Lectionary Commentaries for July 23, 2023
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

This Gospel reading presents the second of seven parables in Matthew 13, as in the parable of the sower, seeds, and soils (13:3-8) featuring the activity of farming. Like that parable, this one begins with the act of planting. If sowing seeds is complicated in verses 3-8 by soil conditions that hinder growth, the problem in verses 24-30 concerns the intrusion of a hostile force. This field owner has an enemy who introduces weeds into the field. As the weeds take over the field (corresponding to the thorns of verse 7), will the crop of grain be ruined? Even those of us who do not farm but raise vegetables in a garden know well the challenge of weeds!

But this isn’t just about weeds. The parable’s introduction relates it to the character of “heaven’s reign” (my translation), as will each of the following five parables (verse 31, mustard seed; verse 33, leaven; verse 44, treasure in a field; verse 45, pearl; verse 47, fishing net). As a parable, this short story works metaphorically; it engages listeners’ imaginations as we puzzle out the “something more” to which the story is pointing. True to Matthew’s way of working with parables as a vehicle of teaching, what happens in this field reveals something of the character of the reign of God, the saving presence of God at work within the world.

The plot: Separating good and bad (but when?)

We survey a field recently planted with good grain. The field must belong to a wealthy man; after all, he relies on enslaved persons to do the hard work of cultivation and another crew to harvest the crop. That is a problem for us: exploitative, forced labor is serving the interests of a wealthy owner. This situation was common, though, within the Roman imperial economy. The parable therefore paints a picture of economic arrangements that would not have seemed strange. 

We anticipate a good crop; the plot thickens, however, when the “good grain” must compete for space and nutrients with weeds that appear unexpectedly. The weeds, zizania, resemble wheat and thus pose a dilemma for those who work the land.¹ Once it is established that the presence of these weeds is the result of a deliberate, hostile act (an “enemy” did this, verse 28), shouldn’t the weeds be swiftly removed? Gardening 101 would surely commend such an approach. But not this time, and this is the key point Jesus scores with the parable: the field owner meets the urgency of the workers with the counsel to wait. Not now, he says; let the wheat and the weeds grow together (verse 29). There is time enough. At the harvest, the weeds will be removed and burned: what seemed to be a threat becomes a source of fuel! The wheat can then be safely harvested. Win-win!

The parable, like so many in Matthew’s Gospel, paints a realistic picture of the world. Good and bad, constructive and destructive are inextricably bound together. (In Romans 7:15-21, Paul observes that even the good we know and intend can produce harm we scarcely imagined.) Helpful and harmful are mixed up all around us, and indeed within us—as persons and as communities.²

How far will dualism take us?

No rose-colored glasses for Jesus the storyteller of Matthew’s Gospel—nor should we fail to reckon seriously with the forces that (sometimes systematically) harm and destroy, whatever name we assign them. Yet the question arises: Who is on which side in this struggle? And another follows: When will it all get worked out so that God’s will may be accomplished on earth as in heaven (Matthew 6:10)?

The allegorical explanation of the parable that Matthew adds (13:36-43) shifts the accent from patient trust in the working of divine justice to apocalyptic warning. Emphasis falls on the grim judgment that awaits those who cause others to fall, who serve purposes that are evil and lawless (verses 38, 41-42). Is the dualism of good and bad that drives the plot of the parable—even more, the harsh dualism of the allegorical explanation—the last word it has for us? To be sure, there is a happy note for the righteous, who will “shine like the sun” in the divine realm (verse 43). Yet are the faithful to take delight in the prospect that the unrighteous will ultimately be excluded from God’s domain (verse 42)?

Apocalyptic dualism like this has a point. In a world like Matthew’s, or ours, experience gives rise to theodicy: Why do harmful or destructive things happen, even to those who seek to be faithful? Will good prevail? Will God’s reign come in its fullness? The parable gives us courage to live with these hard questions, as it commends patient trust in the life-giving work of God in the world and insists on faithful living out of the disciple’s vocation in the meantime. Trust the present, and the future, to God.

For all the harshness of the parable’s verdict on the unrighteous, Matthew tempers the dualism.

1. Because the world—the faith community too—encompasses both good and bad, none can presume to be good while others are not.
2. Because the verdict belongs not to us but to God, and God is patient to allow the mix, the complexity, the ambiguity, the people of God are not to condemn others.

Still, Matthew’s robust emphasis on divine—and human—justice (righteousness) may prompt us to dig into these parabolic weeds once more. Oppressive evil needs to be named and vigorously opposed. Silence, neutrality, or failure to act in the face of oppression only serves the interests of the oppressor.³ We can’t presume to be always in the right, but when we witness injustice, patient waiting from the sidelines for God to make things right is not a faithful option. Some weeds are not okay.

Notes:

1. R. Alan Culpepper, Matthew: A Commentary, New Testament Library (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2021), 257.
2. Arland J. Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus: A Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 300-301.
3. Wisdom drawn from Desmond Tutu; see Robert McAfee Brown, Unexpected News: Reading the Bible with Third World Eyes (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1984), 19.

“You are the only one. There is no one else.”

Whispered from one lover to another, these words are likely to sound comforting and meaningful. In this context they do not mean that there are no other potential partners in existence (or that the speaker has not had other companions in the past). Rather, they are words of commitment. What gives them their significance is that there are in fact other people out there, but the speaker has chosen only one. Arguably, the meaning does not change much (though the tone certainly does) when we set the same message in a slightly different context: This time the words are pleaded in denial as the speaker’s partner discovers secret text messages to someone else on their lover’s phone. In both cases, a presupposed exclusive relationship is what is being described and is what is at stake.

There are several places in the Bible where similar statements connect God and God’s people. Isaiah 44 is frequently elevated as one of the parade examples:

Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel,
and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts:
I am the first, and I am the last;
besides me there is no god.

Who is like me? Let them proclaim it;
let them declare and set it forth before me.
Who has announced from of old the things to come?
Let them tell us what is yet to be.

Do not fear or be afraid;
have I not told you from of old and declared it?
You are my witnesses!
Is there any god besides me?
There is no other rock; I know not one. (Isaiah 44:6–8)

For generations, biblical scholars have taken passages like this as evidence of “monotheism” in ancient Israel and early Judaism and contrasted it to the evident “polytheism” of other societies around the ancient Mediterranean. It is more likely, however, that Isaiah 44:6–8 and other related passages in the Bible represent rhetorical situations similar to what I have described above. That is, other deities were assumed to exist and, perhaps, to have their own limited realms of influence. As far as Israel was concerned though, their relationship to their God was to be an exclusive one, not only because of their shared covenant, but also because Israel’s God, unlike those of the other nations, was unique. Israel’s God was the creator deity with no equal in heaven and no real limitations other than those that were self-imposed.¹

For centuries, this idea of God as “one above all others” (rather than as “one alone”) was a common conviction among many Jews, Christians, and Muslims who continued to recognize the existence of other, lesser divine beings including spirits, angels, and demons of varying kinds. Beginning in earnest in seventeenth-century Europe (with some important precursors), the idea of “monotheism” came to take on new meanings as theorists thought critically and comparatively about other religious beliefs and practices.

In the hands of some Western theorists, “monotheism” came to signify not just a descriptor but a virtue. It was argued (without convincing evidence) that belief in the existence of only one divine being was not only more ethical but also more rational. Some theorists even suggested that, given enough time, every culture would evolve and achieve something akin to enlightened, European “monotheism.” Not surprising, such ideas were especially useful in providing theological and ideological justification for Western domination of inferior “polytheistic” societies around the world and within their own borders.

In our pulpits today, preachers are less likely to emphasize the colonial baggage that comparative terms like “monotheism” can sometimes carry. We are still liable, however, to reiterate the more general assumption that the one-divine-being-only model of monotheism is superior to other forms of theism based on its supposed moral or intellectual superiority (not on its truth). Moreover, because the comparative religious understanding of monotheism is so often reified as the supposed shared foundation for Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, preachers can assume that one-God-only monotheism is well-established and more-or-less universal (and thus no longer in need of examination).

Ironically, this naïve self-assurance places Christian theologians in a similar position to what texts like Isaiah 44 sought to correct. Sole trust and worship of the one true God in the Hebrew Bible is never presented as settled or inevitable, but instead as a drama. God’s supremacy is never in peril, but human ability to appreciate and sustain that recognition is very much in question.

Today, a host of rival gods contend for our affection and adoration. Arguably, because we trust so fully in the infallibility of our monotheistic faith, we have permitted these other deities to migrate into our worship (since we assume incorrectly that all gods are the One God anyway). Among these rival deities are the Christian Nationalist god, the spirits of Profit and Growth, and demons like Patriarchy and White Supremacy. Each of these deities has found ways to demand of us sacrifices, oaths of loyalty, and (perhaps most ruinous) our awestruck fear.

In the Bible, exclusive worship of the one true God has worth, in part, because of its cost. There are other powers in the world that Israel forsakes, though these too could offer a measure of material blessings, status, and security. Under the banner of a certain kind of universalizing monotheism, however, many individual Christians as well as Christian states and ecclesial bodies have attempted to claim allegiance to the one true God, while also reaping the benefits of worshiping others. That kind of monotheism seems to cost us nothing. But God expects sole loyalty—“Beside me there is no god”—and that claim demands a costly exclusivity. But it also comes with a promise of blessing:

Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done it;
shout, O depths of the earth;
break forth into singing, O mountains,
O forest and every tree in it!
For the Lord has redeemed Jacob
and will be glorified in Israel.

Notes:

1. Benjamin Sommer, “Monotheism in the Hebrew Bible,” Bible Odyssey, https://bibleodyssey.org/people/related-articles/monotheism-in-the-hebrew-bible/.

Growing up in a spiritually animated culture in Central Alabama, I know something about “thin places,” where humans encounter divine or strange beings not of this world. I grew up with ghost stories, “haints,” stories of God showing up in strange ways, visitations from dead relatives, and more. I know that I am not unusual in this world filled with stories of strange encounters. And, if I am honest, I have had my own unexplainable encounters in these thin places. Perhaps preachers can start with the personal or corporate memories of their own or their listening community to help them bring this story of Jacob’s dream at Bethel close. The Negro Spiritual, “We are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder,” is not about the biblical story, but instead about the enslaved or formerly enslaved peoples mixing this imagery with their understanding of their relationship with Jesus as “soldiers of the cross.” I mention the difference so that the preacher will be careful and not assume that this song will help them, unless they take care to make connections regarding Jesus as an ancestral encounter in the thin place, somewhere that Jacob’s ladder appeared. 

Last week, the lectionary text was about Jacob extracting the birthright from his brother for a pot of stew. This week, Jacob’s dreamscape leads him into a liminal encounter with the God of his ancestors, who introduces himself (sic) as such, in other words, the God of Abraham and Isaac. He hears the same kind of promise that God made to Abraham in Genesis 12:4-5 (see also Genesis 28:13), when God appeared to him and promised him land and progeny. In other words, the promise continues into the next generation with this encounter.

• What might the preacher say about the ongoing presence of God in the life of God’s people, and the way that God keeps covenant, through our individual and corporate wrongs?
• Is there a word about God showing up with and how we least expect God?
• How could Jacob have expected an encounter with the Divine, when he was running for his life?

The dream and the encounter changes his life, or at least changes his perception of his life. God had always intended this covenant. Jacob just became aware of it. Might the preacher ask her listeners: “Are there dreams or encounters or signs along the way that need to be renamed as ‘gate to heaven’ or ‘house of God,’ in other words, places or experiences that point to God’s intention for our lives, corporately and individually?” This story is likely meant to be etymological, explaining how Bethel got that name. Bethel would become the central cultic temple for northern Israel, and this story mystifies the site as Jacob consecrates the stone on which he lay his head. But that fact, too, might be important for the preacher.

• Are there experiences that explain how you got your call or how this community should see itself?
• Are there encounters that rename us and redirect us?
• Are there sites that need to be honored for these holy histories?

Finally, the lectionary text does not include Jacob’s vow to God after his encounter (verses 20-22). Perhaps those choosing these texts didn’t like Jacob’s bargaining skills. But, if we tell the truth, we have some “if you God, then I will” in us. Jacob, given his own conniving history, has no reason—yet—to trust the Divine or any person. He expects the same kind of wheeling and dealing that he has done thus far to get his way. I think, however, that Jacob’s words are apropos to his strange encounter.

• How will Jacob know he has experienced God?
• How will he know if it was just a fantastical dream, the product of weariness or fear?

He puts forward the notion that he will know based on God’s ongoing protection and provision. And, honestly, that is the way we all know the encounters point in the direction of divine unction.

Thin places are real. And God disrupts our lives in those places to speak and to lead.

• How willing are we to be in awe, and then to respond in faith?
• How willing are we to imagine a world different from the one we inhabit?
• How possible is it that we might find awe in the middle of nowhere on our way to somewhere we don’t yet know?

Psalm 86 is classified by most scholars as a psalm of individual lament, in which an individual expresses the pain of his present condition and seeks relief from God.¹

However, most of the elements of complaint are in the early part of the psalm, with only verse 14 and verse 17 from our selection expressing concern over the psalmist’s circumstances, and even in those places there is no explicit mention of pain that has been experienced. Verses 11-17 thus on their own read more as an expression of commitment based on the experience of God’s past help (verses 12-13, 17) and on the knowledge of God’s character (verses 13, 15-16). The element of petition is still present, however, in the final two verses.

The opening petition, “Teach me your way, O LORD,” expresses a common important sentiment in the psalms (see examples, 25:4 and 27:11). The tacit basis of the petition is that God’s way is not necessarily obvious and hence requires teaching in order to know it. The line that follows, “that I may walk in your truth,” is a statement of commitment. The psalmist and we desire to know God’s way not out of curiosity but so that we may actually live it out. “Truth” is used in the second line not to mean anything different than God’s way but to affirm that God’s way is truth. We might well be reminded at this point of Christ’s claim to be “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). The word “life” does not appear in the NRSV’s translation in this passage, but life is certainly an issue in verse 13, and the Hebrew word translated as “soul” in verse 13 is translated “life” in verse 2 (nefesh).

The last line of verse 11 combines the elements of petition and commitment: “Give me an undivided heart to revere your name.” The tacit basis of the petition is again important: Just as the psalmist recognizes that we are in need of teaching, so he recognizes that very often our hearts are divided and thus unable to walk in God’s way. There is not the burden of sin here felt in Psalm 51:10’s plea for God to “create in me a clean heart,” but the sentiment is the same.

The psalmist does not dwell on the need for an undivided heart, for in the very next line he expresses thanks to God “with my whole heart” (verse 12). There is a simple confidence that his prayer for an undivided heart is answered. In fact, there is a bold magnification of the petition from verse 11, because whereas in verse 11 he had asked merely to “revere” God’s name, here in verse 12 his claim is much stronger: “I will glorify your name forever.” Not only has he moved from revering to glorifying, but the addition of “forever” makes the return of thanks all the more fervent. It is as strong a statement of commitment as one can imagine.

Verse 13 provides the foundation for the thanksgiving, petitions, and commitment expressed in verse 11-12: “For great is your steadfast love toward me.” “Steadfast love” translates the single Hebrew word khesed. The Hebrew meaning is difficult to convey with any single English expression, and thus we see different English Bibles using a variety of translations in different contexts: steadfast love, lovingkindness, love, kindness, mercy, loyalty, favor, devotion, goodness, and still others. The range of translations gives a sense of the broad meaning of the word. For the psalmist here, it is a confession of and proclamation of his fundamental relationship with God, and especially of the blessing he has received from that relationship.

The second half of verse 13 expresses a very concrete benefit of God’s khesed: “You have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.” In the context of the overall psalm, this probably refers to a deliverance from physical death. Sheol is simply the “the grave” (as it is often translated). Many Christians will think here, however, and appropriately so, of the salvation from spiritual death that is the quintessential example of God’s khesed in their lives. It is the life that walking in God’s way and truth provides.

The reference to God’s khesed is picked up in verse 15 and expanded. Beginning with the word “merciful,” verse 15 is a quote of the fundamental self-revelation of God given to Moses at Mt. Sinai: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6). This initial self-revelation expressed Israel’s understanding of the basic nature of its relationship to God, and it is quoted and paraphrased frequently throughout the Old Testament (e.g. Numbers 14:18; Joel 2:13; Psalms 103:8, 145:8; Nehemiah 9:17). Here it forms the basis for the psalmist’s appeal for grace, strength, and salvation in verse 16 and for why he need not fear his enemies referred to in verse 14.

When he appeals to God to “turn to me and be gracious to me” (verse 16), it is his knowledge of the gracious character of God mentioned in the Exodus quote of verse 15 that prompts his plea. Of course, the words “turn to me” also express his feeling of the present absence of God’s grace, a feeling caused by the intentions of his enemies mentioned in verse 14. The feelings of divine absence and abandonment expressed in many of the psalms (in the present psalm, mostly in verses 1-7) often cause believers today a certain amount of discomfort, but they should remind us that it is pointless to hide our true feelings in addressing God–and that there is no need to do so.

Verse 17 closes the psalm with a final petition, a request for a sign of God’s favor. As in verse 16, the petition is based on knowledge of God’s character, but here the psalmist expresses it in terms of his own experience: “because you, LORD, have helped me and comforted me.” In this sense the psalmist’s petition may be a model for our own prayers to God: Our appeals arise out of our common understanding of God’s character and out of our experience of God’s steadfast love and faithfulness to us in the past.

 Notes:

1. Commentary first published on this site on July 17, 2011.

Has anyone ever told you that you need an attitude adjustment? Maybe you heard it as a kid from your parents or guardian? Or maybe a teacher in school? Maybe you have implied it to a coworker or colleague? In this week’s epistle lesson, that is exactly what Paul tells the Romans they need. They need an attitude adjustment. They need a new way of thinking about life.

So, what is this adjustment Paul pushes? What do the Romans need to change? In short, Paul urges the Romans to redefine their social obligations. They need to reconsider who or what determines their standards and the way they interact with society. Is it the flesh? Or is it the Spirit? 

Paul writes, “So then, brothers and sisters, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh—for if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (verses 12-13). First, we need to understand what Paul means by “according to the flesh.” For this we must go back to the beginning of Paul’s letter to the Romans: 

“Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made. So they are without excuse; for though they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their senseless minds were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools; and they exchanged the glory of God for images resembling a mortal human being or birds or four-footed animals or reptiles.” (1:20-23). 

Life according to the flesh is foolish. God, the creator of the world, has always been in control. Yet, some Romans, as Paul writes, are misplacing their worship. They are worshiping Rome in place of God. Paul’s reference here to honoring a mortal human probably refers to Roman imperial rulers, such as Augustus. The animals he lists also likely point to Rome and other Greco-Roman political-religious traditions. An eagle, for example, was a common symbol for Rome and its legions. 

Living a life in the Spirit meant not participating in the cultic activities of Rome’s imperial cult. It meant living a life not defined by the societal standards of the Roman world, such as participating in the praise and honor of Rome and its political exploits. After all, Rome is not the creator of the world nor is it divinely appointed. 

A life according to the flesh, Paul explains, is a life that leads to death. This is nothing new to those living under Rule. Life was harsh for most people. Health and wellness were luxuries few could afford, and food insecurity was a constant threat. Rome claimed to usher in a period of peace and prosperity, but instead it brought suffering (verse 18), decay (21), pain (22), and groaning (23). 

Paul’s stance is clear. The way of the flesh leads to death, but the Spirit leads to life. The Spirit is the only way. The choice seems obvious, so why might it need explaining? Why does Paul need to tell the Romans not to participate in imperial life? 

As multiple New Testament texts demonstrate, the early church was not in agreement about what constituted idolatry in the ancient world. For example, the author of Revelation takes a strong stand against eating meat that had been previously offered as a sacrifice to a pagan god (Revelation 2:18-29), while Paul suggests a more accommodating approach (1 Corinthians 10:14-33). Jesus-followers living in cities had countless opportunities to engage in potentially idolatrous practices. These included attending an imperial festival, participating in a pagan sacrifice, making an offering at a trade guild meeting, or even the simple act of buying and selling goods at the local market. Paul’s attack of idol worship in Romans 1 reflects this tension among Jesus-followers. What constituted idolatry was up for debate. 

The language of debt and indebtedness in many translations of verse 12 is misleading. While the Greek verb translated “debtors” (opheilō) can certainly refer to owing a debt, it is not limited in meaning to an obligation of repayment. Paul is not suggesting that the Romans owe God a repayment. Paul uses the term here more generally as a description of obligation. Because they know God, they ought to live according to the Spirit rather than according to the flesh. They are bound by an obligation of knowledge. It is a matter of ethics. Their knowledge of what leads to life and what leads to death binds them to a certain way of living life, to living in the Spirit. 

Attention to the Greek also highlights the corporate and communal aspects of this passage that are often missing from translations. The verbs throughout the passage are plural. Their actions are bound to one another. The collective crying out to God (verse 15) and groaning (verses 22-23) further highlight the communal tone of Paul’s letter to the Romans. Even creation participates in the collective groaning. Paul is not addressing individual members of the church in Rome; he is addressing the church as one corporate body (verse 10). 

But do not lose hope, Paul writes, “for who hopes for what is seen?” Paul offers a final word of encouragement to the church in Rome. Just because you cannot see something, does not mean it is not there.  

I offer one final note. Paul creates a dangerous either/or binary in this passage about life and death, about the spirit and flesh. But, as many of us know, life is never that simple. It is good for the preacher to remember the complexities of any binary and resist the temptation to pose a simple either/or. In the end, it is the task of the modern corporate body, the church, to decipher for itself what brings life to the world and what brings death. But as the Romans to whom Paul writes remind us, it is often not as easy as a simple yes or no.