Lectionary Commentaries for September 4, 2016
Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Last week’s pericope from Luke was set inside, namely, in the home of a Pharisee where Jesus had been having relatively intimate mealtime conversations and interactions.

Here, the setting shifts outside and goes public. Jesus is now on the road, and traveling with large crowds. More than this, there is also a shift of topic. If many are thronging Jesus coming along on his journey and following, the focus should rightly be on discipleship. The change in tone and location in this latter part of Luke 14 is striking. But then we recall that Jesus is not travelling just any old journey. He is going to Jerusalem and has been heading toward a cross since Luke 9:51. Perhaps this is why the time is ripe to help persons in the thronging crowd make assessments.

I grew up in South Dakota. Every so often when you leave town by car, there’s a sign just after you pass by the last roadside tokens of civilization that reads: NEXT SERVICES 34 MILES. A sign like this has a sobering effect on the average driver. It causes you to check the gauges, make sure there’s a bottle of water nearby, and if it is winter, ensure that there’s a blanket in the trunk. Setting out on the road in the Dakotas requires at least a little forethought.

In our text, such wisdom is all the more important. The crowds who “come to” Jesus to travel with him may not know it, but his journey is not a light matter. Sometimes our view of discipleship is colored by the immediacy of the first disciples’ response: Jesus calls; disciples drop nets and follow. Here in Luke 14:25 the picture is somewhat different. The crowds, says Joseph Fitzmyer, are “following Jesus because of the blessing and the wonderful things that he has associated with the kingdom.”¹ The crowds, it seems, have counted the kingdom assets, perhaps, but what of the liabilities?

Jesus’ response in 14:26-27 about hating family and life and carrying the cross sounds harsh to our ears, but is really representative of a kind of hyperbolic emphasis. Following Jesus has to be more important than all these things and requires a single-mindedness that the crowd may not yet have understood.

This, in turn, explains the analogies that Jesus uses to help the crowd reflect on the choices they would be making in Luke 14:28-32. The analogical fields may be familiar enough to us: building a tower or going to war. These are events that require a bit of forethought and reflection, not a matter of pure passion and abandon. Jesus wants the crowd in its excitement to count the cost — especially if they are travelling with him. Two things emerge in the analogies that Jesus draws. First, note that each analogy involves the person anticipating building towers or going to war sitting down (Luke 14:28b, 31b). We usually think of discipleship in more active terms, but Jesus wants to approach the task of following him as one requiring a little cost accounting or wisdom. Second, each analogy also focuses on outcomes. A failure in finishing the job of building a tower has the potential of evoking public shame and ridicule as clear evidence of not thinking things all the way through to the end. A failure, by contrast, in war-making that does not know how to count soldiers and estimate the probability of victory or defeat could even be more catastrophic. In that event, it would be wiser to ask for terms of peace while the getting is still good. A wise follower may be ready for action, but not without a little prudential reflection.

Perhaps this is why Luke 14:33 sticks out like a sore thumb. If the first several verses of our pericope have been leading us to a kind of disciples’ wisdom, the final verse lays everything on the line: “So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” The “So therefore,” indicates that Jesus is still building on the previous ordinary analogies and his earlier point about counting the cost — this is true. Yet the final condition comes at us would-be followers with a stunning force. What we see here is actually more than just counting the cost, but renouncing everything one has. In a moment, all the sitting and reflecting are broken open and the ground of the wisdom underneath them is revealed — this has to do with the ultimate and not just penultimate.

For the preacher, the force of a text like this is to re-frame the ordinary world we know. Discipleship is not just one more hobby or extra-curricular activity. Would-be followers should count the cost, but realize that the cost is not the same as for the 5k-charity run or expanding the Sunday School wing. The cost must be counted, but is not of the same order. Discipleship has to do with the ultimate and not just the penultimate.

The danger for the preacher, of course, is to turn discipleship into one more human project. You must renounce all for God and only you can do it. Fortunately, neither Luke nor the gospel work that way. Long before Jesus’ troubling call to reflection and discernment comes the gift of God’s coming reign. And at the other end of the road on which the crowds would wish to accompany Jesus is his cross, but also his resurrection, his ascension, and the Spirit poured out lavishly upon Jews (Acts 2) and Gentiles (Acts 10) alike. Luke’s Gospel reminds us that the gospel is even more than renunciation, even renunciation for God’s ultimate claim upon us. It is task, to be sure, but it is first gift, call, and hope for the journey.

Notes:

¹ Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke: X-XXIV (vol. 28A; Anchor Bible; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1985), 1063.

This Pentecost text has commonly been considered the conclusion to the farewell speech of Moses to the people of Israel (Deuteronomy 29:1-30:20).

This text is a part of the announcement of a new covenant of God with the people of Israel (Deuteronomy 29-32; see 29:1, 10-15), sometimes called the Moab covenant. This word from Moses looks into the future and urges the people to love the Lord their God and to keep the commandments, for in so doing they will choose life for that future and not death.

While the placement of the text in Deuteronomy sets the text at the end of the wilderness period in Israel’s life, it is often suggested that it was (also) delivered to a 6^th century Israel that had been driven into Babylonian exile (see Deuteronomy 29:25-28). In both settings the shape of Israel’s future was uncertain and this word from God was intended to assure God’s people that a future of life in the land of promise was certainly in view. At the same time, how the people responded to the word of God would shape the nature of that future. In the interests of life in that future, Israel should renew its loyalty to God and commit itself anew to the relationship.

The entire people of God is in view in this text. Why, then, is the second person singular “you” used in this text and commonly in Deuteronomy? The singular is probably used because it speaks more personally to the community (compare the “us” in 30:12-13).

It is important to recognize that this word of God is delivered to a people that had already been redeemed by God (see Deuteronomy 7:7-8). This is a word from God to God’s chosen and redeemed people. So, when they are called by God to “choose life” (Deuteronomy 30:19), this is a word given to them from within their relationship with God, not a means by which they could become the people of God. It is a word indicating that the nature of their future within that relationship would be shaped by their responsiveness to God and God’s word. What they do and say within that relationship will shape the nature of their future. The future is at least somewhat open here, open to what the people will do and God’s response to the people. It is likely that the circumcision of the heart by God (Deuteronomy 30:6) enables this obedience by Israel.

A dominant theme in this text, repeated often, is “life, live”; words or expressions for (long) life occur eight times in virtually every verse! These words are spoken to the people with a specific purpose in mind: LIFE. Interestingly, another oft-repeated word is “today” (Deuteronomy 30:2, 8, 11, 15, 16, 18, 19). What is being described is a current situation; how Israel responds to God will affect the nature of their present and future life.

The word “life” has reference to much more than physical life or the beating of the heart. The language of “life” catches up the ideas of good health, daily blessings, happiness, and fruitfulness. It means to be strong in body and mind and spirit, to thrive in one’s personal life and in one’s relationship with others. Things are going well for you! This language is understood in comprehensive terms. God speaks and acts on behalf of the people for the sake of all aspects of their ongoing life. God speaks these words in order that the people might live well and live long in the land that God has promised them.

God’s giving of the “commandments” (Deuteronomy 30:8, 10, 11, 16) is in the interests of the best life possible and the people’s obedience of the commandments contributes to a life more filled with blessing. As the book of Proverbs puts it: “Keep my commandments and live” (Proverbs 4:4; 7:2). Deuteronomy 5:33 gathers these themes very well: “You must follow exactly the path that the LORD your God has commanded you, so that you may live, and that it may go well with you, and that you may live long in the land that you are to possess.” God gives the law in the service of life. This understanding of law and its purpose goes back to creation, to a pre-sin world (Genesis 1:26-28; 2:16-17).

Israel is called not only to love and obey the Lord their God, but to “hold fast” to him Deuteronomy (30:20; see 11:22; for the interhuman use of the word in the sense of “hold close,” see Genesis 2:24). That basic concern is summarized at a key juncture in the beginning of the book (Deuteronomy 6:4): “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”

Two possible futures are laid out in this text: life and death (Deuteronomy 30:15; 30:19). Note that the future is not laid out in absolute certainty — as if God knows that future in detail and could describe it to the people right now. The future is noted in terms of possibilities. What Israel says and does will give shape to that future, but what that shape will be is not determined in advance; that future remains open to what happens within the relationship, even for God.

“Choose life.” This is the only use of the verb “choose” (behar) with human beings as subject in the Old Testament (usually God “chooses”). Israel is to choose to receive what God has promised. To choose life is to love the Lord your God, obey him, and to hold fast to him. Human beings must make choices and the choosing of life will make a significant difference in the shape that life takes. The call is for Israel to take a stand on behalf of the word of God as it relates to life. Israel’s positive response would be enabled by God’s gracious action. To choose life is to trust in the promises of God (Deuteronomy 30:20) and such a choice will make a difference.

Deuteronomy does not state how Israel responded to this word of Moses. The effect of this word to the people is open-ended. This absence suggests that this question is an open-ended question for “today” as well, that is, for all audiences to which the book is written. The book ends with uncertainty regarding what Israel’s response will be. It may be that each reader is called to provide that response.

In this week’s Old Testament lection, God invites Jeremiah to enter a potter’s shed and there observe the potter working with clay, so that Jeremiah may better hear God’s words (Jeremiah 18:1), understand God’s way with Israel (18:6), and summon God’s people to conversion (18:11).

Jeremiah must leave his own familiar spaces, step away from the scriptures and the sanctuaries, bypass the committee meetings and professional development seminars, and instead learn about God and God’s people by watching an artist at work.

You too, preacher, must visit the potter’s shed. Or watch the painter mix her paints and fill her canvas in the open air. Feel the weaver’s coarse-spun wool as she weaves her tapestry of richly colored threads. Smell the shavings in the woodworker’s garage as she shapes and matches the joints that will secure board to board. Hear the songwriter test chord progressions and lyrical phrases as she scribbles, strums, and hums. When you do, you will learn something new about God and you will hear a fresh summons for God’s people.

Other scriptures invite us to imagine God as ruler and judge, writer and teacher, farmer and builder, father, mother, and lover. Jeremiah 18 invites us to see God as an artisan and artist. The image is not new in the scriptures. Genesis 1 portrays God as the first poet, designer, metalworker, and landscaper, as God speaks, divides, fashions, and populates the cosmos. In Genesis 2:7 God first shapes clay, sculpting and forming humankind from the sediment of the earth. As God’s hands knead and smooth the moist dirt, God breathes life into God’s new creation, so that the human being is simultaneously grounded by this connection to earth and animated by the very breath of God.

Clay that has not been fired

Now, in Jeremiah 18, we hear that God did not simply shape us once for all. To this day, God tells Jeremiah, God’s people are like clay that has not yet been fired. As we too go down into the potter’s shed, we may learn the difference between clay that has been fired and clay that has not yet been fired. It is this: clay that has been fired dries, shrinks, and hardens into a permanent structure and shape. It may be decorative, but is often functional, and is most often designed for a single purpose — a brick or tile, bowl or plate, a mug, a vase, a pitcher, a storage jar, a lamp. It is easy to break. Such clay, now dry ceramic, is often lovely and as often useful. It is specialized. It is also rigid and brittle.

Clay that has not been fired is plastic. It may be shaped and reshaped infinitely. It is a material of possibility: moldable, flexible, responsive.

Though God shaped humankind and breathed life into its nostrils, God did not fire the clay from which she made us. No one of us is only a tile, a pitcher, or a lamp. God is able to shape us and reshape us, and God labors tirelessly at the wheel on our behalf. God assesses our character, perceives our strengths and our weaknesses, builds on our strengths, and, when flaws are found in us, works diligently to remedy them.

A responsive God

After Jeremiah’s visit to the potter’s shed, and after God explains to Jeremiah just how God is a potter and just how God’s people are like clay in God’s hand, whom God is able to re-form (Jeremiah 18:6), God changes gears and begins to talk about God’s plans for nations and kingdoms. It almost seems to be a new subject, for now God is not talking about the house of Israel in particular, but rather about any nation at all. God also sets aside the image of a potter and clay, for a moment, and revisits imagery from Jeremiah’s commission in chapter 1: plucking up, pulling down, building, and planting (1:10). This seeming digression stands as a corrective against a possible misinterpretation of the living parable of the potter and the clay.

God’s plans for a nation, a people, or a kingdom, God explains, are not fixed, and they are not determined apart from our own choices (Jeremiah 18:7-10). On one hand, God’s good plan to build up a people may be thwarted by their choice to do what is evil. On the other hand, God may plan to pull down a kingdom that has made itself great on the backs of the oppressed, but if that nation turns from its evil, God may change her mind concerning the destruction God had planned. Just as we, the unfired clay, respond to the potter’s touch, to water, and to the wheel, so God responds to us.

Human freedom and the call to conversion

And so we see that at the heart of this lectionary passage is the complex interaction between God the artist and maker, on one hand, and, on the other, God’s people, who are like clay in God’s hands, but are also so much more. God cannot make us do anything. God cannot make us use our gifts or choose the good. Nor can God effect our conversion or direct our lives and our will to a new path and purpose if we do not also choose them.

We are neither automatons nor closed circuits. The shape of our character and our lives is not fixed. We remain supple. We, as individuals and as communities, may be formed through education and the practice of virtue. We may be deformed through abuse and ambition. We are susceptible to influence, suggestion, temptation, and corruption. We are also resilient, and capable of astonishing goodness and true conversion. Through it all, even in the company of others and even in relationship with God, each of us forms our own intentions and exercises our own free will.

At the conclusion of this lection, God asks Jeremiah — asks, not commands, and even says “please” — to speak to the people of Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem, to summon them to conversion. God has planned an end for the kingdom of Judah, but even this future is not fixed. Just as the potter returns to the wheel, so God asks the people to return — please — each one, from the evil path they have chosen, and to make their paths and their deeds good (Jeremiah 18:11).

This deceptively simple psalm serves as the introduction to the Psalter and sets before us, the readers, a vision of life as a journey marked by bifurcating paths: turn one way, happiness (1:1), another, destruction (1:6).

Our psalmist, to entice us to choose the happy trail, paints the happy life with images stolen from paradise—verdant with plant life, nourished by gentle waters, seasonably fruitful, and unfailingly prosperous (1:3). The psalmist invites us to the royal garden, perhaps atop the Mountain of God, Eden-like. In contrast, he likens the fate of those who choose to turn at the forks of life’s journey time and again toward destruction, not simply to chaff, but to chaff that the discerning wind drives out of the garden into judgment (1:4-5).

The choice would appear clear: reject the path that leads to destruction and choose the other path, the happy life. But where might we find this path to the garden? Dutifully, the psalmist announces:

Happy is the one … [whose] delight is in the law of the LORD,
and [who] on his law meditates day and night. (1:1, 2 author’s translation)

One mystery remains: What is “the law of the LORD,” and what does it require?

The Law of the LORD as the Pentateuch

The Jewish Bible is organized differently from the Christian Old Testament and is comprised of three parts: in order, the Torah (the Pentateuch), the Neviim (most of the historical and prophetic books of the Christian Old Testament), and the Ketuvim (which begins with Psalms and concludes with Chronicles).

In the first chapter of Joshua, the first book of the Neviim, God tells Joshua: “[Act] in accordance with all the law that my servant Moses commanded you … This book of the law … you shall meditate on it day and night …  For then you shall make your way prosperous” (Joshua 1:7, 8). In this passage, “this book of the law” refers to Deuteronomy and more expansively to the entire Pentateuch, the Torah. And, if the “way” of Joshua and the nation he now leads is to “prosper,” Joshua will need to “mediate … day and night” on the Torah, the law of the LORD.

The beginning of the Ketuvim, namely Psalm 1, echoes the beginning of the Neviim and likewise highlights the priority and vital importance of the Torah. Repeating words from Joshua, our psalmist proclaims: “Happy is the one … [whose] delight is in the law of the LORD, / and [who] on his law meditates day and night … In all that he does, he will prosper” (1:1, 2, 3 author’s translation). If we are right that Psalm 1 alludes to Joshua 1, then the psalmist’s “law of the LORD” refers to “the law that my servant Moses commanded you … this book of the law,” namely, the Torah.

When we identify the “law of the LORD” with the Torah, we transform Psalm 1 into an interpretative key to the Torah and the Neviim, and vice versa. Our psalm, with Joshua 1, exhorts us to mediate on the Torah for teaching that leads to happiness and, correspondingly, to read the Neviim, the stories of Joshua to Kings and the prophecies of Isaiah to Malachi, as the arena in which the psalmist’s claim that “Happy is the one … ” plays out. How do you learn not to walk in the counsel of the wicked, or stand in the way of sinners, or sit in the seat of mockers? Meditate on the Torah. How happy is a tree planted by streams of water and how miserable the fate of the wicked? Look to the Neviim.

The Law of the LORD as the Psalter

Our psalm echoes Joshua 1 and upholds the importance of the Torah and the Neviim. But we should not forget that Psalm 1 is the introduction to the Psalter. It does not point backward in affirmation only but also forward in anticipation. When the psalmist exhorts us to “mediate on the Law of the LORD day and night,” therefore, he no doubt also exhorts the studied consideration and the impassioned recitation of the Psalter itself. In some sense, the Psalter is the “law of the LORD.”

The Psalter is words spoken by human beings to God in lament, petition, thanksgiving, and praise. So it might seem odd to think of the human words of the Psalter as the law of the LORD. But some have wondered whether the Psalter was not divided into five books (Book I consisting of Psalms 1-41; Book II Psalms 42-72; Book III Psalms 73-89; Book IV Psalms 90-106; and Book V Psalms 107-150) in analogy to the five books of the Torah. It has also been observed that the superscriptions of the psalms invite us to read the Psalter in conjunction with the narratives of the Neviim. For example, superscriptions to many psalms refer to events in David’s life recounted in 1 and 2 Samuel. The Psalter, in this way, brings together the Torah and the Neviim.

However one interprets this complex relationship between Torah, Neviim, and the Psalter, it cannot be doubted that Psalm 1, as an introduction to the Psalter, offers the meditation on the psalms that follow as part of the happiness program. It proclaims: Happy are those who meditate on the psalms day and night.

Meditating on the Psalter

What does it mean to meditate on the psalms?

To meditate on the psalms means first and foremost to speak the human words of each psalm to God, that is, to lament, petition, give thanks, and to praise God day and night. John Calvin rightly called the Psalter “the anatomy of all the parts of the human soul.” What the meditation on the psalms requires, then, is the honest presentation of all the parts of our human soul before God. It requires us to give heartfelt thanksgiving and praise, joining the heavens, the earth, and even the sea. It also requires us to cry aloud from upon the ash heaps—in complaint, in sorrow, in anger, in protest—to God. To borrow words from Kierkegaard, to meditate on the psalms is to choose to will to be ourselves before God, to sing full throated songs of praise when that is appropriate and to give honest articulation to our despair when we are sad. To present our very ordinary selves, our daily selves, to God, that is the advice of the Psalm.

Happy is the one who meditates day and night on the law of the Lord!

Preachers could be excused for neglecting Philemon when it emerges in the lectionary cycle.

After all, the letter is a mere 25 verses. Moreover, it appears to deal with a personal matter between Philemon, Onesimus, and Paul. That is, the letter is brief and apparently does not seem to have the theological heft we find in Romans or Galatians. What preaching resources might we find in such a short, particular letter?

Much in many ways, it turns out.

Our imagination about what the letter to Philemon might be about is significantly predetermined by the narrative we build that explains the relationship between Paul, Philemon, and Onesimus. Most dominant in the interpretive tradition has been that Onesimus is a runaway slave whom Paul is returning to his rightful master. Here, we can see the dark legacy of this text’s interpretation. In the United States in particular, Philemon was one biblical text (mis)used to justify the continued enslavement of our African American sisters and brothers. After all, if Paul in this text is so willing to return a runaway slave to his owner, then shouldn’t we follow suit? If Paul was unwilling to buck the laws of imperial Rome, why should American Christians disobey the laws of a democratic state? One crucial level of our interpretation of Philemon must deal with our recent, collective past; a past in which biblical sanction of slavery and segregation and rancid racism was simply taken for granted by most of our predecessors in the faith.

I would invite us preachers to linger on this dark history, reminding one another that we too are heirs of these historical disasters. Remind us, preachers, that our past is not just our past but our present and our future. It is not enough to preach what Paul might have meant in Philemon all that time ago. We must confront how Philemon was actually read not that long ago. And in reminding us about this text’s past misinterpretation, we may be reminded to be both bold and humble in how we read the Bible today. Yes, God is certainly present in our reading of these texts, but we know too well that our own sinfulness has too often driven us to read a text that affirms our every assumption, even the cruelest ones we hold. We are no more immune to this tendency than those who have come before us.

Our interpretation can then turn to the letter itself. Four verses are key as we seek to reconstruct the story behind the letter: vv. 11, 15, 16, and 18. As I have explained elsewhere:

First, v. 11 notes that Onesimus appeared to Philemon to be “useless,” while he has now proven “useful” to Paul and thus to Philemon too. That is, Paul intimates that Onesimus’ utility has shifted in Philemon’s eyes. Second, Paul recounts in v. 15 that some separation has grown between Philemon and Onesimus, a separation Paul now hopes to help heal. However, what is the nature of this separation? Third, Paul seems to allude to Onesimus’ status as a slave (doulos) in v. 17. Despite the importance of Onesimus’ identification as a slave in the history of this letter’s interpretation, this is the only time that the word is used in the whole letter. Last, v. 18 seems to allude to some debt Onesimus may owe Philemon. And yet what exactly is the nature of that debt?¹

In light of these questions, I surmise that Onesimus was probably not a runaway slave. Philemon knew all along where Onesimus was; if he hadn’t, then the letter would have been probably been far longer than 25 verses as Paul would have had to explain the serendipity of his meeting Philemon’s escaped slave. Instead, Onesimus was most likely sent to care for Paul during his imprisonment (cf. Matthew 25:36). During this assignment, it seems that a moment of transformation transpired between Paul and Onesimus, a transformation in relationship that Paul describes by saying that he gave birth to Onesimus while he was in prison (see Philemon 1:10)! Paul calls Onesimus his child and his heart. Paul then calls for Philemon to refresh his heart (v. 20). What else would than mean than to welcome Onesimus into his household as if Onesimus were Paul himself (see v. 17)?

So, what exactly is Paul asking Philemon to do? The rhetoric of the letter is instructive here. Paul is careful in how he describes himself. He calls himself not an apostle but a prisoner of Jesus (Philemon 1:1). He reminds Philemon that he is but an old man (v. 9). Plus, notice how Paul identifies others in his retinue and in Philemon’s household: brother and co-worker (v. 1), sister and fellow soldier (v. 2), fellow prisoner (v. 23), fellow workers (v. 24). This subtle diminishing of Paul’s authority and leveling of the ground between Paul and his fellow followers of Jesus stands in sharp contrast to the number of times when Paul reminds Onesimus of the authority Paul has (vv. 8, 13-14, 19, 21, 22 [he is not asking Philemon merely to prepare the guest room; Paul is reminding him that he will visit and ensure compliance!]), though a pastoral authority Paul would rather not leverage forcefully!

The rhetorical pressure the letter exerts is also found in the shift from second person plural address to second person singular address. The letter is addressed to Philemon and his household and yet Paul switches to second person singular pronouns from vv. 4-24. That is, Paul expects this letter to be heard by the whole community even as he turns to Philemon directly in his request. Paul is calling upon the witness of the whole church in Philemon’s house to ensure that Paul’s hopes are fulfilled.

In the end, I’m convinced that Paul here is calling for a radical reorientation of the community’s understanding of Onesimus’ identity. He is no longer merely a cog in the machine of the household, no longer worthy because of the utility he provides for his master. Onesimus is now a beloved brother. He is kin. And this transformation is a vivid embodiment of the gospel. He is a walking reminder of the power of the good news.

For Paul, what happens in these Christian communities is a matter of life and death. His letters are not just doctrinal. He’s not just concerned with ideas, with the right Christological or theological or eschatological perspective. Paul is a pastor, remember. He cares for these communities because these communities are seeds of the resurrection, sites where the resurrected life can already flourish, places of resistance to an empire that would place us in rank according to social status.

So, you could invite your own communities to imagine what such transformations of relationships and status might look like in your own church and in the various spaces through which we move every week. How does the gospel change not just our minds but how we relate to one another?

Notes:

¹ Eric D. Barreto, “Philemon,” in Fortress Commentary on the New Testament.