Lectionary Commentaries for September 17, 2023
Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Chapter 18 of Matthew presents the fourth of five major discourses of Jesus in this Gospel. The chapter offers practical wisdom on relationships within the community of disciples Jesus is forming. The culture of this community will feature humility (verses 1-5), mercy or forgiveness (verses 12-14, 21-35), and accountability (verses 6-10, 15-20, 23-35). The interplay between the demands of mercy and justice forms an intriguing challenge for the interpreter and preacher who works with the parable of the forgiven, unforgiving servant (verses 23-35), together with its narrative setup in a dialogue between Jesus and Peter about the limits of forgiveness (verses 21-22).

Unlimited forgiveness? Matthew 18:21-22

Peter has just heard Jesus sketch a process for holding members of the disciple-community accountable for actions that have brought harm. Commitment to justice-seeking is important, but Peter wonders how far mercy should extend: should I forgive my sibling (fellow community member) as many as seven times? Jesus replies with a summons to radical forgiveness: not seven times but seventy-seven (the phrase may also be translated seventy times seven)—which is to say, stop keeping count! Compassionate mercy defines the ministry of Jesus, as it does the character of God, and it is to be emulated by persons and communities of faith. However, like the preceding passage, the parable that follows Peter’s Q & A with Jesus balances the radical summons to forgiveness with an insistence on accountability and just relations.

Mercy versus justice? Matthew 18:23-35

Verse 23 introduces the parable and its king as somehow illuminating the character of God’s reign (“heaven’s realm,” as Matthew often puts it). The king (who is also called kyrios, “lord” or “master”) undertakes a review of the account books of all his enslaved servants. But the focus is on one servant in particular, evidently a highly placed administrator who has managed to accumulate a financial obligation of staggering size. His debt of 10,000 talents combines the largest monetary unit and the largest numerical value in his world. We might think conservatively of billions of dollars today. The story unfolds in four scenes, with surprises at every turn.

1. Extravagant compassion (verses 24-27): the servant, unable to pay what he owes and facing imprisonment (and even the forced sale of his family and possessions), pleads for more time. The master stuns servant—and reader—by canceling the debt! Compassion, not harsh judgment, prevails.
2. Compassion denied (verses 28-30): immediately after his unexpected escape from catastrophe, the forgiven servant accosts a fellow servant who owes him a modest debt (100 denarii, amounting to something like four or five months of wages for a laborer). Despite the debtor’s plea for more time (the same line that worked on the king-master), the creditor-servant refuses even this request and has the man imprisoned.
3. Whistleblowers (verse 31): this withholding of mercy distresses the other servants, and they file a complaint with the king.
4. Reckoning (verses 32-34): The king-master’s compassion gives way to rage. He summons the heartless servant and reinstates the unpayable debt in full. The story had every chance to have a happy ending, but it ends in (well-deserved) disaster, in the abusing hands of the torturers (think of the tormentors of incarceration in Harry Potter). 

Verse 35 offers Jesus’ commentary on the parable. He reinforces his earlier caution (6:14-15) that any who expect forgiveness from God are to be already practitioners of mercy themselves. Each one of us is called to forgive from the heart—soulfully, from the center of our being.

The preacher’s dilemma

This a difficult parable! Readers may experience whiplash as the narrative swings back and forth between extreme mercy and severe judgment. Underneath it all, perhaps, is a simple reality: forgiveness is not easy. Wise and pastorally sensitive preaching on this passage will not pretend that it is. To be sure, Matthew’s Gospel emphasizes the importance of forgiveness in the lives of individuals and for the health of communities: blessing comes to those who are merciful (5:7). Yet justice matters too. There is and needs to be accountability for harmful actions and abuses of power.

Matthew tells us that in some way this parable shows us the reign of God. But how so? If we follow uncritically the cues that lead us to identify the parable’s king with God, then we have a theological problem! Does God expect us to forgive and go on forgiving, while God harshly punishes the unmerciful? How do communities of faith practice both mercy and justice? Recent and contemporary models may offer constructive pointers. Perhaps the most powerful and instructive model is the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in post-apartheid South Africa, guided by Bishop Desmond Tutu. Reconciliation entails both the offer of forgiveness and the naming and acceptance of responsibility for wrongful, wounding conduct. This approach to mercy and justice is congruent with Jesus’ call in Matthew 18 as a whole: while the faith community prioritizes grace and mercy, it also holds its members accountable for what they do to others.

The incongruous action of the forgiven yet unforgiving servant in this parable does make some sense in a culture in which reciprocity of obligation structured social relations. Yet the servant doesn’t realize that his experience of radical generosity obligates him not toward the master but in relation to others. What is now asked of him? To extend grace outward to others. He is to pay it forward, not back! Whatever quibbles we may have about this parable and the God-image Matthew seems bent on hammering home, we do have this as a take-away: as those who have benefited from the generous mercy of God, we are called to extend generous mercy to others. It’s important.

The inclusion of Genesis 50:15–21 among the gospel reading from Matthew 18-21-35 and the epistle to the Romans (14:1–12) is intended to link it thematically to the imperative to forgive those who sin against us and to refrain from judging one another since God not only forgives all our iniquities but also does not repay us according to our sins (Psalm 103:1–7, 8–13). Thus, headings in our Bibles typically have such titles such as “Joseph forgives his brothers.” However, a close reading of this pericope complicates that narrative.

Genesis 50:15–21 is part of a larger literary unit sometimes referred to as the Joseph cycle (Genesis 37; 39–47; 50). Due to its length and stand-alone content, Joseph’s story has been regarded as a novella or historical fiction. It is focused primarily on Joseph’s time spent in Egypt.

A two-year famine in the land forces Jacob’s sons to leave their father in Canaan to travel to Egypt to buy grain. They are unknowingly reunited with Joseph whom they didn’t recognize after having sold him twenty-two years earlier to a band of traders who were traveling to Egypt (Genesis 37:28). Joseph had been sold to an official of Pharaoh’s and eventually came to Pharaoh’s attention because of his skills at divination. When Joseph interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams, Pharaoh promoted him as governor over all the land of Egypt (41:3–40). Once Pharaoh hears that Joseph’s brothers are in Egypt, he commands his officials to tell them to bring Jacob and all their families and possessions to Egypt to live. Jacob died shortly after he immigrated to Egypt. 

There was a period of weeping and mourning as would be observed in ancient Israel, along with entombing the body in a cave with the remains of their ancestors. Upon Jacob’s death, Joseph’s brothers’ guilt surfaced, and they feared that he would bear a grudge against them and repay them back in full for the evil they did to him when they sold him into slavery. As the second only to Pharaoh in the land, Joseph held the power to exact revenge on his brothers. 

This is a turn of events. The same brothers who repeatedly said that they hated Joseph and were jealous of him (Genesis 37:4, 5, 8) now feared that he held a grudge against them all those years. Their fears are reminiscent of Jacob’s fear, in anticipation of their reunion, that Esau would kill him in retribution for the wrong he did to Esau. 

Joseph’s brothers believed that while Jacob was alive, he stood as a protective barrier between them and Joseph’s wrath. Indeed, as Pharaoh’s overlord, Joseph used his power to deceive, imprison, test, and instill fear in them. Despite Joseph’s tears of joy when he finally revealed his true identity to his brothers, they could not be certain that upon their father’s death Joseph would not take vengeance against them for selling him into slavery. Therefore, they resorted to deceit by sending a false report to Joseph alleging that Jacob instructed him to forgive his brothers for their offense against him and the harm they caused him. The adage that time heals all wounds did not hold true for Joseph and his brothers. Both sides bore the weight of grief and trauma which that fateful decision of Joseph’s brothers to sell into slavery in Egypt inflicted.

Joseph wept at their words, not for the first time (Genesis 42:24). In what finally appears to be a genuine act of remorse on the part of his brothers, they were moved to tears by Joseph’s response and paid obeisance to Joseph in deference to his authority over them. Thus, Joseph’s youthful dreams of his brothers bowing down and serving him that were the source of their hatred of him came to fruition (Genesis 37:5–9).

Perhaps Joseph’s power of divination revealed his brothers’ true hearts because he responded by telling them not to fear what he might do to them. He asked, “Am I in the place of God?” (Genesis 50:19). Well, almost. In Egypt, Joseph had the power of life and death in the land. People came to him from near and far to buy grain to keep from starving. When they ran out of money, they traded their animals for grain. As the famine entered a second year, the people sold themselves to Joseph for food. If not for the benevolence of Joseph, his father and brothers would also have starved.

What follows is a theological statement that is often interpreted as Joseph’s forgiveness of his brothers. In Genesis 50:17 the Hebrew verb nasah translated “to forgive” means to take away or carry off someone’s guilt or iniquity and the resultant penalty. Joseph acknowledged that his brothers caused him harm but rather than retaliate against them he assured that they need not fear him (see also Genesis 45:6). Instead, he told them that God turned their evil into good so that many people might live due to Joseph’s position in Egypt. Thus, it is ambiguous whether Joseph forgave his brothers. Was he saying that only God could forgive and therefore he was not in a position to forgive or that since God took their evil deed and turned it into good (Genesis 50:20), there was nothing to forgive? Yet, Joseph reassures them that he will provide for them and their families.

Joseph’s cycle began with a family torn apart by jealousy, lies, conflict, and violence and ended in reconciliation and inclusion. His story presents us with an opportunity to address family dysfunction, failure, and resentment, especially within the larger cycle of suffering and trauma in the ancestral narratives in Genesis 12–50. As one author noted, rather than their stories being defined by tragedy and grief, their narrative arc is the rebuilding of broken relationships by fallible, weak people, even the people of God.¹ Despite their bad acts, God’s plans still come to pass.

Notes:

1. Stephen Spector, “Abraham and Isaac: Human Frailty and Trauma in Genesis,” Jewish Bible Quarterly, 50 no. 4 Oct–Dec 2022: 211–220.

CW: pregnancy loss. 

When we arrive at Exodus 14:19-31, we are at the culmination of a long stretch of narratives demonstrating God’s power to save the people of Israel. Their freedom as well as God’s very identity are on the line. If you tune your heart to the strains of the Hebrew Bible, this is the defining moment in the history, literature, and liturgy of ancient Israel. 

Fittingly, the commentary on this text is vast. The text is clearly a composite, but it is also highly allusive, with threads of connection running between its smaller units as well as across the larger span of narrative.¹ Much ink has been spilled over the precise nature of the phenomenon that allowed the Israelites to walk on dry land through a body of water—was it a natural phenomenon that became mythologized in the retelling or was it a straightforwardly supernatural one? And which body of water are we talking about anyway?² Additionally, the text is difficult or corrupt in a few key places, providing no help to interpreters seeking clarity on exactly what happened at this pivotal moment. Many of these questions remain unresolved—or unresolvable. 

However interesting they may be, those questions are not the beating heart of this story. The very character of God and the nature of God’s relationship with the people is on display, seemingly in a new way. Creation imagery is most certainly present in this experience of redemption. This exodus event not only lays the foundation for the covenant at Sinai (see Exodus 19:4; 20:2), it seems to reframe both the divine and human understanding of who God is. Both God and the people will refer to God as “the one who brought [you/us] out of the land of Egypt” dozens of times throughout the remainder of the Hebrew Bible.³ It is present in all of the major lines of thought represented in the Hebrew Bible, and in all sections of the canon. Who is this God who gives laws and ordains festivals, who is zealous for our allegiance, who sends us into and brings us back from exile? It is the God who brought us up from the land of Egypt, who parted the waters, who accompanied us in the wilderness, and who brought us to a land where life is abundant. A list of all of the times this moment is recalled would be truly exhaustive (and exhausting)!

It makes sense that who God is would be front and center here. Over the preceding chapters, this has been a matter of concern, and it has been coming into clearer focus:

…If they ask me, what is [God’s] name, what shall I say to them? (Exodus 3:13)

…If they will not believe you or heed the first sign, they may believe the second sign (Exodus 4:8)

…But Pharaoh said, “Who is the LORD that I should heed him and let Israel go?” (Exodus 5:2a)

Then the LORD said to Moses, “Now you shall see what I will do to Pharaoh…” (Exodus 6:1)

And so on and so forth. Plagues, passover, release, pillars of cloud and fire—the dramatic demonstrations keep piling up. So central is the matter of God’s reputation here that as the tension heightens in the verses immediately preceding our text, here is what God says:

Then the LORD said to Moses, “Why do you cry out to me? Tell the Israelites to go forward. But you lift up your staff, and stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it, that the Israelites may go into the sea on dry ground. Then I will harden the hearts of the Egyptians so that they will go in after them; and so I will gain glory for myself over Pharaoh and all his army, his chariots, and his chariot drivers. And the Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD, when I have gained glory for myself over Pharaoh, his chariots, and his chariot drivers.” (Exodus 14:15-18).

Our text is essentially the story of how this comes to be. Somewhat counterintuitively, in this decisive moment—during an event that is taking place because God heard the people’s cry and knows their suffering (3:7-8), the Book of Exodus also states plainly that this is not about the people. God does things for the sake of God’s name, for the sake of the divine reputation.⁴ While the people’s experience of being liberated is more often the focus of commentary, this text ultimately seems more concerned with God’s reputation. In the end, the people are merely swept up in the nature and character of God, an insight that can be disturbing and/or comforting.

There is no question here of God’s power. We see this through repeated use of the Hebrew yad  which means “hand”, but also, by extension, “power”. When Moses and Aaron arrived in Egypt, it was surprisingly easy to convince the people what God was up to in freeing the people mi-yad mitzrayim, “from the hand of Egypt,” but it takes a good deal more effort—or at least more narrative—to convince the imperial powers. Still, there is a sense that liberation is messy work, requiring sustained effort, and that there will be casualties. God works through agents—be they human, natural, or supernatural—but is also presented as actively involved in hurling (vayyinaer) the retreating Egyptian chariots back into the water, leaving no survivors (lo nishar bahem ad-ekhad). 

Note also the military imagery: the Israelites and Egyptians are referred to as makhanot, camps; time is marked by the ashmoret ha-boqer, the morning watch; the strategy of the malakh ha-elohim (the messenger of God) who had been leading to now follow behind, standing between the Israelites and the Egyptians. The story begins with a promise and ends with the recognition that God is doing the fighting (14:14, 14:25). In short: this is war. Many of us can only imagine what such situations feel like—our impressions cobbled together from movies. Similarly, most readers of this commentary are not likely to have an experience of forced labor. We are more likely familiar with a sensation of profound and God-given relief—which we might call redemption or liberation—or with how quickly fear and despair can rear their ugly heads, especially when our resources are depleted. It doesn’t really matter how wide the body of water on whose shores you find yourself is—it feels wide enough. 

It can be easy to read these familiar stories of God’s decisive acts and lose sight of how massive a moment this is. It can also be easy to scoff at the people who lapse into despair and derision of their leaders, seemingly at the drop of a hat (see verse 11: “were there no graves in Egypt that you brought us out here to die?”) when they have just been dramatically liberated. They are “hard-hearted”, they are people of little faith—we wouldn’t respond like that! But for his part, Martin Luther understood the human emotions of this moment, calling on his impression of Moses’ lack of certainty as the people reached the shore when writing his 1542 letter, “Comfort for Women Who Have Had a Miscarriage.” 

…even though Moses couldn’t whisper, so great was his anxiety and trembling in the terrible troubles that beset him. His sighs and the deep cry of his heart divided the Red Sea and dried it up.⁵

Granted, Luther’s concern may not be the same as that of a contemporary minister—the focus of the grief having to do with the fate of the infant’s soul—but the point remains: he can recall Exodus 14 to speak to a moment of human doubt and despair. We do more justice to the magnitude of this redemptive moment in the biblical tradition if we sympathize with the people rather than criticize them. But also, we do well to remember that this text isn’t really about people—it’s about God. As the Israelites come to the shores of this water, pursued by their oppressors, there is chaos ahead, chaos behind—the only way out is through. And God makes the way.

Notes:

1.  Consider “go forward” (vv. 15 and 19), three clauses in a row ending with “night” in vv. 20-21, “the LORD is fighting for you/them” (vv. 14 and 25), and the recall of the Hebrew root k-b-d which is used for God’s glory, the hardness of Pharaoh’s heart, and the wheels of the Egyptian chariots (v. 25).
2. The Hebrew calls this body of water the Yam Suf, literally “the Reed Sea” which suggests freshwater while the Red Sea is saltwater. Still, there are other passages where this name apparently does refer to the Red Sea (1 Kgs 9:26; Jer 49:21). Additional suggestions include the Great Bitter Lake and Lake Sarbonis on Egypt’s Mediterranean coast. It is likely that the entire network of lakes in the northeastern Nile delta came to be known collectively as the Yam Suf, in much the same way as Egyptian literature calls multiple bodies of water the “Green Sea.” One scholar notes that nine different bodies of water between Egypt and Syro-Palestine have been identified as the location for this event, just as up to thirteen different mountains have been suggested as the Mount Sinai (Nahum Sarna, Exploring Exodus, New York: Schocken Books, 1986. Page 108).  
3. Several versions of this formula appear using, most of which use a causative conjugation of the verbal roots for “to go” (see Num 20:5, Judg 2:1, Ezek 20:10, 2 Chr 7:22), “to go up” (see Deut 20:1, Josh 24:17, Amos 2:10, Mic 6:4, etc.), and most commonly “to go out” (Lev 19:36, Deut 5:15, 1 Kgs 8:21, Jer 7:22, etc.).  
4. Isaiah will put an even finer point on this: lema’ani, lema’ani eh-eseh, “for my sake, for my own sake, I will do it” (see Isaiah 48:11). 
5. Martin Luther, “Comfort for Women Who Have Had a Miscarriage” in Luther’s Works, edited by Helmut Lehmann (Philadelphia: Fortress Press and Saint Louis: Concordia Publishing House), vol 43.2, p. 249. 

Psalm 103, a masterful and well-loved composition, is classified as an Individual Hymn of Thanksgiving, a psalm in which a single voice praises God for God’s goodness to or on behalf of that individual, usually for deliverance from some trying situation.¹

Hermann Gunkel, one of the great fathers of psalm studies, describes hymns of thanksgiving in this way: “A person is saved out of great distress, and now with grateful heart he [sic] brings a thank offering to Yahweh; it was customary that at a certain point in the sacred ceremony he would offer a song in which he expresses his thanks.”

An Individual Hymn of Thanksgiving generally contains the following elements: (1) an Introduction, in which the psalmist declares the intention of giving thanks and praising God; (2) a Narrative, in which the psalmist tells what has happened that has prompted the words of praise; and (3) a Conclusion, in which the psalmist praises God for all that God has done on the psalmist’s behalf.

Verses 1 and 2 of Psalm 103 constitute the Introduction to the Individual Hymn of Thanksgiving. Here the psalm singer repeats the phrase “Bless the LORD, O my soul,” calling others to witness what God has done. The words “Bless the LORD” are repeated six times in the psalm, at its opening and closing (verses 1,2, and 20, 21, 22), thus forming an “envelope” structure for the psalm’s Narrative in verses 3-19. The words of verses 20-22 act as the Conclusion to the Individual Hymn of Thanksgiving.

The words of verses 3-19 detail the reasons why the psalm singer can call on other to “Bless the LORD.” Verses 3-7 state that God “forgives,” “heals,” “redeems,” “crowns,” “satisfies,” “works justice,” and “makes known his ways.”

In verse 8, the psalm singer states, “The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” These words, which occur many times in the Psalter and the prophetic books, are the self-descriptive words of God to Moses. In the book of Exodus, we read that God has summoned Moses up to Mt. Sinai to receive the words of the Torah — the “law” (Exodus 24:15); when Moses was gone for some time, the people at the foot of the mountain became restless and they said to Aaron, “Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up from Egypt, we do not know what has become of him” (Exodus 32:1).

And so Aaron fashioned an image that the people worshipped; God saw what was going on; and Moses came down from Mt. Sinai and smashed the tablets on which God has written the Torah (Exodus 32). Then Moses cut two new tablets, ascended Mt. Sinai and waited for God. God passed by him and God proclaimed: “The LORD, the LORD, merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6).

The singer of Psalm 103 calls on others to “Bless the LORD” because the words of Exodus 34:6, found numerous times in the book of Psalms and in the Prophets, are an integral part of the psalmist’s understanding of the nature of Yahweh God.

In verses 9-10 and 12, the psalm singer celebrates God’s mercy and graciousness toward our sins, iniquities, and transgressions, the same words used in Exodus 34:7 (“forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin”). God will not “accuse” or “keep his anger” and will not “deal with us nor repay us” according to our “sins” or “iniquities,” and God will “remove” our “transgressions.” The word translated in verse 10 as “sin,” is from the root word hata’, which literally means “to miss the mark.”

Sin may be likened to knowing what is expected of one, aiming for a particular outcome, but falling short. The word translated in verse 10 as “iniquity” is from the root word ‘avon, a sense of guilt by the party who has “fallen short.” Thus, verse 10 states that God will not deal with us according to our sins or according to the measure of the guilt we feel over our sins. “Transgression” in verse 12 is from the root pasha’ and generally indicates an offense against the instructions (the Torah) of the Lord.

The singer of Psalm 103 celebrates God’s steadfast love to us regardless of how we might have wronged the community or betrayed God, if, according to verses 11, 13, and 17, we “fear” the Lord. “Fear” comes from the Hebrew root yara’, and “fear” is perfectly good translation of the word. But in today’s culture, the idea of fear is usually connected with the basic human instincts to run, defend, or retaliate. The Hebrew word, though, encompasses a larger meaning of “awe, reverent respect, or honor.” It appears in the Old Testament as a synonym for “love” (Deuteronomy 10:12); “cling to” (Deuteronomy 10:20); and “serve” (Deuteronomy 6:13; Joshua 24:14). At its root, the word denotes obedience to the divine will.

Verse 13 celebrates another characteristic of God, God’s compassion. The word translated here as “compassion” comes from the same root word as the word translated “merciful” in verse 8. The root is raham and, in its noun form, means “womb.” God’s mercy and compassion for his children is likened to the love a mother feels for her yet-to-be-born child. What a marvelous image of our God, embracing us, caring for us, and nurturing us. Why does God care for and nurture us? Verse 14 opens with the word “because,” providing the answer to the question. God knows how we were made, that we are dust. After all, God created us and understands our fragile human nature.

The Narrative continues in verses 15-19, leading the singer into the closing words of Psalm 103, in which the angels (verse 20), the hosts (verse 21), and all of God works (verse 22) are called upon to “bless the LORD.” The Psalm ends with the same words with which it opens, “Bless the LORD, O my soul.”

Notes:

1. Commentary first published on this site on September 14, 2014.

Hospitality is never easy when suspicion rules the day.

Why would anyone want to visit a community—never mind join them!—if they are known for “friendly fire”? If members of the church are targeting one another with verbal attacks and slanderous assaults, then we have become the very thing Christ died to overcome (see Romans 8:1, 31–34). As such, it would be impossible for the redeemed community to exhibit a chief characteristic of “welcome” (proslambanō, 14:1), which is the pinnacle example of Christ’s hospitality in this section: “Therefore, welcome one another just as Christ also has welcomed us for the glory of God” (15:7). How do we live with one another—inhabit the same spaces and share time together—when we treasure opposing rhythms and gather around customary inclinations? 

Paul continues in this eminently practical section of his magnum opus to address issues related to the nitty-gritty of everyday life together in communion. Here, he delves into issues of “discrimination” (diakrisis, 14:1), “disparaging/denigrating” (exoutheneō, 14:3,10), and “judging” (krinō, 14:2,4,10), all related to issues of “personal preference” such as eating and drinking (14:2–3, 6, 14–15, 20–21, 23) or special days (14:5–6).

Four aspects of this passage attract attention: First, the issues here are matters of “personal preference,” and not the solemn issues related to moral failure (see also 13:12–13). Second, when considering the depth of meaning associated with “eating” (see also Leviticus 11; Deuteronomy 14:1–21) and “special days” (Exodus 20:8–11; 23:10–12, 14–17) in the Torah regulations of Israel’s covenant identity, it is a striking reminder of how Paul has relegated central prescriptions of Israel’s sacred traditions to mundane, optional categories. Third, Paul’s rhetorical strategy is oriented towards a communal posture of embrace: segregation is not an option; intermingling is a must. Fourth, it is fascinating to observe how Paul arranges every aspect around his God-centered perspective. Nothing escapes the divine relations. 

Paul advocates for a close connection and communal togetherness. When practiced, disturbing differences are bound to arise and provoke irritation, which leads to separation. However, the negotiation here is not related to matters subject to real moral evaluation. In this way, Paul’s discussion about “matters of indifference” requires a certain kind of moral discernment. It will perpetually be the case that followers of Jesus have to discern which matters constitute a violation of moral norms (in other words, “sins”) and those which are negotiable non-essentials. Counseling believers to be “non-judgmental” requires this deeper wisdom insight to determine what counts as “judgy-ness” and what requires a “holy” discrimination (see also Proverbs 26:4–5; Matthew 7:1–5, 6). Paul’s admonition in Romans 13:12–13 (see also 1:28–32; 6:1–11; 8:5–8) excludes certain behaviors and attitudes from being acceptable as a follower of Christ and member of God’s household (8:14–17). In matters of preference, Paul directs his audience to defer to the Lord of the household (14:4).

Paul has already oriented his audience, gathered in these house churches, to set aside arrogant egoism (12:3), to give precedence to the needs of others in the group (12:10; see also 14:15–21), and even to orient oneself in solidarity with the poor or humiliated members (12:16). Here, Paul directs attention to the perspective of the Lord over this newly formed adoptive household of “Abba, Father” which shares in the inheritance of the royal Son (8:14–17; see also 1:3–4).

Paul returns to the diatribe style of pitching questions toward variously held perspectives: “Who are you (second person singular), the one who judges another man’s household slave?” (14:4; see also 2:1, 17; 9:19). In this mode of consideration, Paul speaks from the perspective of the “strong” (15:1; see also 14:14) precisely in order to advocate accommodation for the “weak (in faith)” (14:1, 2). So, while Paul can relativize dietary restrictions (14:14; see also 1 Corinthians 9:4, 13, 19–23), he positions the table of fellowship as inviting and accommodating for those who restrict their diet out of conscience towards what they believe God desires (14:5–6, 15–17, 20–21). In this way Paul navigates a Christ-centered (Torah-decentered; see Romans 3:21–26, 10:4–10) community of different practices and preferences united by the one Spirit, composed now of Jews and gentiles into one people (15:7–12; see also Romans 3:28–30; 4:9–13, 18–25; 1 Corinthians 12:12–13; Ephesians 4:5–6). 

Paul addresses the dietary concerns of the observant not to dismiss them, but to call those who feel unrestrained to make temporary concessions for the sake of “pursuing the things which make for peace” (14:19). This is another way of imitating the hospitality of Jesus’ inclusive love (5:1–2, 6–10). The table is to be a welcoming place, which means setting the menu without barriers for those with tamer appetites. Just how this discernment translates across time and region will be a matter of Spirit-inspired, kingdom-honoring creativity (14:17). The result will be that which is “delightful (euarestos) to God and esteemed (dokimos) by people” (14:18; cf. 12:2).

This leads us to our final observation: Paul orders every aspect of consideration in relation to God’s estimation of it. Even something as mundane as eating or marking a special day is done with reference not merely to pleasure or preference, but “to the Lord” (14:6–8). Nothing is deemed too banal to be directed in honor of the God who has given life (14:22). Every ordinary action can be aimed for the benefit of the neighbor (15:2), which is a participation in the hospitality of Christ, dedicated to the glory of God (15:3, 6, 7).  God should be at the center of our lives. Again, we see how love is a fulfillment of Torah (13:10). Just as God established the Tabernacle of Presence at the very center of the gathered tribes of Israel (Numbers 2:1–34), so Paul envisions a community where every relationship, every investment, every interaction, every habit, and every effort is directed toward honoring God and displaying God’s generous welcome to others (Romans 15:6–7, 13).