how great the father's love: lot and the visitors revisited

"According to the text, is Lot a righteous man or not?"

This was one of the questions we asked students at our Bible school's oral examinations last month.

Not unlike our initial study of the text together last February, most answered in the affirmative: Lot was righteous.

Why?

"God saw him among all the people in Sodom", said one old man.

That seeing, within such a great sea of humanity, must attest to something of Lot's righteousness.

"Lot would do anything to protect his visitors," said another man. "He proved he was righteous by giving his daughters in place of the two men to the men of Sodom."

This answer took me aback a bit, for it is the opposite of what I had argued in the original lesson. Yet this man did make a compelling association in support of his position: Lot's offer of his daughters was like that of Abraham to Isaac, the one whom the story in Genesis 22 introduces as "your only son, whom you love." Thus, rather than an act betraying the daughters' worthlessness in their father's eyes, Lot's offering was likewise of the "beloved".

Another woman was less convincing. In her judgment also, Lot was righteous. However, when pressed, she, unlike other students, did not modify her stance to admit that Lot may have been wrong at least in his willingness "to bring out" his daughters to evil men.

"Lot knew that God was going to rescue him and his family anyway. That is why he offered his daughters."

Although her reasoning is not unlike that which the author of Hebrews offers up with regard--again--to Abraham when he "offered up Isaac" because he "considered the fact that God is able even to raise someone from the dead", it elicits one critical objection.

"If he knew," said I, "why then did he not simply give the men his visitors?"

Though through hesitation, her answer amounted to the belief that visitors are more important than daughters--actually, than anyone. That is why Lot would not think of bringing them out.

It is true that visitors are particularly vulnerable people; they can navigate neither the space nor the conventions of a place as its residents, and are therefore at the mercy of the residents. This is, in fact, Lot's primary claim to righteousness in the text: he, as a resident alien among resident Sodomites, alone shows hospitality to the visitors who come to the gates of the city.

Yet there is something else, I believe, that the text invites us to consider.

Guests are not only those who come, but those who are. Long before the two angels arrived in Sodom, Lot the father had charge of guests, whether he deemed them so or not. That he would bring them--his daughters--out for rape is not as much a thing exposed by Lot's righteous impulse to protect those who have come as it exposes his failure to care for those who are daily in his midst.

Lot's dilemma may also reveal an African caveat in the text. Izithunywa, the Xhosa word for messengers--the two angels who come to Sodom--often stands in the context of mediums who divine causes for human misfortune via spiritual messengers, the ancestors. And, not unlike the daughters and the men who have come under the shelter of Lot's roof, the spirits of the dead "compete" with one's living dependents for the attention of present-day Lots, those African fathers and mothers heading households.

"This is the way of keeping us poor," says a young, Xhosa pastor.

How? In a context of poverty, people cannot afford to hold extravagant, expensive feasts in honor of deceased elders (a typical response if one dreams of a given ancestor). Already there is not enough to support the daily, adequate nourishment, not to mention education, of many children.

"Where will that money come from?" says the pastor. "Yet you will find that there is always money for that thing."

There are always children to sacrifice for the sake of important visitors.

"So what do you think Jesus would have done if he were Lot? we asked the students.

"I think he would have offered himself", one brother replied.

How great this Father's love for us, his children.

Therein lies the righteousness in the text.

-Joe

Texts referred to or quoted in this entry: Gen 19:1-14; Gen 22:2; Heb. 11:17-19; 1 Jn 3:1

certain signs

"A Certain Jew", Apollos by name, once went down to Ephesus.

So begins the story recorded in Acts 18:24-19:7.

There he burned by the spirit when he spoke, and taught the things about Jesus "accurately", though he knew only "the baptism of John."

Later, when Paul came to Ephesus, he found "certain disciples". They too had been baptized--into "the baptism of John."

The "certain disciples" lacked, however, one important thing: the Holy Spirit. Like the "certain Jew", they needed a Paul, a la Priscilla and Aquila, to take them aside and explain the way of God "more accurately."

This "more accurate" explanation is the difference between speaking by the spirit and being filled with the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit accompanies the "more accurate" message about Jesus--the one testified by John.

The text does not tell us much about the message about Jesus that Paul told to the certain disciples at Ephesus. Paul reports only that John told the people to "believe in the one who was coming after him, that is, Jesus, who would baptize them with the Holy Spirit." But beyond this we can infer the gospel story of Jesus' baptism by John in the Jordan.

Jesus' own baptism was also an anointing of the Holy Spirit. It also sealed his royal status, as Israel's Messiah-King. Just as the son of Jesse, whom Samuel anointed king of Israel some 1000 years earlier, the Spirit of God "rested upon" Jesus "from that day forward" (which is not to say, from the gospel perspective, that the Spirit was not present in some way with Jesus before his baptism).

More importantly, Jesus' anointing at baptism signified what kind of king he would be. Matthew's account, for example, highlights Jesus' humility. Though John testifies that he himself should be baptized by Jesus, Jesus insists that his own baptism "is proper in order to fulfill all righteousness." And so the sinless Son of God embraces a baptism of repentance at the hands of a sinner, one not worthy to untie the thongs of Jesus' sandals. Humility personified.

If there were any doubt as to the measure of his humility, the next scene finds Jesus tempted to embrace dominion over all the kingdoms of the earth if he will only bow down and worship the devil. He refuses: "Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only." Such service to God, in the mouth and in the steps of the Messiah, amounts not to bowing before Satan but before fellow brothers and sisters, even as Jesus has already humbled himself before John. Or as Luke puts it in a scene following directly upon those of baptism and temptation, "the Spirit of the Lord that is upon" Jesus "has anointed him" precisely for a ministry with the broken and suffering children of God: "good news to the poor," "recovery of sight to the blind", "release of the captives". The Messiah's rule will not consist of sumptuous dining in the courts of the rich, waited on hand and foot by inferiors. This Son of Man has come "not to be served but to serve"; this Son of Man has come "to be counted among the trangressors" in his death on a cross, "to give his life as a ransom for many."

This story is of the utmost significance for human life anywhere on the planet, and particularly so in my experience working with so-called independent or spiritual churches and Pentecostals in South Africa. Concern for access to the Holy Spirit is primary; understanding as to the specific life demanded by that Spirit is suspect.

That specific life, as Priscilla and Aquila once proclaimed to a "certain Jew" named Apollos, is Jesus, the Christ. Although he knew "accurately the things about Jesus", this one who burned by the spirit when he spoke had need of "more accurate" knowledge of the way of God. Similarly, when church members testify before the congregation "I am saved" because "Jesus died for me", they are "accurate" but have need of "more."

A young Pentecostal pastor has recognized this tendency. He testified before his congregation one Sunday last month.

"There are certain churches whose members do not even say 'I am saved', because the community must tell them if they are saved. They must know we are saved because they can see that we have good works."

When such "certain members" by their fellows are anointed such, no longer are they "certain disciples". Rather, they have become, as those whom Paul found at Ephesus, "the twelve", Jesus' own disciples, they who speak and walk by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Again Pastor Ntapo:

"I am not greedy for numbers. God wants people who are willing to be thoroughly taught by Jesus."

And with characteristic humility, as if "disbelieving in his joy", he exclaims, "How I wish I really believed the things that I am talking about!"

So be it for us all.

-Joe

Texts referred to or quoted in this entry: Acts 18:24-19:7; 1 Sam 16; Matt. 3-4; Lk. 4; Isa 53:12; Mk. 10:45; Lk. 24:41

there's peace in the blood

At the heart of Ephesians 2:11-22, we find two parallel statements which express agency.

A divided humanity, whom the text calls "the circumcised" and "the uncircumcised", the "near" and the "far", and "aliens" and "citizens", has become one "by the blood of Christ." This "one new humanity in place of the two" was likewise united "through the cross." "By the blood" and "through the cross" are the synonymous means from which the text makes its central claim: "hostility"--that which divided humanity--has been "broken down" or "put to death", the end result being "peace."

It seems indeed a peculiar thing that "the blood" and "the cross" would break down hostility and make peace, for it is precisely that problematic, divisive hostility that finds substantial expression in the shed blood of a Roman death instrument, the cross. In what sense, then, are the blood and the cross peace?

They are so, according to the text, because of whose they are. The cross is not Rome's, and the blood is not specifically that which was shed; the blood is Christ's, the one who "himself is our peace", who has made the two one "in his flesh", who has "put to death hostility through the cross". The text does not say that the cross has put to death hostility; it says that "he has put to death that hostility" by means of the cross.

So what is the difference?

As we were studying this text together last May, I was led toward this distinction between the cross and the blood as hostility and the cross and the blood as peace. The students again were looking for repetitions in the text, the same method we had used to find the meaning in Genesis 19:1-14 (see previous entries). Quite naturally, then, we came to "hostility" and "peace."

"How does the text say the hostility was broken down?" I asked the students.

Eventually, it came to the answers posited above: "by the blood of Christ" and "through the cross."

The large, mud church hall where we were meeting in a rural area outside Lusikisiki was supported by wooden beams from the floor to the ceiling. I approached the beam nearest me.

Having turned my back on the students, I began with my right hand to pound my left into the wood. "Does this blood make peace?" I asked.

Heads nodded affirmatively around the room.

"Really?", I said.

Facing the students, I leaned my back against the beam, arms outstretched. Again I made the hammering motion while maintaining my position against the beam. "Or is it this blood?"

Murmurs of growing recognition scattered among the people.

"How can this be peace?" I said, returning to the pounding action. "Is this not hostility? Is this not murder?"

In a sudden burst of conviction, I remembered the language of the text. "Hostility is far and peace is near, and the two have no part one in the other."

I exhaled.

"But this blood," I said, returning to the outstretched posture and wiping the palms of my hands, "this blood is peace."

"At the same time that Jesus' enemies are taking his blood, he's giving them his. At the same time they're cursing him, he's blessing them. At the same time they're hating him, he's loving them. 'Bawo Baxolele', 'Father forgive them.' "

Seemingly every Sunday, the small, Pentecostal church with which we often worship sings "lona linamandla igazi lemvana", "the blood of the lamb has power." Or, even more emphatic were the words we heard there just last week. Igazi likaYesu, asoze la phela amandla, "the blood of Jesus will never lose its power."

Why will the blood of Jesus never lose its power? The first answer, of course, is the peace Jesus maintained on the cross in face of hostility's cruelest test. John was right in his first letter when he declared that "the blood of his Son Jesus cleanses us from all sin." Yet before that blood could become for us healing balm, it itself had to withstand our greatest evil--the murder of the cross--precisely because the evil from which we must be cleansed is ours. Our blood, contaminated and shed in the spirit of hostility, had itself to be cleansed by the peace in the blood itself infused with the life of the Spirit. That, of course, is the work that was truly "finished" in Jesus' dying breath.

Yet it does not explain how the power in his blood gets from his cross--one moment in time--to us--in every time and place. To receive his peace, we will need to know that the "flesh in which he has made us one", from which poured out his blood, life, and Spirit, has indeed been raised to the "right hand of Power." And to us he says, "Touch me and see, a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." Upon us he also breathes, saying, "Peace be with you, receive the Holy Spirit."

Yes, surely, he is more than us: "the first human being became a living being, the last human being became a life-giving Spirit." Yet his difference does not negate our (us with him) fundamental unity. "For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being." And again, "since the children share flesh and blood, he himself likewise shared the same things . . .. For it is clear that he did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham."

Because he is both us and more, he can help us. Because his blood is both ours and the Spirit's, it can turn our hostility to peace.

But how specifically do we receive his blood? I suppose it has something to do with asking, seeking, knocking. And going. Which will include preaching. And listening. And water. And teaching. And obeying "all that he has commanded." Which includes remembering. In bread. And wine. Or juice, depending.

More to come.

-Joe

Texts referred to or quoted in this entry: Eph. 2:11-22; Lk. 23:34; 1 Jn. 1:7; Mk 14:62; Lk 24:39; Jn. 20:19-23; 1 Cor. 15:45,21; Heb. 2:14-16; Mt. 7:7, 28:19-20; 1 Cor 11:23-26

"Bring them out"

I had an eerie sense that I had stumbled upon the paradigmatic judgment text in the Bible. From explicit references--"it will be more tolerable for Sodom on that day"--to the implicit--"the shut door" of the parable of the ten virgins--the story of the impending destruction of Sodom appears to have set the standard of judgment in the theology of Jesus.

What is that standard? And how does the text, Genesis 19:1-14, construct a biblical theology of judgment?

Having dissected the text in Hebrew, I settled upon the verb translated as "bring out" as that which brings out the key meaning in the text. It makes three appearances, each in turn lending central interpretive credibility to the objects and subjects which surround it.

In the first instance, "bring out" is the action of "the men of Sodom", those who have gathered at the door of Lot seeking "the men" who have "come to [Lot] in the night." Specifically, "the men of Sodom" request that Lot "bring them out to us, so that we may know them." Lot, noting his special responsibility toward guests--those who have "come under the shelter of my roof" and for whom he has already prepared a meal, baked unleavened bread, and washed their feet--is determined to protect "the men" from the "men of Sodom" in whom he sees "evil" intent. In fact, so great is Lot's determination that he offers in place of "the men" his two daughters "who have never known a man" to the "men of Sodom"--"to them [the daughters] do as seems good in your eyes", Lot tells the "men of Sodom."

This determination to protect guests was a quality not lost upon my student-readers; in every location where we studied together, they viewed Lot as righteous for this impulse. As one man put it, "Lot was in Sodom, but Sodom was not in Lot."

On one hand, his pithy statement was true; Lot, a "resident alien", through his hospitality toward "the two angels" does indeed "play the judge" against the residents of Sodom whose only gesture toward these same "men" is pregnant with the lust that would bear rape. The text indeed--in this regard--means to contrast the hospitality of the sojourner toward guests with the indignity of those who sit in Sodom toward the same.

On quite the other hand, however, Sodom is too much in Lot, for he appears unconcerned with the well-being of his daughters: "I have two daughters who have never known a man. Let me bring them out to you, and to them do as seems good in your eyes."

Such a thing is not good in the eyes of the text. Whereas Lot would "bring out" his daughters, abandoning them to abuse, "the men inside the house" would have Lot "bring out from the place all who are his in the city"--"sons-in-law", "sons", yes, and "daughters."

We note then, the ascending pattern of the usages of "bring out" with its subjects and objects. Whereas the activity began only with malice--"the men of Sodom" demanding that "the men" be brought out to them--it ends only with mercy--"the men" of Yahweh pleading with Lot to "bring out" from the city even "the daughters" Lot would have "brought out" to the mercy of evil men.

An undercurrent of my own seminary education--to which, by the way, I am indebted for the Bible study method employed above--was suspicion, if not dismissiveness, of allegorical readings of scripture. And yet, upon having completed the round of teaching this text at the final location last February, I found myself unrelentingly, by the Spirit, in allegory's grasp. The text, perhaps more neatly than is often the case, had presented three clear "types", specifically, "three" men. The first "man" and the last "man" are more obvious in the text; indeed, if you have been reading this entry, you will have noted well "the men of Sodom" and "the men". The second is somewhat veiled, hidden, deeply embedded in the story. Whereas the references to the other "men"--both of Sodom and of Yahweh--are rather ubiquitous, only once is a third, or as we are calling it, second, man, namely Lot, called a "man." This reference comes precisely at the point at which Lot's status as man in the middle is most acutely felt: "hard pressed against" by the "men of Sodom" but presently to be rescued by the hands of other "men inside the house." The man Lot stands in "the entrance of the doorway" of condemnation and salvation, of death and life; Lot has come out "to the men" and will go back in to other "men", but eventually the door stays shut.

Lot is a worldly man; Lot is in Sodom, and Sodom is in Lot.

Lot is a godly man; Lot is in God, is God in Lot?

And how might we, the church, like the Israel to whom the story first came, judge such a thing?

The church is in the world, and the world is in the church.

The church is in Christ, is Christ in the church?

Perhaps the daughters can tell. In the text they are powerless; so too are they in many places in the world. The Xhosa translations perhaps serve the point: Ndineentombi ezimbini, "I have two girls", says Lot, offering his daughters to the men of Sodom.

The point, in fact, came to me with some force this week. While staying for some days with a Xhosa family, we often heard the grandmother of the house cry, "Nontombi"--the name means literally, "mother of a girl"--whenever she wanted something. Without fail, Nontombi, or one of the two other adolescent girls there, would come with the desired thing. Young children--and especially young girls--serve their elders with unquestioning and, to these western eyes, astonishing, obedience. And while I know no one who would follow Lot's course in relation to his daughters, I do wonder who bears the brunt first when the forces of the world "press hard against" those who possess a relative measure of power (hint: it is not the latter).

And so, what of judgment?

Our treating as genuinely human the daughters--indeed any who are daily subject to suffering--is the quality by which we are judged, by which we know that the Holy Spirit of Jesus is in us, even as he has brought us to himself.

-Joe

Texts referred to or quoted in this entry: Lk. 10:12; Matt. 25:10; Gen. 19:1-14

parts and the whole

It was the kind of question for which I had designed the lesson.

We were studying Genesis 19:1-14 as a representative text of biblical narrative. I had asked the students to find the repetitions in the text, having made the plea that if the author has seen fit to repeat himself, the repeated word, and therefore its meaning, must be of importance. The students had found numerous examples, and we had had a fruitful day of building meaning from the specific words and phrases.

This one man, however, would not accept that the word "know" in the request of "the men of Sodom" had connotations of rape. He was, of course, quite right that "know" in most usages means simply the possession of knowledge of this thing or that person or whatever. He was, at the same time, mistaken for not reading "know" within its immediate surroundings:

• as interpreted by Lot as "evil" intent.
• as parallel to its only other usage in the text in which Lot offers his two daughters who have "never known a man" in place of "the men"--Lot's guests--whom the "men of Sodom" wish to "know."
• as parallel within Genesis to the refrain, for example, of chapter 4: "Now the man knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore . . . " (v. 1, cf. vv. 17, 25).
  

The man's obstinance, in face of his peers' many attempts at correction, reflected an extreme version of a tendency I had earlier observed in the interpretive methods of some students: to find meaning in words, phrases, or texts without discerning their place as parts of a larger narrative that lends meaning. The problem, by the way, is not distinctly African.

If then, we do not permit words, phrases, or even texts to stand on their own, we do, on the other hand, view them as indispensable parts without which the greater meaning remains hidden.

Let us then proceed to the texts!

who am I, what is this?

I serve as the teacher in a Bible School for members of African Initiated Churches (AICs) in the former Transkei, South Africa. My wife and I, Mennonites from North America, also frequently worship with a small, Pentecostal congregation. I learn much in the process of teaching and preaching in these settings, especially about the biblical texts which are our medium. In other words, by proclaiming the text in the setting of mission, we discover mission in the text.

This blog contains my discoveries about texts that I have studied, taught, or preached--or all of the above--in encounter with the ideas, spiritualities, and social settings of African brothers and sisters.

I dedicate this blog to all who seek the Word of God in the words of scripture.