David’s, Israel was governed by what were called Judges. During the time of Judges, the Israelite tribes were a loose confederation rather than a unified power, and thus vulnerable to outside attack.
In her essay “There Were No Kings in Israel,” which takes its title from the phrase repeated in the book of Judges, Jo Ann Hackett characterizes premonarchic Israel as follows:
“. . . the lack of centralization of the society in religious, political, and military matters and the concomitant lack of a permanent administration, including a standing army . . . clarify one of the most interesting aspects in the book of judges as presented in the biblical text: the heroes themselves are often unlikely. In these contexts, women and outcast men can seize power that would be beyond their reach in a society ruled by a hereditary elite. The theological interpretation of this lack of a predicable organization and of the noticeable inappropriateness of many of the era’s leaders was that Israel’s only true leader was Yahweh . . .” (Hackett, 134).
Hackett calls attention to Gideon as an example of an “inappropriate leader” from this era. Like Moses protesting that he is not eloquent, when Gideon receives a divine calling, he protests that he is the least important member of the poorest clan (Hackett, 135). Yahweh’s response, “but I will be with you,” (Judges 6:16), indicates the theological point that humans cannot ensure victory themselves, but are instruments of Yahweh (Hackett, 135). After he has saved Israel, Gideon refuses to be made a king and start a dynasty (Hackett, 136).
In The People Called: the Growth of Community in the Bible, Paul Hanson describes how Israel’s origins as a group of liberated slaves, attributing their freedom to Yahweh’s gracious acts, rendered the community suspicious of kings. If escape from a system of kingship in Egypt hugely influenced the tribes’ identity, it stands to reason that distrust of absolute power would shape leadership structures. Hanson refers to Samuel’s angry reaction in I Samuel 8, when the Israelites beg for a king in order to fend off attackers. The rhetorical pattern Samuel uses is that if the Israelites elect a king, “He will take your X to be his Y.” The fear expressed is that the power inherent in the office of a king, even if it might result in short-term victory, will usher in a fundamental institutional change (Hanson, 93):
So Samuel reported all the words of the LORD to the people who were asking for a king. He said, these will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots . . . He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards . . . And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the LORD will not answer you. (1 Samuel 8:10-18).
In the passage from this week’s reading, David is described as coming from the same vein of “inappropriate leaders” Hackett describes. Receiving a directive from the LORD, Samuel goes to Jesse of Bethlehem to find a replacement for Saul. Jesse brings all of his sons before the esteemed judge and prophet except for the youngest, David, who is tending the sheep: “Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to Jesse, ‘The LORD has not chosen any of these’” (10). When Samuel sees David, he anoints him, and “the spirit of the LORD came mightily upon David from that day forward” (13).
Although the chapters immediately following portray David as a hero, rescuing the Israelites from the Philistines, later chapters show David indeed falling to temptations arguably foreshadowed by 1 Samuel 8. For example, he sleeps with a married woman, Bathsheba, and then intentionally sends her husband to the frontlines of battle where he is killed. The narrative of Tamar gives a negative portrayal of David as a father, unable to shield his daughter from rape or punish her rapist.
In closing, the chapter immediately preceding this week’s reading is likely to be extremely disturbing to modern readers. It puts forward a portrayal of God that many readers, including me, may reject as bloodthirsty, and refuse to claim as part of their community’s religious heritage. Virtually everyone who grew up attending Sunday School is familiar with the story of David and Goliath, and it is not unusual to conceptualize Saul as the “bad” king and David as the “good “king. Yet the reason the Deuteronomic authors give for Saul falling out of Yahweh’s favor is his hesitance to immediately kill all people and animals of the Amalekites. The following passage is worthwhile keeping in mind when “Amalekites” are mentioned in contexts of modern warfare:
Thus says the LORD of hosts, ‘I will punish the Amalekites for what they did in opposing the Israelites when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and attack Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have; do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey’ (1 Samuel 15:2-3).
Other readings for the lectionary this week are as follows: I Samuel 15:34-16:13; Psalm 20; II Cor 5:6-10; 14-17; Mark 4:26-34.
--Elizabeth Fels
Sources:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Hackett, Jo Ann. “There Was No King in Israel’: the Era of the Judges,” in Coogan, Michael D. The Oxford History of the Biblical World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998.
Hanson, Paul J. The People Called: the Growth of Community in the Bible. Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1986.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
June 7: Guide to beginning Isaiah
While the book of Isaiah regularly appear in lectionary readings, it is virtually impossible to get a sense of the 66-chapter book’s complex historical background from single passages taken out of context. As a result, one might be inclined to skip over references names that, shockingly, did not catch on as popular modern baby names, like “Uzziah” and “Hezekiah.” Lines like “Is not Calmo like Carchemish? Is not Hamath like Arpad?” (Isaiah 10:9) are not likely to land on many bumper stickers.
The natural impulse is to skip over unfamiliar names and places, and take whatever meaning one can. When I first read Isaiah as a girl, my main takeaway was that God is not a fan of make-up and jewelry but prefers the natural look: “In that day the Lord will take away the finery of the ankles, the headbands, and the crescents; the pendants, the bracelets, and the scarves; the headdresses, the armlets, the sashes, the perfume boxes, and the amulets”. . . (Isaiah 3:18-19).
Yet questions that the book of Isaiah puts forward are extremely relevant in today’s political landscape. The first section, written during the 8th century BC, is a record of a prophet’s advice in a country continuously under attack. Isaiah, a court prophet in the city that is modern-day Jerusalem, gives advice on foreign policy to a series of four rulers on how to deal with military attacks.
The narratives provoke the reader to face questions like the following: to what extent should political rulers in charge of a kingdom’s military be influenced by spiritual principles in decision-making? When your kingdom is invaded, is it better to seek protection from a foreign power whose policies threaten religious freedom? Or is it better to maintain autonomy, accepting the risk that, in the case of defeat, the civilians one is charged to protect will be at worst slaughtered and at best deported?
In this week’s entry, I am making a glossary of sorts for the book of Isaiah: a list of major names and places with explanations of why they are important. I draw information from The Prophets, by Abraham Heschel; The People Called, by Paul J. Hanson; and the New Oxford Annotated Bible (NOAB). The lectionary readings for this week are Isaiah 6:1-8; Psalm 29; Romans 8:12-17; and John 3:1-17.
Judah/Israel/Ephraim: When Isaiah was written, modern day Israel was divided into a “Northern Kingdom,” also called “Israel” or “Ephraim,” after its major tribe. The Southern Kingdom, containing Jerusalem, was called Judah.
Zion: another name for Jerusalem. The centrality of Jerusalem is a major theme in the book. Connecting Isaiah’s concept of the Messiah, which will later be picked up in the Gospels, to Jerusalem, Paul Hanson writes, “In the righteous, faithful city, the anointed representative of God, the Davidic king, would . . . draw() veneration not to himself, but to God . . . from this grounding in worship of the one true God he would foster righteousness and compassion in the land” ‘(Hanson, 182-183).
Describing how, in Isaiah’s judgment, Jerusalem was not fulfilling its covenant responsibility, Hanson quotes the opening chapter:
“Righteousness lodged in her, but now murderers.
Your silver has become dross, your wine mixed with water.
Your princes are rebels and companions of thieves” (Hanson, 183).
Sections of the first chapter are written from the perspective of God’s voice:
“cease to do evil, learn to do good,
seek justice, rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1:16-17).
In chapter 6, the speaker describes the prophet receiving his calling in the year of the death of Uzziah, which was 733 BC; however, chapters 40-66 refer to events surrounding the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BC. Jerusalem being conquered by the Babylonians, its population deported into exile, is considered one of the great crises in Judaism.
In earlier entries, I discussed tension in biblical texts between those that portray undeserved suffering, such as the book of Job, and those that portray suffering as punishment for sin. Isaiah definitely comes down in the second category: the book portrays the invading Assyrians and Babylonians as instruments of divine wrath. However, the book ends with a vision of God intervening in the future to bring about justice. In the closing inclusive prophecy, God is worshipped, not just in Jerusalem, but by all of humanity.
“First,” “Second,” or “Third” Isaiah: Chapters 1-39, 40-55, and 56-66, respectively. The events described in the book span about 200 years, including the rise of the Assyrian, Babylonian, and most likely Persian empires. The editors of NOAB write that this “should not leave the impression that it is simply a collection of fragments, or an anthology whose parts have no organic relation to each other. The unity of the book comes in large part from the development and deepening of major themes: the centrality of Jerusalem; the importance of the ‘anointed’ ruler; and the contrast between God’s people and the political and military machinations of the great world empires” (977).
King Uzziah: A king of Judah, the southern in this week’s passage, Isaiah describes the vision that constitutes his calling as a prophet: “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). Uzziah was quarantined during his reign, probably of leprosy, and let his son reign in his stead.
Ahaz: Uzziah’s grandson. Ahaz is king of Judah during what is called the Syro-Ephraimite war. In the leadup, Assyria aggressively starts expanding its empire and tries to conquer Israel, Syria, and Judah. Israel and Syria form an alliance to resist. Imagine California attacking New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas: New Mexico and Arizona comb forces to fight back, but Texas maintains autonomy.
When Ahaz refuses to join the alliance, Israel and Syria both attack Ahaz, in an attempt to replace him with a ruler in favor of a military alliance. The modern word for this would be “regime change.” Ahaz responds by appealing to Assyria, the enemy, for help, sending the message, “I am your servant and your son. Come up, and rescue me from the hand of the king of Syria and from the hand of the king of Israel, who are attacking me” (II Kings 16:7) (Heschel, 80).
Assyria: the Middle East superpower of the 8th century BC. They accept Ahaz plea for protection, but in return, Judah becomes a vassal of Assyria, paying high tribute and being forced to give military support. Heschel quotes Isaiah describing this treaty as a “covenant of death” (Isaiah 28:15). According to Isaiah, Judah was trusting in a foreign power for protection rather than in God alone.
This submission threatened religious autonomy in Judah. Heschel writes, “The Assyrians were fanatically devout. In military campaign the king assumed the role of the deputy of god. The prowess and victories of the army were thought to reflect the power of the god Ashur. Assyria imposed the recognition of her gods as the overlords of the gods of the conquered peoples. Political subservience involved acceptance of religious institutions” (Heschel, 90-91).
Heschel quotes Isaiah’s warning against alliances, : “In returning (to God) and in rest you shall be saved; In quietness and trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). Elsewhere, Isaiah condemns violence and projects a vision of the future in which peace will prevail. Isaiah 2:4 offers a vision of the cessation of violence whose imagery is still used in political rhetoric in modern times:
“. . . they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.”
--Elizabeth Fels
Sources:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Hanson, Paul J. The People Called: the Growth of Community in the Bible. Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1986.
Heschel, Abraham. The Prophets. New York: Harper & Row, 1962.
The natural impulse is to skip over unfamiliar names and places, and take whatever meaning one can. When I first read Isaiah as a girl, my main takeaway was that God is not a fan of make-up and jewelry but prefers the natural look: “In that day the Lord will take away the finery of the ankles, the headbands, and the crescents; the pendants, the bracelets, and the scarves; the headdresses, the armlets, the sashes, the perfume boxes, and the amulets”. . . (Isaiah 3:18-19).
Yet questions that the book of Isaiah puts forward are extremely relevant in today’s political landscape. The first section, written during the 8th century BC, is a record of a prophet’s advice in a country continuously under attack. Isaiah, a court prophet in the city that is modern-day Jerusalem, gives advice on foreign policy to a series of four rulers on how to deal with military attacks.
The narratives provoke the reader to face questions like the following: to what extent should political rulers in charge of a kingdom’s military be influenced by spiritual principles in decision-making? When your kingdom is invaded, is it better to seek protection from a foreign power whose policies threaten religious freedom? Or is it better to maintain autonomy, accepting the risk that, in the case of defeat, the civilians one is charged to protect will be at worst slaughtered and at best deported?
In this week’s entry, I am making a glossary of sorts for the book of Isaiah: a list of major names and places with explanations of why they are important. I draw information from The Prophets, by Abraham Heschel; The People Called, by Paul J. Hanson; and the New Oxford Annotated Bible (NOAB). The lectionary readings for this week are Isaiah 6:1-8; Psalm 29; Romans 8:12-17; and John 3:1-17.
Judah/Israel/Ephraim: When Isaiah was written, modern day Israel was divided into a “Northern Kingdom,” also called “Israel” or “Ephraim,” after its major tribe. The Southern Kingdom, containing Jerusalem, was called Judah.
Zion: another name for Jerusalem. The centrality of Jerusalem is a major theme in the book. Connecting Isaiah’s concept of the Messiah, which will later be picked up in the Gospels, to Jerusalem, Paul Hanson writes, “In the righteous, faithful city, the anointed representative of God, the Davidic king, would . . . draw() veneration not to himself, but to God . . . from this grounding in worship of the one true God he would foster righteousness and compassion in the land” ‘(Hanson, 182-183).
Describing how, in Isaiah’s judgment, Jerusalem was not fulfilling its covenant responsibility, Hanson quotes the opening chapter:
“Righteousness lodged in her, but now murderers.
Your silver has become dross, your wine mixed with water.
Your princes are rebels and companions of thieves” (Hanson, 183).
Sections of the first chapter are written from the perspective of God’s voice:
“cease to do evil, learn to do good,
seek justice, rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1:16-17).
In chapter 6, the speaker describes the prophet receiving his calling in the year of the death of Uzziah, which was 733 BC; however, chapters 40-66 refer to events surrounding the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BC. Jerusalem being conquered by the Babylonians, its population deported into exile, is considered one of the great crises in Judaism.
In earlier entries, I discussed tension in biblical texts between those that portray undeserved suffering, such as the book of Job, and those that portray suffering as punishment for sin. Isaiah definitely comes down in the second category: the book portrays the invading Assyrians and Babylonians as instruments of divine wrath. However, the book ends with a vision of God intervening in the future to bring about justice. In the closing inclusive prophecy, God is worshipped, not just in Jerusalem, but by all of humanity.
“First,” “Second,” or “Third” Isaiah: Chapters 1-39, 40-55, and 56-66, respectively. The events described in the book span about 200 years, including the rise of the Assyrian, Babylonian, and most likely Persian empires. The editors of NOAB write that this “should not leave the impression that it is simply a collection of fragments, or an anthology whose parts have no organic relation to each other. The unity of the book comes in large part from the development and deepening of major themes: the centrality of Jerusalem; the importance of the ‘anointed’ ruler; and the contrast between God’s people and the political and military machinations of the great world empires” (977).
King Uzziah: A king of Judah, the southern in this week’s passage, Isaiah describes the vision that constitutes his calling as a prophet: “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). Uzziah was quarantined during his reign, probably of leprosy, and let his son reign in his stead.
Ahaz: Uzziah’s grandson. Ahaz is king of Judah during what is called the Syro-Ephraimite war. In the leadup, Assyria aggressively starts expanding its empire and tries to conquer Israel, Syria, and Judah. Israel and Syria form an alliance to resist. Imagine California attacking New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas: New Mexico and Arizona comb forces to fight back, but Texas maintains autonomy.
When Ahaz refuses to join the alliance, Israel and Syria both attack Ahaz, in an attempt to replace him with a ruler in favor of a military alliance. The modern word for this would be “regime change.” Ahaz responds by appealing to Assyria, the enemy, for help, sending the message, “I am your servant and your son. Come up, and rescue me from the hand of the king of Syria and from the hand of the king of Israel, who are attacking me” (II Kings 16:7) (Heschel, 80).
Assyria: the Middle East superpower of the 8th century BC. They accept Ahaz plea for protection, but in return, Judah becomes a vassal of Assyria, paying high tribute and being forced to give military support. Heschel quotes Isaiah describing this treaty as a “covenant of death” (Isaiah 28:15). According to Isaiah, Judah was trusting in a foreign power for protection rather than in God alone.
This submission threatened religious autonomy in Judah. Heschel writes, “The Assyrians were fanatically devout. In military campaign the king assumed the role of the deputy of god. The prowess and victories of the army were thought to reflect the power of the god Ashur. Assyria imposed the recognition of her gods as the overlords of the gods of the conquered peoples. Political subservience involved acceptance of religious institutions” (Heschel, 90-91).
Heschel quotes Isaiah’s warning against alliances, : “In returning (to God) and in rest you shall be saved; In quietness and trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). Elsewhere, Isaiah condemns violence and projects a vision of the future in which peace will prevail. Isaiah 2:4 offers a vision of the cessation of violence whose imagery is still used in political rhetoric in modern times:
“. . . they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.”
--Elizabeth Fels
Sources:
Coogan, Michael, Ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Hanson, Paul J. The People Called: the Growth of Community in the Bible. Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1986.
Heschel, Abraham. The Prophets. New York: Harper & Row, 1962.
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