warriors and women

In giving a word of encouragement before handing over to me to preach last Sunday, the pastor made a correlation between four women in the congregation and two other sets of people in the Bible.  The day before, I had preached on Mark 15, so that chapter was on the pastor’s mind.  In particular, his attention was fixed on verse 40 which tells of three women “looking on” at the death of Jesus.  These were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome.  This was the first set of biblical people to whom the pastor compared the four mothers in his church.  To these he added “the Three” warriors of David’s army—Josheb-basshebeth a Tahchemonite, Eleazar son of Dodo son of Ahohi, and Shammah son of Agee, the Hararite—whom David extolls in his “last words” from 2 Samuel 23 (2 Sam 23:8ff.).

The pastor’s point was that, just as Jesus had been attended by three women, and David by three warriors, so these four churchwomen in particular had steadfastly stood beside him in the ministry.  Comparing members of the body of Christ to warriors always raises my Mennonite (pacifist) eyebrows.  Yet the fact that these mothers could in no way be mistaken for soldiers of the flesh in the mode of David’s fighting men hinted at a beautiful transformation of the warrior-motif in the pastor’s interpretation.  What the pastor has in mind as the epitome of warrior-hood is not, in fact, those who fight—as did David’s men—with physical weapons, but those praying mothers who prepared a great feast for God’s people on Easter Sunday.  By using the biblical examples to point to the flesh-and-blood women in his church, the pastor cast the text in a new light.  For if these women count for genuine warriors in the pastor’s eyes, is another meaning of warrior-hood likewise intended beneath the surface of the text?  Must a text like 2 Samuel 23:8 be read to affirm acts of physical war, or does it rather commend that which both soldiers and “ordinary” women may have in common, namely, the dedication in giving one’s life to something greater than oneself?  Put another way, is what the text might commend not the cause for which one fights, but the manner in which one fights?  Indeed, I would argue that it is not the cause which unites soldiers and members of the church, for intrinsic to the calling of the former is protecting a geographic domain while the latter serves the kingdom of God (insofar as the latter does not conflate the two).  Rather, it is only to certain virtues which both soldiers and Christians might subscribe, and it is the calling of the Christian to know in whose service alone and how such virtues may be exercised.

The pastor’s way of reading scripture exhibited here I have encountered more broadly in these years of my African sojourn.  Indeed, I have often heard African preachers draw lessons for life from texts which do not seem to have an overlap in the literal sense to the real-life situations which the texts are used to address.  Thus one might find an African preacher using a battle text as a metaphor for perseverance or trusting in God when encouraging a person struggling with an illness.  By contrast, a western preacher might seek out a more literal correspondence between the text and life, so that when addressing a situation of disease one looks to texts of physical healing in the scriptures.  If it is thus fair to say that, in this sense, an African way of reading scripture is more metaphorical than a western one (undoubtedly it could also be more literal in other ways), then I as a North American have learned a lot from African ways of reading.  And if other western readers are like me, then this African approach can help us to hear more of the Bible speaking to our lives.  The pastor’s example above, for example, helps us to see the way in which Old Testament texts have meaning beyond justifying war and promoting a wrathful God—complaints I have frequently heard among North American Mennonites (and others).

I am persuaded that a closer examination of most biblical texts uncovers, in surprising ways, the voice of God speaking to the people whom God loves.

-Joe

the way of grace

As I prepared to teach on the Psalms—150 “psalms” in five “books”--at Bethany Bible School earlier this month, I found a unifying thread in the subject of “enemies”. The Psalms seem obsessed with “enemies”—how shall one deal with one’s enemies?

Different psalms seem to recommend different courses of action. There is, for example, the violent approach toward enemies in Psalm 18; “David” seems to boast: “I pursued my enemies and overtook them; and did not turn back until they were consumed. I struck them down, so that they were not able to rise; they fell under my feet . . ..I beat them fine, like dust before the wind; I cast them out like the mire of the streets” (18:37-38, 42). In Psalm 58, again “of David”, there is—if not a boast of violence inflicted—delight in the painful demise of “the wicked” (58:3): “Let them be like the snail that dissolves into slime; like the untimely birth that never sees the sun” (58:8). And then, most emphatically: “The righteous will rejoice when they see vengeance done; they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked” (58:10).

If Psalms 18 and 58 represent, on one side of a spectrum, a recommendation of violence against one’s enemies (Are the righteous bathing in blood that they have spilled?), others recommend more clearly a path of leaving the course of vengeance to God. For example, Psalm 37:

“Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him; do not fret over those who prosper in their way, over those who carry out evil devices. Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath. Do not fret—it leads only to evil. For the wicked shall be cut off, but those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land” (37:7-9).

Perhaps between the violence of Psalm 18 and the “stillness” of Psalm 37 is what we might call the “confession” of Psalm 139. Without any mention of vengeance taken by his own hands, “David” nonetheless erupts with his mouth against the wicked:

“O that you would kill the wicked, O God, and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me—those who speak of you maliciously, and lift themselves up against you for evil! Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord? And do I not loathe those who rise up against you? I hate them with perfect hatred; I count them my enemies” (139:19-22).

Even this verbal tirade, however, this eruption against “the wicked” is not directed at them—it is direct address to God: “O Lord”, the Psalm begins, “you have searched me and known me” (139:1). And, after all malice has been said—but not yet done—the Psalm ends where it began—with the Psalmist’s need for God to “search [him] and know [his] heart, with the Psalmist’s need for God “to see if there is any wicked way in me” (139:23-24). Before giving physical expression to his anger, before even any direct expression of his anger against his enemies, the Psalmist gives it to God. And giving it so, “David” finds himself again, after pondering all thoughts far and wide, only with his God (see v. 18). The grace of God, it would seem, is sufficient for him (see also 2 Cor 12:9). It also seems, therefore, that confession—that speaking truth in the presence of God about one’s own condition conditioned by others—is the means of that grace given to us.

So Psalm 32:3-5:

“While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,’ and you forgave the guilt of my sin.”

-Joe

"Feed my sheep (don't count them)"

Though I have no way of verifying it, my memory tells me that I have heard a number of Pentecostal and Charismatic leaders over the past several years quote from--of all books--1 and 2 Chronicles. Aside from that, another observation of said church leaders is their obsession with numerical growth. They want to preside over a "big church", have so and so many new congregations planted by such and such a date, and have a new "3,000 seater" building built by such and such a date. Something else I suspect--more through second-hand reports than firsthand experience--is that the conception of discipleship that accompanies such goals is training people who "get saved" to themselves do basic evangelistic work. This basic evangelistic work, focused on "getting people saved", means giving a short presentation of the gospel of a sinful humanity redeemed by Christ's death and offering others an invitation to repent of their sin and welcome Jesus through a formulaic prayer. In other words, in this conception, discipleship is not, first and foremost, training in the life and words of Jesus, but grounding in a particular method of salvation.

This whole schema has been rehearsed and critiqued time and time again, and probably sounds familiar to those reading it here. Consequently, I do not wish to again offer that same tired critique--if only it were truly tired. It seems, however, based on the endurance of this conventional Christian understanding of salvation, that some words of alternative wisdom still need to be said. Which brings me to--of all places--1 Chronicles 21.

Pastor Ntapo recently referred to the story there, another version of which also appears in 2 Samuel 24, as evidence that what seems to be the prevailing ethos of Charismatic Christianity in southern Africa is out-of-step with a biblical faith centered in Jesus Christ. In the story, David, in the waning days of his reign over Israel, is "incited by Satan to count the people of Israel" (as an aside, it is interesting that in the narrative of 2 Samuel, it is God, not Satan, who is the subject who "incites" David) (1 Chr. 21:1//2 Sam. 24:1). Both versions of the story, in spite of their differences, condemn the action of David in counting his people. Indeed, it is David--the shepherd whom God appointed to lead God's "sheep" (v. 17)--upon whom responsibility rests for the sin of counting the people. It is David, the leader, the "pastor" of the flock, whose obsession with numbers leads to disaster for the sheep: "seventy thousand persons fell in Israel", casualties of the "pestilence" God sent as punishment for David's sin (21:12, 14).

If David was not to count the people, what should he have done? And if an obsession with numbers leads ultimately to destruction, what kind of an orientation leads to life?

Perhaps David might have remembered Gideon, that judge who preceded him in the history of Israel, with whom the troops of his charge were "too many" to fight God's battles; rather, it was with "300", down from an original 32,000, that God delivered Israel from the Midianites (Jdg. 7). Perhaps David might have remembered his earlier life, he who found discomfort in the sophisticated armor and weaponry of Saul, choosing instead "five smooth stones and a sling"--by which he triumphed over a giant and put an entire army to flight (1 Sam. 17:38ff). Perhaps he might have "looked forward", as did his forefather Abraham (Jn. 8:56; Heb. 11:17-19), to the Christ who was crucified, rejected by the crowds for his refusal to fight with the weapons of flesh and blood--but exalted by his Father for "enduring to the end" (Mt. 24:13).

All this is not to say that numbers are a sign of unfaithfulness. It is to say that the seeking of numbers bears little resemblance to ministry in the mode of Christ. God will count the sheep; let us feed them with the words of eternal life (Jn 6:63, 68, 21:15-19).

-Joe

"more to be desired"

Three weeks ago, the pastor phoned me before church to say that some mutual friends of ours had lost one of their adult children. I said we would be coming to church, and that we could talk about the matter following the service. In the end, the news meant that I would be preaching twice on this day; the pastor and I agreed that we should seize the moment and head out to the bereaved family's homestead directly after our regular service.

I have been to a bereavement such as this before. It is tradition in Xhosa culture for friends and relatives to visit the family at their home immediately following the death of a loved one. Some form of service inevitably ensues.

Nevertheless, when the pastor and I arrived, I was taken aback by the sight of a rondavel filled, as is typical, with men on one side and women on the other. I knew that we would soon be on. The people were singing as we arrived, and soon they would be expecting the words of comfort for which the visitors had been sent.

Psalm 19 was on my mind, for it was the text I had just preached on that morning in Mandela Park. Now I would have to find its significance for a different occasion.

In the church service, I had focused in on the line "more to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold; sweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycomb" (v. 10, NRSV). That which is "to be desired", of course, is what the text calls variously "the law of the Lord", "the decrees of the Lord", "the precepts of the Lord", "the commandment of the Lord", "the fear of the Lord", and "the ordinances of the Lord" (vv. 7-9). These or this--shall we say simply "the word of God"--are/is, according to the Psalmist, the most desirable "thing" in human experience. Nothing, in fact, within the creation is finer or sweeter. Neither gold--the most expensive thing--nor honey--the tastiest thing--appeals to the senses as the word of God.

"It is good that God made us to desire him," I said, "for even if we should lose a beloved child, hope is not lost." Though all the things of creation--humans and plants and animals--should pass away, God and God's Word remain for those left behind.

I don't know whether that sounds trite. I do know that, as I go into situations in which I must speak, I am reduced only to that which is already in my heart, which I already understand. I am made more simple. I am reduced to trusting in the moment the very God I proclaim. I am reduced to trusting that the words and the love which he has already deposited in me are sufficient for the day. That I have found to be true.

-Joe

the beginning of wisdom

Because I may be called upon to preach whenever we attend Harvest Time Ministries, a small Pentecostal congregation in Mandela Park in Mthatha, I keep myself immersed in scripture by following the Revised Common Lectionary. We also read these--four readings per week--every morning at breakfast before the boys go to school and we go to our office.

The readings from the lectionary may not be appropriate for some Sundays in Mandela Park; I need to keep myself free to speak a word from wherever in the Bible the Spirit might direct me. More commonly, however, the work of the Spirit is in making connections between my preparation in certain texts and the particular needs of a Sunday morning.

One such example comes from two weeks ago. The pastor had informed me in the week leading up to that Sunday that two special events were to occupy the service: a church blessing for a newly married couple and the welcoming of another young couple into positions of leadership in the ministry. I was assigned the marriage blessing; the pastor would do the welcome. However, when the newlyweds did not show, the pastor gave me the other assignment. I had to switch from something I was preparing in my heart from Ephesians 5 to--well, I didn't know what. But what came to me was what I had been reading that week from the lectionary: 1 Kings 3:3-14.

It so happens that 1 Kings 3:3-14 is a most appropriate text for exhorting new leaders; it describes something of a divine commissioning of Solomon to leadership of Israel. The commissioning comes in the form of a test set in a dream of Solomon.

God asks Solomon to ask God what God should give him. Solomon assumes a humble posture in response to the revelation of God, acknowledging God's "steadfast love" in the past, that is, to his father David, and his own inability for so great a task as "leading the people whom you have chosen, a great people, so numerous they cannot be numbered or counted" (v. 8).

Solomon's request pleases God. Solomon asks "only" for the wisdom to "discern between good and evil" in the cause of leading God's great people. Solomon's request for wisdom to do the good and shun the evil is significant in the text in light of that to which it is in opposition--"long life or riches" or "the life of your enemies." God does not want a leader for God's people who looks first to external things, to the things outside oneself, but internally, within his own heart. That is, as in words ascribed to Solomon's very father, David, the leader of Israel, God wants someone who asks God,

"search me and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting" (Ps. 139:23-24).

The enemy which God's appointed leader seeks to slay lurks not without but within. The enemies from outside are not the greatest danger to God's people; danger attacks from within.

The leader cannot buy "long life and riches"--prosperity--for the people. Neither can the leader protect the nation through the forcible removal of its enemies. Rather, the leader provides and protects by being who God has called the leader to be.

When confronted by the greatness of the God who "alone is good" (Mk. 10:18), the humble leader, like Solomon in the text, sees himself as he is: "a child", lacking in understanding ("I do not know how to go out or come in", v. 7), in need of the higher wisdom in order to do the good. In the piercing light of perfect love, complete knowledge (omniscience), and total capability (omnipotence), the humble leader rightly fears, for he now sees that perfect love and light cannot abide the bitterness and darkness within his own heart; "God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all" (1 Jn. 1:5). The leader either submits to the God who can cleanse her, thereby saving her life, or clings to her desire for wealth and the life of her enemies, thereby subjecting herself to the destructive cycle of greed and jealousy with those very enemies who seek her life. The leader has only two options: fear God or fear humans.

The latter is the way of mutual destruction. The former is "the beginning of wisdom", the way of peace for the people of God (Ps. 111:10).

-Joe