Lectionary Commentaries for July 24, 2022
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
from WorkingPreacher.org
Gospel
Commentary on Luke 11:1-13
Niveen Sarras
First Reading
Commentary on Genesis 18:20-32
Lisa Davison
Today’s text selection contains a fascinating scene that reveals a great deal about both Abraham and the Holy. It also provides a necessary preface and key to understanding the story of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 19. We learn that the Divine is willing to negotiate with humans on matters of justice and may even change the Holy’s mind by convincing arguments. We see that Abraham is ready to take on the Holy on behalf of the vulnerable when they are in danger of being harmed by the actions of others. By reading this selection from Genesis 18, we can better understand the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah because there were not even ten righteous persons found within them.
After his guests have eaten, drunk, and rested, Abraham escorts them to the road, and they depart on their way to Sodom. The lectionary omits the next two verses, which contain an internal dialogue of the Holy about whether to tell Abraham about what will happen to Sodom and Gomorrah. The Divine’s conclusion is to inform Abraham because he has been chosen “that he may charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice” (Genesis 18:19a). One wonders if the Holy is having some doubts about the possible destruction of these cities and seeks out Abraham as an accountability partner.
We read that the Holy has heard the great outcry against the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah but no specifics about the nature of their wickedness. The Divine is not satisfied with just hearsay and sends a reconnaissance team to see if things are really that bad. It is interesting that even the Holy does not rush to judgment without a firsthand accounting of the situation. There is a lesson here for us. Humans are often too quick to draw conclusions and act without finding out the truth for ourselves. An example of this shortcoming is some people’s continued misunderstanding of Genesis 19 as being about homosexuality based solely on what others have told them about the story.
We have yet another statement about the departure of Abraham’s guests, with two of them heading to Sodom, leaving Abraham and the Holy alone. One must remember that, although the text seems to imply that the Holy was one of Abraham’s three visitors, there is no reason to read the passage literally, suggesting that the Divine appears in human form. The important point is that Abraham and the Holy can now have a private conversation.
The remainder of Genesis 18 contains the exchange between Abraham and the Divine, or perhaps it would be better described as a debate or at least bargaining. Aware of the potential destruction of the two cities, Abraham begins with a question for the Holy: “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?” Abraham’s inquiry is a challenge to the Divine sense of justice. Is it just that innocent people suffer for the sins of others? Abraham is questioning the Holy’s integrity. What will it take to change the cities’ fate? In the ensuing exchange, Abraham gets the Holy to agree that if just ten righteous people are found within the towns’ borders, the Divine will spare them.
While some might find it shocking for Abraham, a mere human, to engage in such a debate with the Divine, this is not uncommon in the Hebrew Bible. After the golden calf incident in the wilderness, Moses convinces the Holy not to destroy the Israelites by appealing to the Divine ego (Exodus 32:9-14). In the Psalms, many of the laments call the Holy to task for not keeping the covenant (for example, Psalms 44 and 74), and the bulk of Job contains a righteous sufferer’s accusations directed at the Holy. Later in Genesis 21, Abraham will challenge the Divine about sending Hagar and Ishmael away. These and other texts indicate that arguing with the Holy is not only acceptable but also expected.
One might wonder if Abraham’s motivation to stay the execution of the innocent in Sodom and Gomorrah is based solely on a sense of justice. After all, his nephew, Lot, had settled in Sodom, and Abraham may be acting out of a sense of familial obligations. However, this does not seem to be the case later, when Abraham does not question the Divine’s command to kill Isaac (Genesis 22). In this story, Abraham plays the part of the Defense Attorney for the righteous few daring to question the ethics of the Holy.
One way to approach this text would be to find possible correlations between the ancient story and the 21st century. Who are the innocent who must suffer because of the sins of the powerful in this time and place? There are far too many examples of people who bear the results of decisions made by government leaders to go to war or by their political posturing. When the greed of the privileged drives up prices for the essentials for survival, those on the lower end of the income scale pay the price. Future generations will bear the brunt of our failure to be good stewards of the creation that the Holy entrusted to us. Who else in your community is unfairly burdened by the choices of the powerful?
Despite his other faults (for example, allowing Sarah to be taken by another man twice), Abraham in this passage exhibits a concern for justice and the audacity to take on the Almighty in defense of vulnerable people whom he does not even know. His actions could inspire us to ask questions of ourselves. Who are we willing to go toe-to-toe with the powerful on their behalf? What persons or groups are we ready to take risks to ensure they receive justice? At times, we may need to challenge the Holy about the suffering of the innocent. Even though Abraham’s negotiation did not spare Sodom and Gomorrah from destruction, such attempts to protect the rights of others are worthy of our time and energy.
Alternate First Reading
Commentary on Hosea 1:2-10
Pamela Scalise
The book of Hosea begins with a shocking command to the prophet, “Take a wife of znunim (whoredom/promiscuity/unfaithfulness) and have children of znunim.” God isn’t punishing Hosea. God is calling him to lengthy service as a communicator of God’s word and will. Israel, the Northern Kingdom, and the land to which they are inextricably bound, have committed znunim by “forsaking the Lord.” Hosea 1:2-11 does not specify the nature of Gomer’s znunim, but the rest of the book indicts Israel for many kinds of infidelity.
Carrying out these divinely commissioned sign acts would take many years, encompassing most or all of Hosea’s ministry.1 Yahweh’s words of judgment and promise in this pericope introduce the scope of the book’s message to its audience, including ancient Israel, Judah, and subsequent generations of God’s people. It wrestles with enduring theological questions about the extent and timing of God’s mercy and judgment.
Hosea’s sign actions introduce a metaphor of familial relationships to portray God’s grace, patience, judgment, mercy, and promise of restoration to Israel. To begin a marriage with a “wife of znunim” is appalling. Ezekiel 20:4-12 expounds on the astounding grace of God implied by this image, describing how God chose and delivered Israel from Egypt even though they did not forsake the idols they worshiped there. The husband and father as the head of the household may patiently withhold punishment, hoping for amendment of life. That same man may welcome back the unfaithful family member after discipline. Nehemiah 9:30-31 describes God’s similar treatment of Israel, minus the family metaphor.
Meaningful names
Birth accounts in the Bible often include an interpretation of the child’s name. They typically express the parent’s testimony of faith in God (for example, Isaac in Genesis 21:5-6). God assigned a name to Isaiah’s son to convey a message about Assyria’s impending defeat of Aram and the northern kingdom (Isaiah 8:3-4). Hosea and Gomer’s children receive inauspicious names that epitomize Yahweh’s judgment on Israel.
Jezreel, “God sows,” has positive associations of abundant crops produced by the fertile land in the broad valley of that name in the northern kingdom. But God uses the name as an historical reference to the bloodshed there. Jehu began to establish his dynasty by killing King Joram and his mother Jezebel at Jezreel, a capital city of Israel (2 Kings 9) and completed his coup by killing everyone else from Ahab’s house, King Ahaziah of Judah and many of his relatives (2 Kings 10:1-17). For his violent excesses, Jehu’s own dynasty would end. Israel’s military power would be broken by Assyria. The positive potential inherent in the name Jezreel returns in 1:11.
There is no ambiguity in the second child’s name, lo ruhamah, “not pitied/not shown compassion.” The verb has the same root, rhm, as the noun rehem “womb.” This is the kind of mercy and compassion that a mother has for the fruit of her womb. God’s word interprets this negated passive verb in the active voice, “I will no longer have pity on the house of Israel…But I will have pity on the house of Judah…” (NRSV). The northern kingdom finally fell to Assyria in the eighth century BCE, but Judah survived and had an opportunity to repent. (Compare Jeremiah 3:6-10.)
Indictments of the northern kingdom fill most of the book of Hosea, supporting the charge of covenant breaking (8:1) and its consequences. The name given to the third child, lo ammi “not my people,” repudiates the covenant making formula, “You will be my people and I will be your God” (for example, Exodus 6:6-7).
The third child’s name will also be reversed from threat to promise. God’s promise of restoration applies to Israel the covenant people. They are descendants of Abraham and Jacob, to whom Yahweh promised offspring as numerous “as the sand of the sea” (Genesis 32:12). The promised new appellation for the people of Israel is more than a simple reversal of the covenant breaking name. They will be “the children of the Living God.”
The family as metaphor
Hosea’s audience, including the men who headed families, clans, and even the nation, find themselves represented in the metaphor as the children and wife “of znunim.” This accusation was meant to be profoundly offensive, to make them recognize the gravity of their betrayal so that they would repent.
Countless human societies have functioned with a male-headed family structure. Many still do. Recently many readers have found the assumption of the husband and father’s authority to punish his wife and children to be the most offensive feature of this familial metaphor.2 They have exposed the danger of portraying God as husband and father—it will tempt human husbands and fathers to think of themselves as gods to their families.
Hosea’s sign acts and explanatory oracles in chapter one have the opposite purpose. Israelite husbands and fathers are metaphorically children and wife. One can understand an image drawn from a different practice of family structure without duplicating that structure in one’s own life. The family metaphor is one way of making known God’s passionate attachment to God’s chosen people, how this attachment makes God vulnerable to the agony of their unfaithfulness, and that God’s love for them will nevertheless endure.
Hosea 1 provides a theological basis for a prayer like Psalm 85. God calls Hosea to a ministry that involves acting out a picture of Yahweh’s fidelity. Despite the rupture of the covenant relationship caused by Israel’s unfaithfulness, God’s motherly mercy will endure. The people’s faithfulness and the land itself will flourish.
Notes
- There may have been as many as four years between the births. Breastfeeding probably ended around age three.
- For example, Renita Weems. Battered Love: Marriage, Sex, and Violence in the Hebrew Prophets. Overtures to Biblical Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995.
Psalm
Commentary on Psalm 138
Matthew Stith
Psalm 138 is classified as a psalm of thanksgiving, sung in the voice of an individual. It is well established that such individual psalms can also reflect and express the experience of the community of faith, so there are plenty of opportunities for the text to connect to the lives of those hearing it read and interpreted. The core experience driving the psalm’s outpouring of praise and thanksgiving is reported in verse 3: “On the day I called, you answered me, you increased my strength of soul,” and the rather unusual wording of the final clause—it means something like “you reinforced my inner strength”—should not be allowed to obscure the essence of what God has done: answered the prayer that arose from some sort of trial or trouble.
Both individuals and congregations have experience of such moments of answered supplication, and so ought to be engaged by the psalm’s exposition of the nature of the thanksgiving that ought to be practiced by the redeemed of the Lord. Preaching on Psalm 138 should follow the text in offering hearers a guide to what thanksgiving looks like and what it can accomplish.
Thanksgiving places the worship and celebration of God above all other priorities
The psalmist’s intention to give thanks “with my whole heart” (1) reflects a determination to focus the whole of the psalmist’s attention and being on the act of gratitude. That God has given a saving answer to the psalmist’s plea for help is of such great worth and importance that only a wholehearted focus on gratitude will do by way of response. The psalmist also declares that thankful praise of the Lord will be offered “before the gods” (1). While the prevailing view on the existence of multiple “gods” has changed since the psalmist’s day, there remain plenty of powers and priorities who clamor for our attention and allegiance. Proper thanksgiving, the psalm insists, belongs only to the Lord, and overrides the claims of any and all competitors.
Thanksgiving is, at the same time, individual and corporate
Thanks for God’s faithfulness and care is to be offered “toward your holy temple” (2), which suggests that the act of thanksgiving, even when initiated by an individual, is to reverberate in the worship life of the community. The place where the whole congregation assembles in God’s presence is a particularly appropriate venue for thanks, so that the whole may celebrate the Lord’s goodness and faithfulness to each.
Thanksgiving empowers effective witness
The shift from the psalmist giving thanks in the context of worship to the kings of the Earth praising and singing of God’s glory (4-5) may seem abrupt, or even jarring. There is, however, a point of connection between the two scenarios. The reason given for this surprising behavior on the part of the most powerful of human rulers, the psalmist says to the Lord, is that “they have heard the words of your mouth.” The vocabulary here insists that the “word” that has influenced the kings is a spoken, rather than written, one. And what is the only spoken utterance thus far mentioned in the psalm? The thanksgiving and praise of the psalmist and his people. Their testimony of God’s saving response to prayer stands as a witness so compelling that the greatest powers of the Earth join in the celebration. The psalmist also notes that, at the other end of the earthly spectrum of power, “the lowly” also benefit from the Lord’s regard, adding yet another cause for thanksgiving and yet another call to bear witness to God’s goodness. When God’s people make a priority of giving thanks for what God has done, the word gets out, and all sorts of people come to know and extoll the Lord’s glory.
Thanksgiving leads to confidence in God for the future
From the place of worship to the halls of worldly power, the psalmist’s thanksgiving has had its effect. Now, in its final section (7-8), the psalm shifts setting once again. The presence of fellow worshipers and of mighty kings now gives way to the presence of enemies. But here also, says the psalm, the practice of giving thanks to God for God’s saving acts has a powerful and positive influence. Because the psalmist and the community are in the habit of reciting and proclaiming what God has done for them in the past, they can now face threats and uncertainty with confidence that God will continue to help at times of need in the future.
Only someone who has recognized and acknowledged the help that God has faithfully offered to God’s people can say with assurance, in the very face of the foe, “The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O LORD, endures forever” (8). The one who is constant in thanking God wholeheartedly and giving voice to reports of the Lord’s help will know that they are indeed the work of God’s hands, never to be forsaken.
Note that congregations in which prayers of intercession and thanksgiving, shaped according to the individual concerns and joys of the members, are a regular part of worship will likely find these connections particularly intuitive. Congregations where this is not the practice may find here impetus to consider its inclusion.
Second Reading
Commentary on Colossians 2:6-15 [16-19]
Ryan Schellenberg
With Colossians 2:6-7 the letter turns in a new direction. Up to this point, the writer has narrated four intersecting stories: the story of Christ, the story of creation, the story of the Colossian believers, and the story of their imprisoned apostle Paul. It is in the gospel that these four stories converge—the gospel of Christ, proclaimed by Paul, announcing reconciliation to the church and to all creation.
Now in chapter 2 the writer invites the Colossian believers to inhabit their part in this story. They are to live or “walk” (peripateite) in Christ (2:6), which means, in part, rejecting rival narratives that compete for their imaginations (2:8).
This point is expressed vividly in two adjacent metaphors, one botanical and one architectural: believers are to be “rooted in” and “built upon” Christ (2:7). Each metaphor offers a different vision of the texture of faith, which may at times be experienced as a sure and solid foundation, and at others as a rhizomatic network, its strength not in any single footing but in the breadth of its reach.
Free from the rulers and authorities
Colossians 2:8-15 begins and ends with language that recalls a sight all too common in the ancient world—the humiliating march of prisoners captured in battle. In Colossians 2:8, believers are warned not to be “taken captive” by enslaving visions of reality. In Colossians 2:15, these false claims on believers’ loyalty are themselves led in triumph by Christ, stripped of their seeming power.
The phrase “elements (stoicheia) of the universe (kosmos)” in Colossians 2:8 has puzzled many modern readers.1 The term stoicheia referred generally to the basic elements or building blocks from which something was composed: the stoicheia of writing were individual letters; the stoicheia of math, numbers. The stoicheia of the cosmos, then, were the basic elements that constituted reality. These were the “first things” (archai). What is more, as the first-century Jewish writer Philo of Alexandria reports, “some people attribute deity to the four elements (archas), earth and water and air and fire” (On the Decalogue 53). The idea, then, was that these basic elements, sometimes personified as gods, governed the very structure of the universe.
With this context in mind, recall the vision of the Christ-shaped cosmos laid out in Colossians 1. It is in Christ, the writer had insisted, that all reality holds together (1:17). Christ is the firstborn of all creation (1:15), the one through whom all things came into being (1:16). Christ is “the beginning” (archē), the first principle of reality (1:18).
So although the elements of the universe may posture as independent powers—as “rulers (archai) and authorities” (2:15)—in fact, Colossians insists these too lie under the authority of Christ.
Perhaps few modern readers find themselves looking at the periodic table and pondering these elements’ mystical power to structure reality. Few now would attribute divinity to natural law or strive to align themselves with its patterns and rhythms (see also 2:16). But there are other “rulers and authorities” that compete for our imaginations, asserting their primacy as the principles on which our world rests.
Our imaginations often fall captive, for example, to the logic of “the economy,” as though the world were governed not by Christ but by the market’s invisible hand. And so we live in servitude, as though our having enough depended not on the abundant generosity of God in creation but rather on our obedient devotion to economic forces, whose logic we must not doubt.
Or we may fall captive to the principles of law and order, convinced that to sustain our wellbeing and security we must be firm in our devotion to a code of laws and punishments. If transgressions were to go unpunished, we worry, what would hold us back from chaos? And so we live in servitude, afraid to violate the logic of retribution, as though the paying of eye for eye were basic to the order of the cosmos.
Indeed, we sometimes read the story of Christ’s cross as though it too were governed by this logic of inexorable punishment. Christ, it is sometimes said, had to die in order to satisfy the legal penalty for human sin—as though God too was subject to this higher law, and the basic structure of the universe would be disrupted if God chose simply to forgive.2
Notice, then, that Colossians 2 says nothing about Christ’s death satisfying the demands of the law. Here God rather overthrows them, expunging our criminal record and nailing it to the cross (2:13-14). It is by overturning the logic of law and punishment, not by following it, that God disarmed the powers that hold us captive (2:15, 20).
And this brings us to a challenging question: In our era of overcrowded prisons, what would it mean for the church to truly embrace Christ’s victory over the enslaving power of the law?
The circumcision of Christ
For those familiar with Paul’s harsh words regarding circumcision in Galatians and Philippians, the positive emphasis on circumcision in Colossians 2:11-13 may come as something of a surprise. Recalling the prophetic vision of a “circumcised heart” (Deuteronomy 10:16; Jeremiah 4:4), the image of a “spiritual circumcision”—literally, a “circumcision not made by hands”—depicts the “putting off” of the believer’s “fleshly body” in the “circumcision of Christ.” In this context, the circumcision of Christ appears to be equated with baptism, where believers share in the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ (2:12).
The circumcision of Christ, then, is a shedding of deathly life for resurrection life. As we will see in Colossians 3, despite the contrast established in the passage between “spiritual” and “fleshly,” this does not mean believers somehow abstract themselves from the physical realm or devalue bodily life. They are rather to incarnate anew the image of God (3:10).
Notes
- For an accessible summary of the issue, see Walter Wink, Naming the Powers: The Language of Power in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 67–77.
- For a careful critique of “penal substitution” models of the atonement, see Mark D. Baker and Joel B. Green, Recovering the Scandal of the Cross: Atonement in New Testament and Contemporary Contexts, 2nd ed. (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2011), 166–91.
There are two versions of the Lord’s prayer. The shorter version is in Luke 11:1-4, and the longer version is in Matthew 6:9-13. The two versions share the same contexts but are addressed to different ethnicities. The evangelist Luke wrote his gospel to the Gentile Christians who did not learn to pray like their Jewish counterparts. He set the Lord’s prayer in a catechetical context.1 Luke’s introduction explains the reason behind Jesus introducing the Lord’s prayer. Jesus was praying, and one of his disciples asked him to teach them to pray like John taught his disciples (verse 3). Like Luke, Matthew set the prayer in a catechetical context. His purpose is not to teach his audience, the Jewish Christians, how to pray but to reform their prayer2 and place it within the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-6).
The Lord’s prayer is a Jewish prayer in its structure and content. There are parallel phrases between the Lord’s prayer and the prayer Amidah (which means standing) or the Shemoney Esreh (which means eighteen) of Jewish liturgy. Observant Jews pray the Amidah three times a day. The basic structure of this prayer was well-established in Jesus’ time, and the final form was canonized a century after Christ.3 For example, “Hallowed be thy name” relates to the third Amidah blessing: “Thou art holy and Thy Name is holy…We will sanctify thy name in the world, as thy sanctifiers in the heavens above.”4 “And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us,” relates to the fourth Amidah: “Our Father, Our King, forgive and pardon all our sins.”5
The Twelve Apostles’ teaching or Didache instructs Christians to pray the Lord’s prayer three times a day. It also adds the doxology at the end of the prayer, “for Thine is the power and the glory forever…Pray this three times each day.”6 Since the early Church Fathers’ time, Christians recited the Lord’s prayer during the liturgy, especially before Holy Communion.
The primary purpose of the prayer
The primary purpose of Jesus’ teaching on prayer is the fatherhood of God. The pericope of Luke 11:1-13 concentrates on the father-child relationship. God is rarely addressed as a father in Jewish prayers. The cases that mention God as a father are related to the election and adoption of Israel. “Is not [the Lord] your father, who created you, who made you and established you?” (Deuteronomy 32:6; see also Isaiah 63:16). Jesus teaches his disciples to approach God as they approach their fathers. Calling God our Father connotes personal relationships.
Luke’s Gentile Christian audience’s experience with their fathers differs from their Jewish counterparts. The fathers in the Greco-Roman culture enjoyed complete control over their children and grandchildren. For example, a father decides whether his newborn child will be raised in the family, sold, or killed.7 Luke introduces the Gentiles to God, who is generous, loving, and attentive to God’s children’s needs. Luke changes his audience’s perspective on fatherhood by presenting God as “the Father who cares for his children and acts redemptively on their behalf.”8 The father-child relationship is based on the confidence of the child. This relationship is centered on love, not fear. God the Father in the New Testament is a personal, intimate, sacred, and trusted authority.
Jesus invites his disciples to be brave in approaching God, who is already close to them. Jesus supports his teaching with two parables: the parable of the insistent friend (11:5-8), which is not found in Matthew, and the parable of invitation to ask (11:9-13). The common theme between the parable of the insistent friend and the Lord’s prayer is the concept of prayer and repeated references to bread. This parable encourages the disciples to persist in their supplication to God. What motivates a person in need to appeal to his friend at night to give him a loaf of bread is their friendship. One does not hesitate to ask a close friend for help in a challenging situation. However, the bond that connects the disciples with God is more vital than friendship; it is a familial and intimate relationship. This relationship invites the believers to persist in prayer.
The second parable, the invitation to ask, concentrates on the answer to prayer. This parable is found in Matthew. Jesus invites his listeners to put themselves in the parent’s situation and imagine how to respond to their children’s request for food. Jesus continues his teaching on prayer by highlighting the responsibilities of the listeners praying. In challenging times, the disciples need to initiate, ask, search, and knock on the doors asking for help (verse 9). The bottom line is that God answers their prayer.
To explain his point further, Jesus gives his audience an example from their interaction with their children. When children ask their parents for food, they do not provide them with a snake or a scorpion to harm them. Instead, parents give their children something to nourish them. Francois Bovon comments on verses 11-12, “There is a common human heritage that is good; an attitude of spontaneity and naturalness, characterized by propriety, decency, and generosity.”9 Jesus invites his audience to compare earthly fathers with the heavenly Father, maintaining “that God, whose goodness far exceeds even that of those human fathers who would never answer their children’s requests with malice, can likewise be counted on never to give harmful gifts.”10 Jesus stresses the superiority of God’s fatherhood. Our God the Father gives an even better gift to God’s children: the Holy Spirit. By referring to the Holy Spirit, Luke prepares his audience for his second volume, the book of Acts, where the Holy Spirit anoints the disciples.
Conclusion
Luke encourages his Gentile Christian audience to be persistent in their prayer. He also encourages his disciples to have a father-child relationship with God. The foundation of this relationship is generosity and confidence. God the Father will never answer their requests with malice but with love and compassion.
Notes