mercy’s victory

On Sunday I preached on 2 Kings 6:8-23, the story of the prophet Elisha’s showdown with the army of Aram. This was not a story, upon coming upon it several years ago, that I remembered from my childhood Bible story books. Yet it deserves to be better-known than it seems to be.

The story seems to express in narrative form what the Psalmist proclaimed: “A king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. The war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great strength it cannot save” (Ps. 33:16-17).

Indeed, the text makes much of horses, chariots, and armies. Two of the appearances of these in the text have to do with weapons of “blood and flesh”, to borrow the language of Ephesians 6. A third has to do with the weapons of the spirit—the “horses and chariots of fire” which the servant of Elisha saw were “more” than “the army with horses and chariots” which surrounded the Israelite city of Dothan.

The king of Aram is keen to use the horses and chariots of flesh; the prophet Elisha fights with the “sword of the spirit”—prayer. When Elisha repeatedly foils the king of Aram’s plans to attack Israel, the king of Aram responds by escalating his military escapades. Even though the king’s earlier military strategies have failed because of Elisha’s interventions in the spirit—his officers tell him that “it is Elisha, the prophet in Israel, who tells the king of Israel the words that you speak in your bedchamber”—the king is not deterred from attempting to take Elisha by force. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, the king does not consider that more military might will not now bring his enemies under his feet. He dispatches “horses and chariots and a great army” to Dothan to put an end to Elisha’s prophesying.

As before, his latest attempt is foiled. Elisha prays. The Aramean army is struck blind. Elisha leads them to Samaria, the seat of power in the Northern Israelite kingdom. He prays again. The Lord opens their eyes, “and they saw that they were inside Samaria.” By his might the king of Aram had hoped to put his enemies under his feet; now his army finds itself within the grasp of his adversary, the king of Israel.

If the Arameans expected the king of Israel to do unto them as they did unto others, this indeed would have been a time for fear. If they had understood, however, that the God of Israel is not a man, they might have expected that mercy which they received through the words of the prophet.

“Set food and water before them so that they may eat and drink; and let them go to their master" (v. 22).

“The war horse was a vain hope for victory” for the king of Aram. Far from victory, in fact, it was his defeat. Only the God who led him there, against whom his plans were laid, could bring his army out—by mercy, for the sake of God’s merciful name (see Ex. 34:5-6).

-Joe

streaming up the mountain

I had the privilege of preaching the sermon at Grace Community Church in Philipstown, Northern Cape, on Sunday. I chose Isaiah 2:2-4 to complement the themes of our weekend seminars on the church as the community of Christ's peace.

As I warmed up, I began to relish the metaphors in the text, specifically, the image of the nations "streaming"--"like a river that runs down to the sea and never stops" is how I put it--to "the Lord's house" (v. 2). Afterward, our colleagues pointed out to me a tantalizing paradox in the image--the nations streaming like a river up the high mountain on which the Lord's house stands.

Can a river flow up a mountain? A geological impossibility is paired with a theological certainty. The nations at war with one another will beat their weapons into agricultural tools. In our day, as well as in the days of Isaiah and, 800 years later, the early church (whose leaders cited this scripture in their writings more than any other), peace may seem as much an impossibility as a river flowing up.

Yet the "God of Jacob" is there. He himself "will teach us his ways that we may walk in his paths" (v. 3). "He himself is our peace", as Paul later put it, "who has made the two one and has broken down the dividing wall of hostility between us" (Eph. 2:14). He did this "in his flesh", that is, through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead (Eph 2:14, see also 1:20), another impossibility made certain.

What is impossible for humans is possible for God (Mk. 10:27; 11:23-24).

-Joe

of Pilate and the poor

Since re-reading it a couple of weeks ago, Jesus' conversation with Pilate (John 18:33-38) has been on my mind.

Some observations:

1. Pilate acts here as any worldly king does, ultimately disinterested in the plight of the poor in his kingdom. This is obvious from his lack of effort in distinguishing Jesus from the people who have handed him over. Those who handed him over, of course, were Jesus' own people, in the words of Pilate to Jesus "your own nation and the chief priests" (v. 35). Also by implication these are simply what the text calls "the Jews", for Pilate is perturbed that Jesus insinuates that Pilate might be able to tell for himself whether Jesus is truly or not "King of the Jews." "I am not a Jew, am I", Pilate retorts, aghast that he might be associated on any level with the subjects of his rule. In effect Pilate is saying, "I don't know them, I can't know them, indeed I do not want to know them." It is unthinkable that a man of his power shares anything in common with the subjects of his kingdom. Because of this attitude, it is not surprising that Pilate is surprised that Jesus' own people would hand him over; the impassible king does not sense that conflict rages within and among the subjected peoples of his reign. He can only ask,"What have you done?", implying an act of offense great enough to warrant a request for crucifixion, because he sees no reason otherwise why the Jews should be at war among themselves. This is not because Pilate regards the Jews as exceptionally good people, immune to conflict, but simply because he does not care whether they are typically human enough to have passion, disagreement, conflict. To Pilate they are "only" Jews, the subjects of his rule, objects to be moved or crushed for his political gain. In Pilate's eyes, the only conflict of the Jews is that between them and him; they are all out to get him because everyone and everything must always be about the king.

2. Jesus, on the other hand, is not out to get the king, at least not in the manner that Pilate fears. Jesus, rather, contra Pilate, is only concerned with the plight of the poor, his own people (which is to say, and not with Pilate). Jesus knows that the fight which Pilate fears from the Jews is not the fight that will free them. He will not permit them to fight, and see, as he explains to Pilate, his followers do not fight "to keep me from being handed over to the Jews" (v. 36). Rather, Jesus' people will be free on account of their trust in another kingdom--one "not from this world"--and another king. The sign of that trust will be their refusal to fight in the manner of Pilate, with the weapons of blood and flesh. The sign will be that they will "be handed over", but they will hand no one over. It is the sign that distinguishes Jew from Jew, the sign also Pilate might have seen if he had eyes to sees.

3. The question remains whether the sons and daughters of Pilate will ever see. The historical record is not good (At this moment Barack Obama has handed over 30,000 more U.S. troops to a war in Afghanistan). We have little reason to doubt whether the kingdoms of the world have not really been "given over" to Satan (Lk. 4:6), and whether therefore the poor are not more worthy of our attention in the hope of a better world.

-Joe