security in mercy

Several weeks ago it was my assignment to preach on Luke 16:1-13, the parable of the unjust steward and Jesus' ensuing interpretive comments.  This parable tied my mind in knots, not least because the moral that Jesus draws from the parable does not ring true in my ears: "make friends for yourself by means of dishonest wealth, so that when it is gone, they make welcome you into the eternal homes" (16:9).  I do not usually associate Jesus with dishonest wealth.

What I do associate with Jesus, on the other hand, is his statement that "you cannot serve both God and money" (16:13), a phrase that given its location must surely have something to do with the parable that precedes it.  So how might we reconcile such seemingly contradictory statements?

I found some measure of clarity by reading the parable in light of other parables, and particularly the parables that just precede the tale of the unjust steward, namely the parables of "the lost" in Luke 15.  In fact, it seems that Luke would want us to read these (four) parables together, as they all fit within a common frame: references that Jesus told these stories in the hearing of the Pharisees who were "grumbling" or "sneering" at him (15:2, 16:14).  In other words, these parables illustrate a common theme illustrated in a long textual unit stretching from 15:1-16:14.  That theme touches upon other themes, but it may be best expressed by a simple phrase from Jesus' aforementioned moral: "make friends for yourself."

The counsel to "make friends for yourself" is precisely what Jesus' opponents (the Pharisees) didn't want to hear, and what Jesus' disciples (to whom he told this parable) might accept or reject--thereby going the route of the Pharisees.  In telling the three parables of the lost (15:3-32), Jesus was responding to the Pharisees' complaint that he ate with and welcomed sinners and tax collectors (15:1-2).  The third and probably best-known of these, the parable of the two sons ("the prodigal son"), most directly connects the two parties--"the sinners" and the "Pharisees"--who were always around Jesus (with the disciples perhaps caught between these two).  It is not hard to see, for example, that the younger son in the parable of the two sons represents "sinners", those who have "squandered" the wealth that their father has graciously given them.  It is equally easy to see that the older son in that parable stands for the Pharisees, those who have not left the home or active service of their father but who grumble unmercifully--unlike the father whose character they purport to share--at those who have.

The parable of the two sons, then, sets the table for the parable of the unjust steward. For, just as the younger son in the preceding parable had "squandered" the wealth of his father, so the steward of a certain rich man "squanders" the wealth entrusted to his care (15:13, 16:1).  And just as the prodigal "comes to his senses" in an inner monologue before putting his words to action, so the unjust steward when stripped of his stewardship decides what he will do to provide for himself before putting the plan into action (15:17, 16:3-4).

What then did the unjust steward do?  The answer to this question makes all the difference, for it describes the action which Jesus commends.  That action is to use his authority to in some measure "forgive" the debts others owe to his master, thereby winning their favor.  Seeing that his job security is gone on account of his mismanagement, the unjust steward determines that his life no more rests in the service of "unjust mammon" but in the mercy of "God" through the welcome of his master's servants "into their homes."  Though the steward may not be commended for having come to such a realization freely but only when pressed to act out of utmost need, his seeking of security in mercy rather than mammon makes him too a child of God.  Like his fellow "tax collector" Zacchaeus a few short chapters later (19:1-10), the steward on occasion of the master's call transfers his allegiance from the realm of mammon to the realm of God.  No more is he a servant of money, enslaved to one master, but the servant of God, enslaved to Another.  The unjust steward, like "the sinners and tax collectors" who wandered far from home, is the one whose repentance ("turning around" or " changing direction") has gained him welcome in "everlasting homes."  Specifically, that repentance which leads to eternal security is the "making of friends", the welcoming of others in order that they may welcome you.

What then of the "dishonest wealth"?  To "make friends" may seem like good counsel, but shall we do so "by means of dishonest wealth?"  As other English translations have it, the Greek phrase which the NRSV translates "by means of dishonest wealth" might also be rendered "use worldly wealth" (NIV) or, as the New Jerusalem Bible puts it, "use money, tainted as it is."  That would seem to strike close to the reality of our own situation.  Who could argue that the world in which we live is not built upon "tainted" wealth, that the lands in which we make our livelihoods were stolen from others, that the food which we buy was produced from lands unjustly possessed and using means often degrading to the earth itself?  The world of mammon is incontestably unjust.

Nevertheless ensnared, God holds us responsible to use our "worldly wealth" to "make friends" out of enemies, to apply what resources we manage not to the breaking but to the building of relationships.  That in itself, creating a community of mutual care, would go a long way toward alleviating the suffering of our world.

-Joe

doing discipleship

I had the privilege last evening again to lead, with the pastor, a lesson on discipleship for mostly youth and young adults at Harvest Time Ministries.  Our text was Matthew 21:28-32.

The context of this text is the series of encounters between Jesus and the chief priest, elders of the people, and Pharisees after he has entered the temple during his passion week (21:23, 45).  This parable, like's Luke's better known story of "the prodigal son" (Lk 15:11-32), may be called "the parable of the two sons."  

I share the following insights from studying the text below.

1.  The parable seems to recommend a correspondence between the actions of the father and the actions of his children.  What the father does, he commands the children to do.  In the text, the father does two things: he goes to each child and he speaks to each child.  What he commands the children to do, similarly, is to go and to work--"in his vineyard" (23:28).  As the father has two activities, so his children.  This suggests to me, simply, that the sons and daughters of God must go where he calls us.  That is always the first step.  The second step, simply, is to be about God's business when we get there.  We are to "work" in God's vineyard.  That in turns suggests a challenge, for we must clearly discern between God's work and our own, and then submit to doing God's work when we may in fact prefer our own.

On the theme of this correspondence, one exceptionally bright girl from our study group suggested that "what God does, we can do because we are made in the image of God."  That theology and anthropology has its place, especially in this setting of historic disempowerment (colonialism and apartheid), of people's own sense of their loss of agency as human beings.  On the other hand, that kind of theology and anthropology is in the ascendancy here among types of churches with sometimes destructive effects upon community--since the encouragement to exercise one's authority in the image of God can be taken in a highly individualized sense, as though my God-given authority blinds me to the reality that God has also given his authority to others.  Thus, if two people who are "anointed" are to have a relationship, they must yield to one another.  So the continuing challenge is to affirm human dignity while not robbing others of their own.

2.  "The man" or the father in the story gives to both his children the same, basic tasks.  The text says that he "said the same" or "likewise" to the second child as he had said to the first.  This suggests, in the phrase of the same girl from our group, that "God is no respecter of persons."  And of course, what that old aphorism has always meant is that God does not privilege one of his children over another.  God does not see as humans typically see.  God looks not upon the stature of David, inferior to his brothers, but on David's heart, finding him fit to lead God's people.  In the text, this takes the form of Jesus deeming the unesteemed--the tax collectors and the prostitutes--as worthy of the kingdom as the esteemed, the religious leaders.  In fact, due to the leaders' pride, the tax collectors and prostitutes "are going into the kingdom of God ahead [of the religious leaders]" (v. 31).  But the basic point remains; in the beginning, both children--those who, because of whatever turn, became prostitutes and those who became religious leaders, were called by God "to go and work".  

3.  The difference between the two children is that the first "changed his mind and went" (v. 29), whereas the second did not go.  Of course, for the first child to change his mind implies that he once had a different mind from his father, that is, a mind not to do what his father told him to do.  In this sense, the first child is no different than the second child who clearly shows that he never had a mind to go even though he told the father that he would.  That is, both children did not want to go as the father commanded.  One, on the other hand, did go, after changing his mind--and that makes all the difference.

This means, therefore, that the decisive difference in God's eyes does not lie in what each child has spoken to his father.  If that were the case, then the second son would have been approved and the first not, since the second spoke what was right.  He said, in response to his father's call, "I go, sir" (v. 30).  While we could wish that the first child would have also made a right reply with his mouth, what is of first importance is that he put his actions in line with his father's will.

4.  The priority of doing over saying in Jesus' parable confirms the word of the apostle James, that true faith does not exist without good works (Ja 2:18-26).  The dynamic could be expressed like this: humans beings are justified, "declared righteous by God" on account of their faith, but their faith is justified, "declared righteous by God" on account of their works.  So then, by logic, do works justify us before God.  That still leaves us with the question of what kind of works justify, since works of ritual and purity are "morality" for some as much as compassion and mercy are for others (I believe Jesus sides definitively on that question as well).  Let it simply be said, however, that any confession that denies the place of works for salvation is less than true faith.   

5.  Jesus puts the matter of entering the kingdom of God in the hands and in the mouths of human beings.  He asks the religious leaders for the answer to his riddle--"Which of the two did the will of his father?" (v. 31).  Jesus does not condemn his opponents; they stand self-condemned.  It is they who give the right answer, knowing that the child who went and worked was the one who did his father's will, even as it is they who do not, in their own lives, do their father's will.  It is they who, like the second son, profess with their lips what is right but do not do as they say.  Thus, it is truly "by our words that we will be judged", for our words reveal our knowledge of God's will and leave us without excuse for making an honest attempt to put our actions in line (see Mt 12:36-37).

One final point:

No matter how obvious some of this may seem to works-oriented Christians, it is still worth saying that words are meaningless apart from their confirmation in the actions of human beings.  There is still too much posturing behind words without real substance in the world in which we live.

-Joe

to give or not to give

For the final lesson of our discipleship class this year, we studied Jesus’ parable of the ten bridesmaids, Matthew 25:1-13.

The parable gives out a key conclusion from the outset—of the ten bridesmaids, “five of them were foolish, and five were wise” (v. 2). Moreover, the text elaborates from the beginning the reason for their respective foolishness and wisdom: “When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps” (vv. 3-4). As a result, then, the suspense, the drama of the unfolding story, lies not in that five were wise and five were foolish, nor in the specific action that marks the line between wisdom and folly, but in why taking “flasks of oil with their lamps” should constitute wisdom. In order to answer that question, the reader will have to know more about the purpose for which the ten took lamps and did or did not take with them “flasks of oil”, which is the same as asking for whom did the bridesmaids take their lamps.

The second variant of that question, of course, is also stated from the outset—“Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom” (v. 1). Indeed, to meet the bridegroom was the sole purpose for which the ten took their lamps. Having one purpose, five took “flasks of oil” with their lamps and five did not. Seeing that one purpose, we wonder why five brought no flasks of oil with their lamps, and understand why having oil with their lamps is the difference between wisdom and folly. Indeed, if the bridesmaids truly cared about their one purpose, or for the one for whom they were bridesmaids, they would have prepared themselves against all contingencies. Though they—not even the wise ones—did not expect the bridegroom to be “delayed”, five of the ten were nonetheless prepared to meet him “at midnight” when the “shout” of his arrival went up (vv. 5-6). Consequently, the wisdom of the five who were prepared (“those who were ready”, v. 10), though they slept like the rest (v. 5), consists not in their foreknowledge of the bridegroom’s time of arrival but in their knowing what they needed to complete the task for which they were called. That sole task—to accompany the bridegroom into “the wedding banquet”—requires enough oil-powered light to illumine the narrow way (Mt. 7:13-14) forward through darkness.

To have enough oil to show the way absolutely forbids, in this case, sharing what one has with others who have not; the oil in this parable is not bread for the hungry, water for the thirsty, clothes for the naked (cf. Mt. 25:31-46). The giving of oil in their flasks to those who brought no flasks with oil but could have is akin to “throwing your pearls before swine” who will only trample (Mt. 7:6), to attempting to do for others what they must do but have failed to do for themselves. To give, in this story, is to try to do for someone else what only that person can do for herself. To give here is to intercede where no intercession is possible, to intervene between a person and her bridegroom—her Lord—where no intervention can work. That the five who brought flasks of oil with their lamps perceive that to give to those who did not bring flasks of oil with their lamps is a dead-end is precisely what makes them wise. They know, that is, that the whole purpose for which they—and their fellow bridesmaids who brought no flasks of oil—exist as servants—to go with the bridegroom into the wedding banquet—will not succeed if they give their oil. It is better to have five lamps, burning oil, making enough light to see the task through than to forfeit the task itself by spreading the oil so thin among ten that all the lamps will go out before the bridegroom enters his glory.

This, then, is the knowledge that pertains to knowledge, the wisdom of wisdom: It is better to put a lot into a few than to put a little into many.

If we should follow the wisdom of the first half of this statement, we will enter the wedding banquet with the bridegroom. If we follow the second half, neither we—once thought wise, once prepared—nor the foolish will enter.

Let, therefore, those who bring flasks of oil with their lamps go with the bridegroom into his wedding banquet.

-Joe

God’s justice, humans’ faith

For Wednesday’s discipleship class we studied Luke 18:1-8, often called the parable of “the persistent widow.”

The message of the text advances through four statements which may be divided into two sets of two. The first set is the repetition of the description of the “unjust judge”, the judge “in a certain city who neither feared God nor had respect for humans.” In its first appearance, the description is in the voice of Jesus the Narrator; in its second, it is the voice of the judge through Jesus the Actor (as Jesus plays the part of the judge). In both, the description is of a judge “who neither fears God nor has respect for humans” (vv. 2, 4). This is the characterization of the judge that we are not supposed to miss: no respect for God or humans; in short, he is, as Jesus calls him, “unjust” (v.6).

If the first set of repetitions is about the unjust judge, the second set of two is about the just judge, God. The first statement of the second set comes as Jesus’ question to his disciples: “Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?” (v. 7). The second statement, which repeats the critical information of the first, is Jesus’ emphatic answer to his own question: “I tell you, [God] will quickly grant justice to them” (v. 8). This, then, is the critical characterization of God: God grants justice—and “quickly” (v. 8).

Between the four statements of two sets lies the action on which the text turns—the action of “a widow” (vv. 3, 5). Because she kept “bothering” the unjust judge “for justice against [her] opponent”, the judge granted her justice. The unjust judge himself described the situation:

“ ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for humans, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming’” (v. 5).

The text continues, “And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them” (vv. 6-8).

There is an implicit comparison here in Jesus’ words between the widow and God’s “chosen ones who cry to him day and night” (v. 7). Though the widow was no one’s chosen, most certainly not that of the unjust judge to whom she continually cried, she received justice from the judge. How much more, then, will those whom the Judge loves receive justice? In fact, if God the Just is so predisposed towards his “chosen ones”, the absence of justice in human relationships must be a thing dependent upon the disposition of human beings—especially, as the parable seems to indicate, those humans who have been the victims of injustice. Though the widow, for example, may not have been responsible for the initial act of injustice that befell her, her incapacity to plead for justice is the cause of injustice’s continued reign. On the other hand, as the text teaches, her capacity to plead for justice—her perseverance through injustice—is that which restores to her her justice. Her perseverance is that which wins her respect precisely from a judge who does not “respect humans.” Though the unjust judge “for a while” did not have “a will” to grant the widow her justice, God has always a will to do so “quickly” (v. 4, 8). If, therefore, the lack of will is not God’s, the tarrying of justice in the lives of God’s people must owe to their own. God is looking for a people who care about justice enough to tell him about it. God is looking for a people with faith enough not to give up in the face of injustices.

And so, Jesus wants to know, “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (v. 8)

-Joe

worse than the first

We have now completed six weeks of a discipleship class with our church, Harvest Time Ministries in Mandela Park, Mthatha. Last week, we studied Matthew 18:21-35, Jesus’ parable of “a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves” (v. 23). As with the twin illustrations which we studied several weeks ago (Mt. 13:44-46), the parable of the king and his slaves is an illustration of what “the kingdom of heaven is like” (v. 23). And like the parable of the Good Samaritan which we also studied in recent weeks, so Jesus told the parable of the king and his slaves in response to a question; in the former, a lawyer, wishing “to justify himself”, had asked, “Who is my neighbor?” (Lk. 10:29); in the latter, Peter, one of the twelve, seeks to place limits on forgiveness: “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” (v. 21). As the lawyer sought to limit the scope of love for neighbor—“to love those only who love you” (Mt. 5:46)—Peter here seemingly seeks a limit for the number of times a person may be forgiven. That this is Peter’s intention seems obvious from Jesus’ answer: “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy times seven”—a number so large, however one interprets it, so as to make forgiveness a perpetual state of mind throughout a person’s life, while rendering Peter’s “seven” paltry in comparison.

The story Jesus tells, then, to illustrate the forgiving spirit, or mercy (v. 33), hinges on the comparison between the action of the king who had a “will” to “settle accounts with his slaves” and one of his slaves who did not have a “will” (translated, NRSV, “But he refused”) to forgive his fellow slave (v. 30). Whereas the king forgave the debt of “the one who owed him ten thousand talents”, that very debtor will not forgive the debt of one who “owed him a hundred denarii”; forgiven much, he does not forgive, in reverse of the woman who showed Jesus hospitality in the home of Simon the Pharisee (Lk. 7:36-50). That the one forgiven much will not forgive is all the more scandalous in light of the identical pleas of both debtors in the story. The first debtor, the very slave forgiven who does not forgive, “falls on his knees before [the king]”, pleads for his lord’s “patience”, and promises to “pay” the debt. This very one forgiven, however, does not recognize himself in another, his fellow slave who owes him “five hundred denarii”. Indeed, though the forgiven’s debtor, like the forgiven, “falls down”, pleads for “patience” and promises to “pay”, he is not met with a “will” to forgive. The first debtor does not have the “compassion” (“pity”, NRSV) of his king (v. 27).

We, the readers/hearers of this story are rightly scandalized, for the king’s mercy has prepared us to expect a merciful response from the first debtor when he hears his own plea from one of his fellow slaves. Twice someone has “fallen down”, begged for “patience”, and pledged to “pay”; only once has someone received compassion. Something is wrong with this picture.

The other slaves in the story, the fellow slaves of both the first and second debtors, are, like us, unable to withhold their protest. When they see mercy not extended, they report to the king (v. 31). The king—perhaps like us, perhaps not—is unable to withhold action of his own. He summons the first slave, reminds him of the forgiveness that was his, and outlines what the debtor should have done in his own capacity as a lord (vv. 32-33). Yet until that one once forgiven much will live by the mercy he received, he will be “handed over” and “tortured”—“until he would pay his entire debt” (v. 34). Even here there is mercy. Not even now, as the first debtor did to his debtor, does the king “grab” the slave and “choke” him while demanding payment. The king even leaves open the possibility that the debt might somehow be paid and the unmerciful slave released from prison. But until that time—which also may never come—the slave must live with the prison he has built for himself. Once a debtor of “ten thousand talents”, the first slave, on account of his plea, “was released” and “forgiven”; his freedom was unconditional, on the basis of the king’s mercy, compassion in the face of human need—not on the basis of the debtor having to pay the original debt. Having been given the world, having moved from bad to good, the slave need now but walk in the mercy of his lord toward others—that is the only “payment” now required of him. If, however, he “refuses so great a salvation”, his latter condition will be worse than his first (Heb. 2:3; Mt. 12:43-45). Rejecting the life of mercy, he will have gone from bad through good to worse.

So it will be for us “if we do not forgive our brothers and sisters from our hearts” (v. 35).

-Joe

compassion in the story

Here is my latest column for the Anabaptist Network in South Africa.

-Joe

for the sake of joy

For our discipleship class with Harvest Time Ministries last Wednesday, we studied Matthew 13:44-46, two illustrations-parables Jesus used to describe what “the kingdom of heaven is like” (vv. 44, 45). In gathering the basic information from the text, the line “in his joy” emerged as a key to unlocking the message for the day. “In his joy” refers to a human being who, after finding and hiding a treasure in a field, “in his joy” went and sold “all that he had and bought it” (v. 44). Because the human being, exactly like the “merchant” in the second illustration in Jesus’ pairing, sold “all that he had” in order to get the “treasure”—or, as in the second illustration, the “one pearl of great value”—we the readers/listeners are left to wonder what was so significant about that treasure or that one pearl of great value. Why did the human being, why did the merchant, sell “all that he had” in order to acquire only “one” thing? Indeed, it seems that the human being had many things, perhaps many of them also of great value. Why then did he forsake such great treasure for the treasure he did not yet have?

It seems that the answer is because of “his joy”. Though he had many things, the sale of which was enough to acquire a thing of “great value”, the many things did not bring him joy. Though many is more than one, the many things he possessed could not bring him the joy that the one thing he “found” did. Therefore, “in his joy”, he went and sold “all that he had.”

“The kingdom of heaven is like this.”

When we “find” it, when we experience the presence of God, through his Word, in Jesus, the glory of earthly possessions begins to fade. Their value is not “great” in light of God’s value. The joy they bring is not joy in light of God’s joy. For that joy, the human being will sell all that he has.

Who then are disciples? First and foremost, disciples are people of joy, people who have an all-consuming passion, love, hunger for God and his righteousness—no matter the cost (cf. Mt. 5:6, 6:33; Heb. 12:2).

-Joe

"The Father and I are one"

I preached last Sunday, as doubtless did many preachers around the world, on the parable of "the prodigal son", Luke 15:11-32. It has been pointed out that the parable is misnamed. In the first place, Jesus introduces the parable with the line "there was a man who had two sons" (v. 11). The story is not simply about the youngest son who goes to a distant country and squanders his inheritance; it is also about his older brother who stays home. In the second place, and perhaps more importantly, the common title to the parable is misleading because the parable itself makes central the role of the father. The parable is not summed up by the son's sin but by the father's mercy (admittedly, one cannot have one without the other). I make the following observations on the activity and identity of the father in the parable.

1. The response of the father is the center of the text. The father's action is narrated directly between the critical, twofold repetition in the text, the plea of the younger son. First, after he has exhausted his portion of mercy in the "distant country", the younger son rehearses the words which he has resolved to say in going back to his father.

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands" (v. 19).

Second, after he has come back to his father, the younger son says to him,

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (v. 21).

The two statements, of course, are identical--with one exception: the younger son is not able to finish what he had rehearsed; he never says to the father, "treat me like one of your hired hands". The absence of the rehearsed ending in the actual confession is not, however, the son's omission. The father does not need to hear any more. His response, in effect, cuts off the son's confession. Instead of a hired hand, the father treats the son like a king.

Put the best robe on him. Put a ring on his finger. Put sandals on his feet. Make a feast. Let's celebrate (vv. 22-24).

These actions complete the father's earlier action upon seeing his son for the first time since he had left home with his inheritance. That is, "while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him" (v. 20). This is the climax of the story, the turning point of the text. The reader, previously in suspense, now knows that the father will not count the son "unworthy to be called his son". The father welcomes him home as his son.

2. The father's love is not human love. It is not, for example, the love of the younger son, who asked for the inheritance that would be his, that is, after his father had died, while his father was still alive. Likewise, it is not the love of the older son, who was angry that his father would have compassion on his younger brother. The only love in the story is the father's own.

3. The father is Jesus. The parable is the third in a succession of three which Jesus tells in response to the complaint of the "Pharisees and scribes" that Jesus "welcomes sinners and eats with them" (Lk. 15:2). The parable is a near-exact match for reality: the "older son" Pharisees and scribes complain about the mercy shown to their "younger son" sinners and "tax collectors" (15:1). In the parable, the older son complains to his father. In reality, the Pharisees and scribes complain to Jesus. They do not perceive that he is their father.

-Joe

prophetic desperation

My last entry, on prophetic loneliness, ended by introducing another characteristic of the prophets--desperation.

I came to this realization in the course of teaching the topic last month. As I was desperately trying to communicate my message (as always, across vast language and cultural barriers), I sensed how the words and actions of the biblical prophets also reflected desperation.

For the small group activity, I had asked the students to find examples from the prophetic books that fit four categories of prophetic communication that I had identified from my own reading.

They are:

1. Analysis and Truth-telling. The prophet looks around at the world and observes that it is not as God designed it to be. Then the prophet tells the truth about the world. I think here of Amos, for example, in chapter 8:4-6. He identified the social situation of his time and decried it as it was.

2. Prophetic Displays/Dramatizations. The prophet enacts before the people the message he is trying to communicate to them. The prophet Hosea, for example, married a prostitute in order to show Israel that they were prostituting themselves with gods who were not God, with gods who neither loved Israel nor had married her (as Yahweh had) (Hosea 1-3).

3. Parables and Allegories. We think of parables in the ministry of Jesus, who certainly continued the prophetic tradition of the Old Testament. One of my favorite parables is that which Nathan told to David after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba and murdered her husband (2 Sam. 12)

4. Visions. The prophets saw visions and reported them. I chose to highlight Isaiah 6.

In the course of proclaiming again these texts, I realized a common thread: God is persistent in trying to reach God's people. God is desperate to turn the people back to himself. Consequently, God uses the prophets in many and various ways. If simple analysis and truth-telling does not get through, God will dramatize the people's sin before their very eyes; the prophet performs a drama. Where words cannot communicate, perhaps actions stand a chance. On the other hand, perhaps the limits do not lie with words but with the manner of words; not analysis but imaginative portrayal will get through. In desperate times--but not only desperate--only story, parable, hits home. Still, If even parable will not do, perhaps a vision of the Holy Itself will convince one of his sin. In the case of Isaiah, "a man of unclean lips living among a people of unclean lips", purification begins with the prophet.

There are doubtless many ways to tackle a subject as big as the prophets. For this time and place, this was mine.

-Joe