Lectionary Commentaries for August 30, 2020
Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

As Matthew’s narrative unfolds, the solid rock on which the church will stand malforms into a stumbling block that threatens to obstruct Jesus’ mission.

Just moments ago (in narrative time), as they walked in the region of Caesarea Philippi, Peter and the disciples pondered Jesus’ question: “Who do you say that I am?” Not limiting himself to the options offered by “others,” Peter proclaimed his answer: Jesus is the Messiah, the son of the living God.

Peter got it right. But in the next instant, Peter gets it wrong. Wrong enough, Jesus suggests, for him to be in league with Satan.

Temptations to glory

Security. Influence. Power. It is hard to resist their glorious lure.

Perhaps that is Peter’s challenge. He cannot help thinking that his close association with the Messiah will right all that is wrong about the world.

But Jesus’ announcement of the death-dealing events about to unfold in Jerusalem point to anything but the glory of security, influence, or power. What about the new church, and its authority to bind and to loose? What about withstanding the power of death (“the gates of Hades”)? How can these things happen if God’s own anointed one is to be tortured and executed?!

No wonder Peter protests. “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you!” Jesus’ response is swift and to the point: “Get behind me, Satan!”

Even in translation, the similarity to Jesus’ command to the devil in the wilderness is clear: “Away with you, Satan!” (Matthew 4:10). Could it be that Peter’s fervent wish, that God would prevent the horrors about to be visited upon Jesus, is something like the Tempter’s offerings in the wilderness?

Satan dared Jesus to use his authority as Son of God for his own purposes instead of serving God’s mission in the world. He tempted Jesus to set his mind on human things rather than on the things of God (see also Jesus’ words to Peter, Matthew 16:23).

Jesus refused. Instead of hoarding bread made from stones to relieve his own empty stomach, he fed the hungry multitudes (Matthew 14:17-21; 15:33-38). Instead of claiming the privileges of Sonship to call on God’s angels for his own benefit, he used his privilege to save, heal, and restore the lives of sick and marginalized persons. Instead of grasping after worldly varieties of power and authority, he opened the kingdom of the heavens to all who would follow after him in the way of righteousness.

Jesus refused to fall into the Tempter’s trap and be diverted from God’s mission. He showed the falsehood of the world’s measures of authority. Along the way, he revealed what it looks like to serve in the ways of God.

At Caesarea Philippi, Jesus’ response to Peter echoes his wilderness repudiation of the devil. He refuses to avoid the journey that lies ahead, despite the fact that pointless suffering, caused by human sin and violence toward an innocent one, will appear to win (as he outlines in this first of three passion predictions).

It is necessary (Greek: dei) for him to go to Jerusalem. Why? Because, “on the third day he will be raised” (Matthew 16:21). God will put the lie to violence as ultimate power.

Getting behind the Messiah

Worth noting is a distinction between Jesus’ commands to Satan and to Peter, one that is more obvious in Matthew’s Greek than in most English translations.

In Matthew 4:10, Jesus expels Satan from his presence: Go [away]! (hypage). But to Peter, Jesus adds words that remind him of his place as a disciple: Go behind me (hypage opiso mou, emphasis added).

In Matthew, the words opiso mou (“behind me” or “after me”) signify discipleship. The proper place for a disciple is behind Jesus, in the place of a follower. For example,

• Jesus’ call to Simon Peter and the others: “Follow me (literally: Come opiso mou), and I will make you fish for people” (Matthew 4:19).
• In a discourse about discipleship: “[W]hoever does not take up the cross and follow me (literally: Come opiso mou) is not worthy of me” (Matthew 10:38).
• In this week’s passage: “If any want to be my followers (to come opiso mou), let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24).

Peter is the recipient of blessing (Matthew 16:17), but now, he is putting his own thoughts ahead of the ways of God, which makes him a stumbling block—a hindrance to Jesus’ mission. Nevertheless (and this is significant), Jesus does not break relationship with him. Instead, he reminds Peter of the proper place for a follower.

Not the first time, nor the last

This is not the first time Peter falters, nor will it be the last. To be sure, Peter is the first to follow Jesus when called (Matthew 4:18-19) and he gets top billing whenever disciples’ names are listed in Matthew (for example, Matthew 10:2; 17:1; 26:37). He is an eager student,^[1] unafraid to ask for an interpretation after Jesus tells yet another enigmatic parable (Matthew 15:15). Nonetheless, Jesus calls him out for his “little faith” when fear gets the best of him as he steps out of a boat into stormy waters. Peter-the-Rock sinks like a stone (Matthew 14:28-33).

Later, Peter bravely vows to stick with Jesus no matter what happens, boasting that even the threat of death could never cause him to deny his Lord (Matthew 26:33, 35). He fails miserably in fulfilling both promises, staying far away when Jesus is arrested (26:58) and denying him repeatedly while Jesus faces trial and torture. He is nowhere to be found at the crucifixion, while the power of government-sanctioned violence is inflicted upon the Messiah.

The soaring height of Peter’s commitment is matched by the depth of his failure to follow.

Promises and outcomes

Nevertheless, the promise that frames Matthew’s Gospel still stands. The One who is called “God with us” (Matthew 1:23), promising to be “with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20), is already and always going ahead of his followers—the first one to face the worst that the world can do. This is what makes it possible for those who want “to go after me” (NRSV “to become my followers”) to take up their own cross and follow (Matthew 16:24).

Jesus puts his life on the line ahead of all who follow him. Whether to the forsaken places of the wilderness or the centers of human might and authority, Jesus is there.

What does it look like to trust God in this context? How might the Messiah’s presence enable today’s disciples to follow “behind Jesus,” even when the prospects are frightening or the personal costs are high? What might they do for the sake of the world if they trusted in the promise of the One who goes ahead of them?

Notes

1. Worth noting, perhaps, is that the Greek word for disciple (mathetes) means “student” or “learner.”

These verses come in the middle of the poetic material commonly called Jeremiah’s “laments” or “confessions.”

The timeframe is the late seventh and sixth centuries BCE. These are the years on either side of the destruction of the kingdom of Judah by Nebuchadnezzar. When Jerusalem was destroyed, many of the people were deported to Babylonia. Those not taken into exile were subjected to imperial rule in the homeland. 

Jeremiah had struggled, before this destruction, to warn the people about the consequences of their complicity in a sinful society. On the one hand, God’s judgment in allowing the Babylonians to destroy the kingdom is attributed to the people’s failure to worship the LORD alone; too often, they put their trust in earthly power and material things. On the other, the prophets clearly state that the people also betrayed the LORD through acts of violence and injustice. Those who know and understand Israel’s God know that the LORD delights in and acts with “steadfast love, justice, and righteousness” (Jeremiah 9:24). To worship this God means to act—as nearly as humanly possible—in a similar way.

God’s commitment to justice seeks justice for all people—all people are, after all, God’s own creatures. Appropriately, however, most of God’s attention is given to those whose poverty, homelessness, migrant status, or disability makes them vulnerable to the abuses of those in power. Theirs are the lives endangered when the government ignores corrupt officials, who redirect funding to personal projects and private pockets; theirs are the lives impoverished by exclusionary policies and discriminatory practices. God’s justice remains undone until the most marginal are treated as fully human, fully possessed of the image of God. 

The powerful people in Jerusalem were not interested in hearing this message. Changing their ways meant admitting that they were living a privileged existence, built on the backs of others—then choosing to give it up. Jeremiah spoke an inconvenient truth: he drew attention to the corruption in his community and demanded change. There are several reports in the book of the lengths that those in power were willing to go to shut him up: dumping him in a muddy pit and leaving him to rot, locking him up in prison where no one could hear him, and even trying to kill him. 

The first half of this passage expresses Jeremiah’s frustration with the people who refuse to hear him and his anger at those who actively try to prevent him from being heard. The words that God gave him to speak—words of justice, of love and care for one’s neighbor, of opposition to violent oppression—are powerful, life-giving words. The image of eating the word is one of taking it into the body and letting it transform the whole self: not mere lip service, but a genuine receptiveness to transformation that extends to every facet of one’s being in the world. 

The incongruity between this summons to the pursuit of justice and the reality that Jeremiah faces is deeply disturbing. The prophet is justifiably indignant: great suffering has come about because the people have persistently failed to hear God’s word. Jeremiah is hardly the first prophet sent to convey this to the people; their corruption is a long-term, systemic problem. 

The stark realization of this incongruity lends Jeremiah to despair; these dreams and visions of God’s justice even feel deceitful because they are so far from reality. But God tells Jeremiah he must continue to proclaim the word to the people. It will not be an easy road, but God will remain steadfast to Jeremiah as Jeremiah remains steadfast to the word. Though the powerful will try to silence him, they will not prevail.

Jeremiah’s struggle speaks to us today more than ever. Then, as now, the powerful sought to silence those who champion God’s vision of a more just society: those who speak out on behalf of the poor, the homeless, the disabled, the displaced—those whose suffering is a living condemnation of our original sin. Surrounded by ignorance and opposition, the dream of a society ruled by God’s justice, righteousness, and steadfast love appears deferred—even impossible. In the face of exhaustion and despair, God affirms that the work must go on. Everything is at stake.

Exodus 3 is simultaneously one of the best-known and most theologically confusing passages in all of the Old Testament.

Moses receives a divine visit from a burning bush, then God issues a call and promises deliverance for the enslaved Israelites. The passage forms a crucial bridge from the birth and younger years of Moses to his role as divine mediator. The details directly connect Moses as a successor to the patriarchs (verses 6, 15) and hint at the coming acts of God, who promises to deliver his people “out of Egypt” (verse 11).

The passage is filled with difficulties and unexplained details. My seasoned biblical scholar advice to the working preacher is to not seek to solve the ambiguities, but to name them and model admiration for these mysteries associated with theophany. We cannot read the Bible as an answer key to a math textbook. Rather, the Bible is a reflection of God’s word for us, so our human selves should expect mystery.

“The bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed” (Exodus 3:2)

The event was so supernatural that Moses was compelled to observe the burning bush that was not consumed. When was the last time you lit an actual fire? Weber grills do not count, and neither does the direct line gas fireplace in your home. Fires take a lot of fuel. The mystery was an ordinary bush with extraordinary properties—limitless fuel to sustain this fire. Similarly, God’s provision is endless.

“Here I am” (Exodus 3:4)

Moses did not seek God, but was just pasturing the flock (verse 1). God calls to Moses through the bush, and later with his voice. Moses responds appropriately, “Here I am.” God gives urgent directions to recognize the sacredness. Only afterwards, God identifies himself as the God of the patriarchs. And Moses acknowledges through covering his face. Moses did not wake up that day and decide that he would lead the Israelites out of their oppression back to the land of Canaan. That was God’s decision, but Moses responded to the unexpected call appropriately, at least through Exodus 3:4. Later in the chapter, a more human response of fear and uncertainty emerges.

“I know their sufferings” (Exodus 3:7)

God continues to speak, offering compassion in hearing the misery and the cries on account of oppression. The compassion is reiterated with the phrase “I know their sufferings” (verse 7). The enormous period of time from the patriarchs to Moses is only covered by a few verses, but God was there. And even though he was silent, God was neither distant nor detached. He had great compassion on the oppression that the people endured. And the burning bush informs our reading of the bold declaration of God that he will deliver the people into “a land flowing with milk and honey.” God will miraculously sustain the people just as he can sustain the bush. God then assures victory over the Canaanite polities, which is a bold proclamation for a landless and enslaved ethnic group within the orbit of one of the great Near Eastern empires.

“I will be with you” (Exodus 3:12)

These declarations were overwhelming for Moses, who then questions his status as the chosen leader. God does not assure Moses as leader because of his natural skill nor charisma. Rather, God assures Moses because God is faithful. Moses’ faults will not matter, as he is promised, “I will be with you” (verse 12). And if that assurance is not enough, God sends a sign to solidify Moses’ calling. The confidence is not in his own human abilities, but in the God who sends him.

“I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3:14)

This brings us to the greatest mystery. God gives a cryptic answer to Moses’ request for a name. When asked about the divine name, God responds, “I am who I am.” Anticipating confusion, God then explains, “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I AM sent me to you’” (verse 14). This is the kind of explanation that increases the confusion.

Before we get to the answer, we should question why Moses is still wanting answers beyond God’s straightforward declaration of his identity in verse 6. It is not entirely clear that Moses needed the name. The profession of protests from Moses suggests that he was more worried than anything. Although the earlier part of the passage portrays Moses in a posture of holiness and covering his face, the divine calling pushes Moses to the decidedly human actions of delay and stall.

But God knows that the heart of the question in “What is his name” is more of a plea for assurance or an expression of human fear. Here lies the mystery of “I am who I am.” In my younger days, this reminded me of Popeye (“I am what I am”). Nowadays, this reminds me of the phrase, “It is what it is” (which I still do not fully comprehend). Within biblical times, the name was deemed too holy to pronounce, so it was read as adonai or “Lord.” The JPS finds this name untranslatable and merely transliterates the Hebrew into “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh.” Some just transliterate the letters as YHWH.

Whatever the precise understanding, the answer “I am who I am” is not just a declaration of a name, but assurance of God’s presence in the call. One possible explanation is that the phrase is technically a causative verbal form of “to be.” Thus, one awkward translation of verses 13b and 14a:

“What shall I say to them?”

God said to Moses, “I am the one who causes things to pass.”

This answers the heart of Moses’ question. Moses does not want the name. More than that, he wants assurance that God will do this. So the answer is right—that he is the one who will cause things to pass. Despite the objections, God will deliver on his promises. He is the God of the patriarchs. God will deliver on his promise of redemption. Like the name, how God does it will be a mystery. But we can hold on to the knowledge that God will continue to cause things to pass for the ages (verse 15).

I teach at a college that emphasizes the integration of faith and learning. We strive for students to realize that their knowledge and their beliefs should not—and ultimately cannot—be kept in separate compartments of their lives.¹

Even more than this realization, however, is our desire that they actually experience this integration. Psalm 26 is a prayer for something very similar, namely, that the aspects of the poet’s life have integrity; indeed, the psalm is an eloquent and forceful declaration that the poet has experienced this integrity inside and out.

Preachers, teachers, and worship leaders using Psalm 26 for this Sunday will find some historical, literary, and theological hurdles to clear on their way to integrating the message of the psalm into their sermons, lessons, and liturgies. First, in terms of the psalm’s historical setting, numerous proposals pretty much fall into one of two types, namely, a ritual setting (for priests or pilgrims at the temple), or some kind of personal crisis, such as being falsely accused.²

For reasons I’ll discuss below, I lean more toward the ritual setting, but that doesn’t mean a poet wasn’t also drawing on personal experiences. A second and related problem is pinning down the literary form of the psalm. Most scholars have moved beyond Gunkel’s “lament” category to talk about entrance liturgies, pilgrim psalms, or protestations of innocence; but each proposal struggles to explain every element in the psalm.

Closely tied to literary genre is a third issue, literary structure. Twenty-five years ago, Paul Mosca consulted at least two dozen commentaries and articles to reveal almost no scholarly agreement on structure of the psalm,³ and the situation hasn’t really improved. Finally, on top of these critical issues, is the matter of theological interpretation. How do we incorporate in Christian worship a psalm that seems to proclaim self-righteousness?

Although we could view it mainly as a prophecy of Jesus’ righteous presence in the temple, the way forward is not by leaping to the New Testament or retreating behind our sincerely held doctrines. To the contrary, we discover the theological underpinnings of the psalm by means of embracing its own rhetorical shape and features.

On this particular Sunday, the lectionary limits the passage to the psalm’s first eight verses.⁴ This choice is almost certainly for thematic reasons, since the whole psalm clearly has a literary unity by virtue of its reference to “walking in integrity” (verses 1, 11) and repetitions that link verses 1-8 to verses 9-12, such as “hands” (verses 6, 10). Psalm 26 relates to other readings for this Sunday, which touch on matters of integrity (Jeremiah 15), awareness of God’s holiness (Exodus 3), self-denial (Matthew 16) and transformation (Romans 12).

Moreover, verses 1-8 express a coherent argument at their core, with a list of seven or eight expressions about things that the psalmist has either avoided or embraced (verses 4-7). It is therefore possible to engage this section of the psalm homiletically and liturgically if one keeps in mind its immediate literary context. Here are three possible ways to relate the psalm to Christian experience.

First, for all of the benefits that go with creating a warm and welcoming environment for our Lord’s Day gatherings, Christian worship remains an encounter with the Triune God, our creator, redeemer, and sustainer. Psalm 26, by virtue of its significant parallels with Psalms 15 and 24, is likely best understood as presenting a sobering statement of the requirements for priestly entrance into God’s holy presence.⁵

In an Israelite context, serving in the temple and “going around your altar” (verse 6) created a dangerous encounter for priests (compare Leviticus 10:1-3) who represented Israel to God.⁶ As Peter Craigie put it, the psalm warned about “a casual approach to worship, from which hypocritical and superficial attitudes could easily emerge.”⁷

There is, if course, not a perfect correspondence between this aspect of Israelite religion and our Christian context, but there is nothing in our theology of union with Christ that eliminates the need for entering our worship services with a joyful (note verse 7) yet sincere mindfulness that the business of worship truly draws us into the presence of God. As Brother Lawrence implores, “Let it be your business to keep your mind in the presence of the LORD.”⁸

Second, in spite of the problems that arise if we simply transport into our own setting the abundance of language about avoiding the “worthless,” “hypocrites,” and “evildoers” (verses 4-5; see also verses 9-10), there is still a point to be made about the church’s cultural context. As much as we are called to participate in society, it does no good to deny the existence of evil within society.

So, on one level, this psalm challenges the church to avoid conformity with the world (Romans 12:1-2) even as it submits to God instead of idols of our own making. “There is,” as Clinton McCann writes, “a legitimate form of separatism.”⁹

But, on another level, awareness of the evil “out there” should prompt us toward a renewed look within ourselves. Psalm 26 is not an invitation to engage in a culture war with the enemies of God; instead, it bids us to seek that integrity within ourselves that lends legitimacy to our witness for Christ in a troubled world.

Third, and building on both of the above points, Psalm 26 is a far cry from the apparent works-righteousness that a simplistic reading might first indicate. To be sure, the poet’s claim of innocence and daring request that God test him (verses 1-2) seems striking and out of place coming on the heels of a Psalm 25’s pleadings for mercy and forgiveness.¹⁰

But we have to keep reading through verse 3, because there we come to understand that the key to the psalmist’s confidence is trust in God’s “steadfast love,” the Hebrew concept of hesed.¹¹

A Christian reading of Psalm 26 recognizes the gospel of grace in that word; for God’s steadfast love is manifested in the person and work of Jesus Christ. Any hope for our personal integrity will find its fulfillment in him.

Notes:

1. Commentary first published on this site on Aug. 31, 2014.
2. W. H. Bellinger, Psalm XXVI: A Test of Method” VT 43 (1993): 455-456.
3. Paul G. Mosca, “Psalm 26: Poetic Structure and the Form-critical Task” CBQ 47 (1985): 218.
4. The entire psalm is read for Proper 22, Year B.
5. Craig C. Broyles, Psalms (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1999), 138.
6. Richard J. Clifford, Psalms 1-72 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002), 142-143.
7. Peter C. Craigie, Psalms 1-50 (Waco: Word Books Publisher, 1983), 227.
8. From letter 8, “The Practice of the Presence of God” (Grand Rapids: Christian Classics Ethereal Library) < http://www.ccel.org/ccel/lawrence/practice.pdf > Accessed on April 14, 2014.
9. J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “The Book of Psalms” in New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon, 1996), 783.
10. Geoffrey W. Grogan, Psalms, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 78.
11. Grogan, 79.

Like any other Pauline letter, Romans 12:9-21 focuses on the humanization of the gospel and the church.

According to Paul, the gospel affirms all human beings and its preaching in the church must equip people to appreciate diversity in all its forms. Having cautioned Christian practitioners to be transformed and renewed in their minds, attitudes, and entire conscience, the Apostle Paul makes a clarion call around the essence of love, and summons readers of the letter to employ love as an instrument that opens the door of hospitality and faith.

In Genesis 12-22, we read the story of two founders of faith whose lives were, at every step, guided first by hospitality and then by faith. Without hospitality, there is no love. Where there is both, we find the development of faith in God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. The harmony of the Trinity is none other than the practice of love, because love is the essence of God. Love drives and builds a fellowship of believers. Love is the radiating orbit on which the cross of Jesus Christ is centered and calls on everyone to accept and share the same love.

It seems as though the Apostle Paul is rewriting and reinterpreting Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount found in Matthew 5:1-6:4, where Jesus summons believers to live out the principles of heaven instead of living with religious ideals (Romans 12:9-13). Using love as a basis and center of Christian living, the Apostle Paul encourages Christians to cultivate love as a virtue for both social and holy life. Genuine love, as Paul calls it, is not a one-time achievement, but a sought-after virtue enacted through daily practice and prayer (Romans 12:9-10). We may also say that love is an art, as one can learn, grow, and be taught to love. However, in many Christian circles, love is a lost art needed to be relearned. Ironically, theological schools, churches, and even families have lost the art of teaching about love, in both its nature and character.

The character and nature of love, as found in 1 Corinthians 13:8-13, is both vertical and horizontal; this love is indeed both godly and social. It is no surprise that in Romans 12:9-13, the Apostle Paul ends his exhortation on love by mentioning “hospitality.” The true picture of love is captured well by Desmond Tutu’s theology of Ubuntu,¹ in which he lays out the qualifications of being human.²

The art of love among the body of Christ has always been needed. It is much needed in the 21st century in order to cherish diversity as the breeding ground of love. Therefore, a transformed and renewed mind should be the epicenter of genuine love; without this spiritually-gifted new life, human beings will always fall short of godly love. In essence, faith without love yields nothing. This result risks the decline in church membership, and consequently, the death of the local and global church.

The change of tone in verses 14-16 is striking; love does not get lived out in perfect environments, but is given birth, meaning, and essence in times when people are in conflict with each other. These verses encourage us to love in times of conflict, disagreements, and persecution as part of the Christian identity. As I mentioned above, Romans 12:1-21 is reinterpreting Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount as found in Matthew 5:44, as well as Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain in Luke 6:27-28. The 21st-century global church is called to live and serve within the context of these texts.

Love should be demonstrated to those outside of the confines of the church and denominational bounds. One could surmise that Paul’s experiences of being an apostle to the Gentiles opened to him a new world of love as he was welcomed by people who were not Jews. We might also pay attention to what we learn about the essence of love from those considered “outsiders.” The church may then see the stranger and the outside world as laboratories to exercise love (Romans 12:15).

However, the church in the 21st century struggles to live the gospel way; as a result, it has struggled to be consistent in its proclamation, both inside and outside of the church building. In all 13 areas mentioned in verses 9-13, a new dispensation of learning is urgently needed. Jesus, Paul, Peter, and the Gospel writers advocated for love. Likewise, today’s church and centers of theological education must relearn the art of love. If they do not, the church will slide into a world of irrelevancy. Even in first-world countries where there is much affluence, the love being preached from many pulpits is not the kind of love God teaches and demonstrates in the Bible. Sadly, we seem to be uncomfortable with the nature and character of love being stressed in Romans 12:1-21, because we have our own brand of love.

A revival of spiritual love and unity is urgently needed in today’s global church. Even among a diversity of clergy leaders, there is what we may call a bankruptcy of love. Thus, the Apostle Paul goes on to encourage harmonious living as a way to cultivate godly love in all people. Therefore, the love we are called to live out is not an emotional one, but one that comes from the transforming and spiritual rebirth of our minds, souls, and hearts. It is practical love in that it is experienced by both the self and the other; it is love lived out in ways that always cherishes others. This love seeks justice, forgiveness, reconciliation, and peace.

Notes

1. Reverend Mpho Tutu describes Ubuntu as an ethic of interdependence that recognizes how all of our actions have an effect on the wellbeing of others. See What Is Ubuntu?, Desmond Tutu Peace Foundation, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMSqZckROfA.
2. Michael Battle, Reconciliation: The Ubuntu Theology of Desmond Tutu (Cleveland, Ohio: Pilgrim Press, 1997), 35-53.