Lectionary Commentaries for June 2, 2024
Second Sunday after Pentecost

This Sunday’s pericopae conclude five that Mark carefully collocated: 2:1–12; 2:13–17; 2:18–22; 2:23–28; 3:1–6. The scarlet thread running through this series is controversy between Jesus and devoted laity. Conflict rapidly escalates.

In 2:6–8 some scribes (read: biblical scholars) refute Jesus in their hearts. In 3:5–6 some obstinate Pharisees are hatching a plot with partisans of Herod Antipas (6:14–29) to do away with Jesus. Commentators have so drilled into our heads Mark’s alleged “messianic secret” that we can miss the obvious before our eyes: here the Son of Man (2:10, 28) publicly declares his authority to forgive sins and to overrule the Sabbath (2:10–12, 28), while his adversaries secretly move from skeptical (2:6–8) to murderous intent (3:4b–6).

Two traps must be sidestepped when interpreting Mark 2:23–3:6. One is dismissing the importance of Sabbath in first-century Judaism. Nowadays some Jews and Christians faithfully observe their Sabbaths; others no longer set that day apart from the week’s other six. For many church members who aren’t hard at work 24/7, Sunday’s only difference is uninterrupted hours of golf or professional football.

In Jesus’ day the Sabbath was normative in establishing Jewish identity within Palestine and beyond. Grounded in the creation narrative (Genesis 2:1–3) and the Decalogue (Exodus 20:8–11; Deuteronomy 5:12–15), Sabbath observance is corroborated in Jewish and pagan literature throughout the New Testament era. From sundown on Friday until Saturday’s sunset, Jews encouraged one another to enjoy a day of delight (Nehemiah 8:9–12; Isaiah 58:13–14), worshiping the Lord (Isaiah 66:23; Ezekiel 46:3), laying aside ordinary work (Amos 8:5), and fighting only in self-defense (1 Maccabees 2:29–41).

“[The Sabbath’s] object is to give mortals relaxation from continuous, unending toil and by refreshing their bodies with a regularly calculated system of remissions, to send them out renewed to their old activities” (Philo, Special Laws 2.60). Jewish groups debated among themselves which activities were permissible on the Sabbath (Qumran’s Damascus Document 10:14–12:5; Luke 14:1–6; the Mishnaic tractates Šabbat [7.2] and Beitzah [5.2; circa A.D. 200]). For the ultra-scrupulous, not plucking grain on the Sabbath was a way of safeguarding that holy day from profanation—even the hint of laborious reaping—by hedging it with multiplied restrictions (Šabbat 73b in the Babylonian Talmud [late fifth century A.D.]).

The other snare we must dodge is knee-jerk censure of Pharisees, who appear in Mark for the first time in 2:24 (later: 3:6; 7:1, 3, 5; 8:11, 15; 10:2; 12:13). It’s frightening how long Pharisees have been caricatured from Christian pulpits as self-righteous hypocrites. Pharisaism was a lay reform movement within first-century Judaism, dedicated to superlative adherence to Torah in all walks of life. According to Josephus, Pharisees were celebrated by their Jewish contemporaries for “practicing the highest ideals both in their way of living and in their discourse” (Antiquities 12.15 [circa A.D. 105]). They were regarded as upstanding, devout, Bible-believing pillars of the community. To paraphrase Pogo Possum from Walt Kelly’s old comic strip, “We have met the Pharisees, and they are us.”

Two salient issues arise from Mark 2:23–3:6. As in his claim of authority to forgive sins (2:10), so also does Jesus assert extraordinary sovereignty to interpret God’s deepest intent for the Sabbath in ways that, for others, seem to undermine it. “The Sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the Sabbath; so the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath” (2:27–28 New Revised Standard Version). “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to kill?” (3:4a).

We God-fearing, churchgoing Pharisees could think to ourselves (as trial lawyers bellow in Perry Mason), “That question is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. ‘Every case where life is in danger supersedes the Sabbath’ [Mishnah Yoma 8.6]. But the life of this fellow with a shriveled hand is not at risk. Immediate treatment is not required. His cure can wait till tomorrow.”

Angered by such hard-hearted fault-finding, Jesus forces the issue: He summons one who is crippled—who has no more asked for healing than a paralytic sought forgiveness (Mark 2:4–5)—and restores another body to wholeness. Whether the issue is hunger or healing, the satisfaction of human need (2:25) trumps reverent religiosity every time. Jesus wields a fresh teaching with authority, unlike that of the scholars (1:22, 27) and the pious. His ministry injects stress: something new into the old, fermenting wine that bursts old skins (2:21–22). Predictably, defenders of the status quo don’t like that one bit. They begin mobilizing, neither to honor nor to save this bridegroom (2:20), but to destroy him (3:6).

In Mark the bases for controversies between Jesus and his antagonists are not his mighty works as such, let alone some presumed envy for his “doing good.” Jesus submits no credentials. He simply speaks and acts, then allows his witnesses to draw their own conclusions (2:4–5, 10–12, 13–14, 27–28; 3:1–6). Jesus is a radical figure whose deeds and pronouncements strike at the root of what it means to be faithfully Jewish—and, for us this Sunday, what it really means to be Christian.

Are we any less outraged by profligate forgiveness (2:7) or fraternizing with notorious traitors, outcasts, and the flagrantly wicked, without demanding that they first clean up their acts (2:15–16)? How will we feel when Jesus runs roughshod over whatever we consider definitive of Christian conduct, even when we find it in the Bible? When the Son of Man comes wielding authority on earth (2:10a) and lordship even over the Sabbath (2:28), our lifelong assumptions cannot go unchallenged. “The good news of God” (1:14) amazes nobodies into glorifying God (2:12). It scares the piss out of society’s stalwarts, threatened by a preacher so mysterious and infuriating. “[We] proclaim Jesus, crucified and risen, our judge and our hope.”¹

Notes

1. A New Creed, The United Church of Canada (1968).

In the context of the Israelites’ journey to the promised land, we hear Moses’ words to the people. This setting marks a crucial moment, emphasizing the theological importance of Moses’ guidance. Being in Moab’s plains represents the fulfillment of divine promises of redemption since the people left Egypt. The command to honor the Sabbath reminds them of their liberation experience, urging them to maintain a just relationship with each other and God. 

The essence of this passage extends beyond a mere reiteration of existing laws; it emphasizes the significance of the day of rest to acknowledge and highlight God’s redemptive activity. Moses’ words underscore the Lord’s salvific events. God is leading the people out of slavery. They are ready to enter the land of redemption and new beginnings. As the people approach the land, their fidelity to God becomes pivotal, with the Sabbath symbolizing their commitment to a holier existence.

Observing the Sabbath day and keeping it holy underlines the new challenge that the people will face in Canaan. The practice of the day of rest anchors their faithfulness to God as the primary criterion to determine the integral health of the people. This day is a holy day to the Lord, and the community should maintain it as holy by not working. Entering the promised land signifies a tangible realization of their relationship with one another. 

The continuous use of the pronoun “you” underscores the text’s emphasis on salvation and redemption. It goes beyond the limits of historical Israel to touch on the lives of its readers and hearers. The text stresses the theological urgency to remember the Lord, especially during the day of rest. Deuteronomy grounds Sabbath observance in the liberation from Egypt, emphasizing equality among all individuals. By subtly altering the command’s language, Deuteronomy highlights its social justice aspects, advocating for the marginalized and breaking oppressive ideologies.

The precept of the Sabbath is established for moral reasons. The liberation from Egypt, not the motif of creation (Exodus 20:11), justifies its observance. In this claim, all people are equal, no matter their social status. Therefore, in the context of Deuteronomy, the commandment of the Sabbath breaks with all “Egypts,” that is, with all oppressive ideologies that regulate job markets in which the many work and the few rest. 

This radical appropriation of the Sabbath is demonstrated by noticing the subtle stylistic changes of this version compared with Exodus 20:8–11. The expression “or your ox or your donkey, or any of your livestock” is added in Deuteronomy to ensure that “your male and female slave may rest as well as you.” And the exhortation begins with an emphatic “observe” instead of the more hesitant “remember” in Exodus 20:8. 

The parallel text in Exodus 31:14 clarifies how important this day is by prescribing the ultimate penalty to those who break it: capital punishment. The Deuteronomy text’s social relevance extends the observance of the day to the family, the immigrant in the community, the servants, and the animals. Although the idea of rest is as old as humanity, in ancient cultures only the royal family enjoyed this privilege as representatives of the gods. Rest belonged to the house’s owners; work was reserved for the others. It continues to be that way in today’s global market economy, where work and rest are carefully aligned with social class. 

In Deuteronomy, the distribution of work and rest is not established according to social and economic status but according to time. Those at the top of the household hierarchy and those who depend on this person—including the animals and the strangers in town—are protected by divine command and may enjoy a time to work and rest. The Sabbath is more than a ritual; it symbolizes deliverance and a tangible expression of liberation for the laboring populace and animals. It dismantles the retribution theology, offering rest not based on merit but as divine grace and blessing. 

This command encapsulates faithfulness and social justice principles, reflecting God’s sovereignty and the divine gift of rest. The fundamental decisiveness of the text is to manifest what God wants from the people. The new reality of their relationship with one another is no longer a project in the distant future but visible on the other side of the Jordan. 

Moses’ speech reveals the commandment that for Jesus of Nazareth will become the necessary principle for just and humane relationships at the heart of the divine will. Observing the Sabbath is a manifestation of loving God with all your heart, soul, and might (Deuteronomy 6:5; Mark 12:30). Love is more than a snuggly feeling of closeness to God. Its concrete manifestation should be translated in the observance of the Sabbath day as the people’s demonstration of their faithfulness to God’s covenant. 

Therefore, the text connects the emphasis on worshiping God, the beginning of the 10 commandments, with social justice. The subtle changes in the precept of the Sabbath have at their core the purpose of protecting the members of society who are easily forgotten and marginalized for lack of social and economic power. To remember the Egyptian experience of slavery and the mighty hand of God that liberates construes observance of the Sabbath as advocacy for social justice and fair treatment of nature. 

The invitation to celebrate this day and to regard it as different from the workdays makes it holy. The community is invited to enter the divine sphere and simultaneously receive sanctification. However, the day is not only a ritual to demonstrate individual righteousness before God. The day of rest is more than a symbol of deliverance. It is a concrete expression of liberation to those who labor during the week and are under authority: employees, immigrants, and animals. Loving God means loving neighbor in the concrete practice of rest from work regardless of your social and economic status.

The Sabbath encapsulates the divine principles of faithfulness and social justice. God asks to be the only sovereign of Israel because Israel experienced liberation by God’s hand. The double message of loyalty and freedom delineates the principal notion that the Sabbath communicates to us: to rest is a divine gift. There is a day during the week when workers receive nothing by merit and are freed to rejoice, celebrate, and experience divine grace without any human force interfering in the feast. Jesus understands this emphasis when he says, “The Sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27). Any imposition threatening the day of rest as a gift from God is an insult against God.  

The Samuel narrative continues in this account of his prophetic call from YHWH. While this story is one of the few that may make it into Old Testament Sunday school lessons, the depth and complexity is rich and rewarding.

Textual horizons

First, the broader context is a key to unlock the message in this text. I align with the scholars, such as Mark Thronveit, who uphold that Hannah’s “Magnificat” (1 Samuel 2:1–10) is a “theological prologue” that sets out the red thread or central motif for the four books of 1–2 Samuel and 1–2 Kings.¹ Hannah’s song has a core theme of “reversal of fortune,” where the poor and lowly who exalt in YHWH—including barren women—are lifted up, while those who are the adversaries of YHWH and the wicked will be cut off and shattered.

This reversal-of-fortune motif is repeated throughout these four books, which are included in what the scholars call the Deuteronomistic History (including also Joshua and Judges).² In these books, the Deuteronomist/author(s) lays out a theology that demonstrates the reason for the destruction of Israel (722/721 BCE), then Judah and Jerusalem (587/586 BCE), as well as the many decades of exile in Babylon. The reason for these calamities, according to the Deuteronomist, is directly due to disobedience to the covenant with YHWH.

Thus, the central theological concern is faithfulness to YHWH. Therefore, obedience results in blessings, and—be warned in hopeful deterrence—disobedience results in curses or consequences aimed at provoking the disobedient to repent and return! The “evidence” in support of this Deuteronomistic worldview was demonstrated in the dramatic turns of events in these biblical books, where the humble faithful were lifted up and the prideful abusers of power were brought down.

Now, enter Samuel.

In this narrative with bits of delight (“Here I am!” in verses 4, 5, 6, 8) and dubiousness (“Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD” in verse 7), there is an important word, shomea’, that gets translated as “is listening” or as “[he] hears.”³ The Hebrew sense of the word is not only about listening or hearing, as the meaning includes a sense of obeying or heeding.⁴ Thus, Samuel’s response is inherently declaring obedience. The extended lectionary reading reveals his first test in his prophetic calling. Despite being afraid, Samuel is faithful to the vision from YHWH and does not withhold anything from Eli (verse 18).

In verse 19, Samuel’s faithful obedience to his prophetic calling is confirmed in a weird-sounding phrase that states that Samuel did not let any of YWHW’s words “fall to the ground.” Here, this carries a meaning of Samuel’s faithful prophetic proclamation of all the words given to him by YHWH.

Homiletic horizons

The Deuteronomist is making it clear: Be like Samuel! Obedience is central to covenant faithfulness. In the broader context of this pericope, the negative example of Eli’s worthless (1 Samuel 2:12–17) and blaspheming (1 Samuel 3:13) sons, Hophni and Phinehas, also reinforces the call to be trustworthy to God (1 Samuel 3:20). Yes, YHWH will find ways to humble those who abuse power.

So, preaching obedience is not vogue in most contexts today. Perhaps that is why many do not like the Deuteronomist.⁵ While the flattened “obedience brings blessings and disobedience brings curses” is fodder for prosperity gospel, these texts are indeed Scripture. Yet, we hold them in tension with a broader, careful reading of Scripture interpreting Scripture.

The concept of obedience is also made more complex with follow-up questions such as: Obedience to what, or according to whom? But we don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater or dismiss the question because it is challenging. Also, be careful to avoid an unhelpful reductionist understanding that the Old Testament is “law” and the New Testament is “gospel”; there are both normative texts and texts overflowing with grace in both testaments!

The Jewish scholar, Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, writes, “The greatest act of benevolence God can do for us is to give us a sense that there is justice in the world.”⁶ So, I encourage a recognition of the benevolent, gracious God who provides both instruction to guide our walking and the Holy Spirit to empower walking by the Spirit (Galatians 5:16).

In the Old Testament, obedience is grounded in trusting the loving and blessing nature of YHWH and walking faithfully in the loving instructions (torah, unfortunately commonly translated as “law”) that keep us on the path of blessing.

What is the core of the torah? Loving YHWH and loving others. So, obedience is loving YHWH and others, according to Jesus’ example.

What is the manifestation of this gracious blessing? Not power, possessions, and pleasures! Again, Samuel makes it clear in verse 19: “YHWH was with him.”

Notes

1. Mark Throntveit, “Enter the Bible – Books: 1 Samuel,” n.d., http://www.enterthebible.org/oldtestament.aspx?rid=29, (accessed February 1, 2020).
2. Sandra L. Richter, “Deuteronomistic History,” in Dictionary of the Old Testament: Historical Books, ed. Bill T. Arnold and H. G. M. Williamson (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2005), 219–30.
3. Samuel’s words in verse 10 are translated in the New Revised Standard Version and New International Version as “Speak, for your servant is listening,” which grammatically represents the participle form. In the English Standard Version and New King James Version, it is translated as “your servant hears,” closer to the gravitas of the King James Version. This Hebrew word’s root is shama’.
4. The Hebrew root, shama’, is the word referenced in the Jewish confession and prayer, the Shema Israel, which is often rendered, “Hear, O Israel.” Again, the meaning is more complex than simply “hear,” but also “listen,” “heed/obey,” and “hear.” https://jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/13548-shema (accessed 2 Mar 2024). In addition, the name, Samuel “can be understood as a combination of the root ‘to hear’ (…shm’) and ‘God’ (…el). Taken this way, it would mean something like ‘heard by God.’” Daniel S. Diffey and Miles Custis, “Samuel the Prophet,” The Lexham Bible Dictionary (Bellingham, WA: Lexham, 2016).
5. I admit, that while I have big questions, I still appreciate the Deuteronomist’s Scriptures that represent many important aspects of God’s relationship with the people of God.
6. Tamara Cohn Eskenazi and Tikva Frymer-Kensky, The JPS Bible Commentary: Ruth, Bilingual edition (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2011), xxvi.

Psalm 81 does not begin with a crisis but with a covenant memory, the memory of God’s faithfulness and a jubilant call to worship (verses 1–5).¹

And then, intruding into the middle of the fanfare of praise, the rude word of the prophet, speaking a jarring, discordant truth (verses 6–10), and God’s promise of faithfulness to those who call out to the God of salvation (verses 11–16).

What sort of psalm is this? Some call it a “liturgical sermon” while others will categorize it as a “prophetic psalm”—I would say it’s both/and rather than either/or. In the case of those who identify it as a liturgical sermon, they do so because the psalmic preacher situates the first part of the text, the sermonic introduction, in the cultic rites of Israel (verses 1–5). It serves as a familiar call to worship.

Alternatively, those who identify it as a prophetic psalm note the speaker’s plaintive tone, the psalmist’s recollection of God’s faithfulness through salvation history, and the warning of God’s judgment, characteristics found in the messages of the biblical prophets.

Perhaps neither category alone can do it complete justice—indeed, it’s the two together, the liturgical familiarity and the shock of prophetic truth-telling, that make this psalm what it is, namely, a reminder that our praise of God does not exist separate and apart from God’s compassion and justice for the poor, the needy, the oppressed, and the helpless.

Psalm 81 sits somewhere near the middle of Book III (Psalms 73–89) of the book of Psalms. Historical events—namely, the Babylonian deportation and the destruction of the temple—form a backdrop for these prayers. However, as a rule, the Psalter does not occupy itself with specific historic events but instead with the experience of those events.

According to Patrick D. Miller, the psalmist’s circumstantial ambiguity prevents us from “peering behind” the text, but it also invites us to adapt the text to our own historical situation.² As such, the cry of the psalmist is the cry of us all.

What sort of cry do we hear from Psalm 81? And could it be the cry for us all, even though we often ignore it? Perhaps it is a call to respond to the cries for justice and compassion in our own age, but especially, given its introduction, in our own houses of worship. This psalm is not addressed to those who are indifferent to God’s justice but to those who sing God’s praise.

And yet, apparently, this congregation does not hear or refuses to hear God’s voice.

According to J. Clinton McCann Jr., Books I–III call out for a response from God’s people.³ Psalm 81 confirms this yearning: “I hear a voice I had not known” (verse 5c); “if you would but listen to me” (verse 8b); “my people did not listen to my voice” (verse 11); “O that my people would listen to me” (verse 13). Psalm 90 begins to answer the cry for response heard in Book III: “Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations” (verse 1).

Collectively, the psalmist gives us a worldview in which the whole creation sings God’s praise. Even so, this worldview exists within a context of opposition and suffering. McCann notes that in addition to the psalmist’s self-description as the righteous or the upright, the psalmist self-describes as the poor, the needy, the helpless, and the afflicted: “Not surprisingly … the dominant voice in the psalter is that of prayer.”⁴

Could it be that the North American church is tone-deaf to the cry for justice? Is there any psalmic prayer in America’s praise songs of privilege?

Perhaps the truth-telling of Psalm 81 prevents our worship from turning into what Kraus calls “the intoxication of the cultic elements”⁵—the intoxication of choirs, pianos, drums, harps, and trumpets, which can all but drown out the prayer of the dominant voice of the Psalter—for example, the prayer of the poor, the humble, the needy, the helpless.

Rev. William Barber, leader of the revived Poor People’s Campaign, interprets Scripture to those who claim the traditions of worship for themselves. He says there is no religious right or religious left, only the moral center of Scripture, which insists that people of faith are on the side of the poor and the oppressed. And yet, seldom do we hear the prayers of the hurting and the persecuted in the praise songs of the privileged. How is that possible? Perhaps the prophetic voice is unwelcome under the “cover” of Sunday morning religion. According to Barber:

Slave master religion had a strange morality that somehow you could worship on Sunday and still have slaves on Monday. But as we would say today, those preachers were not practicing religion. They were practicing racism under the cover of religion. We still see some of that today.⁶

What if the partying of Sunday morning praise is deaf to the cry of the refugee? Is that the voice we hear speaking in a language that we, in our praise-privileged sanctuaries, do not understand, cannot comprehend, or refuse in the stubbornness of our hearts to acknowledge?

On Sunday, our congregation sang, “Rejoice, Ye Pure in Heart”—the choir processed in, our hearts rejoiced with praise, and perhaps for a moment, our hearts felt pure. But we live in Baltimore, a city with blood on its hands and in its streets. When we came to prayers, we heard the usual assortment of joys and concerns, thanks for healing, for good results, grieving for the loss of a loved one. But then there was this shockingly specific prayer—a raw complaint rising up amid our praise:

Please pray for those affected by the 152 mass shootings in the U.S. so far in 2018.¹ Please pray not only for Jordan Deshields, 16, Arnold Patterson, 49, and Jawuan Pinkney, 1 (victims of gun violence in the previous week), but also for the 103 other gun homicides in Baltimore this year, for all those left behind to mourn, for all those who were shot and survived, and for those working to make peace in our world.

O Lord, in your mercy…
Hear our prayer.

Notes

1. Commentary originally published on this website on June 3, 2018.
2. Patrick D. Miller Jr., Interpreting the Psalms (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 8; quoted by J. Clinton McCann Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” in New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 4 (Nashville: Abingdon, 1996), 646.
3. McCann, 660.
4. McCann, 669.
5. Hans-Joachim Kraus, “Psalms 60-150” in A Continental Commentary, Harold C. Oswald, trans. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 152.
6. Lauren Gambino, “‘Jesus Never Charged a Leper a Co-Pay’ — The Rise of the Religious Left,” The Guardian, May 21, 2018, https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2018/may/21/christian-religious-left-william-barber-poor-peoples-campaign.

Imagine 2 Corinthians as a poem. In any poem, each word calls us to admit we do not know as we think we know. All we can do is hazard a guess, running around the phrases and jumping over words to find something surprising in the light (or is it in the darkness?) of which everything we thought we understood we no longer grasp. We follow fascination, not logic alone. Enter the lectionary. The lectionary is not a friend to poetry. Like an inexperienced cook with a carrot and a knife, the lectionary cuts up 2 Corinthians (the whole Bible, in truth). Any single bit tastes the same as any other bit. God’s word resembles a carrot of uniform quality, so we can chop it up as we please. Right? 

I prefer a poetic approach over the lectionary’s divide-and-conquer strategy. Paul’s letters encourage us to jump around and start with words that make no sense, although they fascinate us. For example, 2 Corinthians 5:4b: “… what is mortal may be swallowed down [not “up” as the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition translates] by life.” This impossible thought hints that Paul does not write in terms of the binary opposition of life and death—an opposition repeating itself in soul/body, male/female, day/night, white/black, urban/rural … and so on. Life and death coexist. 

But what is the work of life taking death down deep into itself? Perhaps it is mourning, the impossible and never-finished work of the living, the ones left behind taking the dead (and the dying as we all are) into themselves, at the same time releasing them to an infinitude (some will say God) that (who) inspires fear, trembling, and, strange to say—and never to be expected—joy.     

Having ignored the lectionary boundaries once, let’s do it again. Reach out to other passages to appreciate how 4:5–12 builds up to the impossible thought in 5:2b. Second Corinthians 4:1–4 refers us back to chapter 3 and the controversy about Paul’s emotions that gave rise to the composition of the letter. Recall that Paul’s opponents in Corinth, the rival missionaries he calls “Super Apostles” (11:5), whose manner of ministry is harsh and moralistic (11:19–20), who smell death when they smell Paul (2:15–16), whom Paul claims are perishing since they have been blinded by the God of this age (4:3–4), these apistoi missionaries (“disloyal” or “untrustworthy ones,” not “the unbelievers” as the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition translates) form a point of comparison. 

Paul contrasts his desperate emotions with their rational control and moral severity. They command others from above; Paul does not hide his regret and self-recrimination (see especially 1:8–9). Exposure of his feelings is bold speech (parrēsia, 3:12; literally: “every word”), a key term in ancient discussions of political leadership and moral guidance. Parrēsia was usually associated with the kind of severe tongue-lashing that the Super Apostles admire and fault Paul for not employing (10:9–11). Paul, however, appropriates or, from the perspective of the Super Apostles, misappropriates parrēsia when applied to his depressed and anxious emotions. This is speech he alludes to in 4:3 that the opponents despise as “veiled speech,” a phrase ancient rhetoricians used to describe cowardly and unmanly prevarication instead of blunt “saying it like it is.” 

For Paul, then, proclamation is the announcement of his suffering mind and his emotional weakness. “We do not proclaim ourselves…” But as we have seen, Paul does proclaim himself  “as your slaves for Jesus’s sake” (4:5). Will preachers today imitate Paul’s practice of proclaiming the self’s fearful and weak emotions? Will preachers imitate his slavery to his hearers, his refusal to feel existence differently than they do, differently than the dying and abandoned Jesus did? What could stink more of narcissism in one moment and in the next moment smell like death than preachers preaching themselves, exposing their inner terrors and experiences of loss, grief, meaninglessness, remorse, or dying? 

What could be more horrifying than preachers like Paul believing they are preaching the gospel when they announce themselves, as Paul puts it, “always carrying around in the body the death [or, “the dying”] of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible [or “manifest”] in our bodies. For we who are living are always being handed over [or “handing ourselves over”] to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible [“manifest”] in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us but life in you.” Will preachers manifest Jesus (and yes, run the risk of appearing self-occupied and morbid), or will they merely put Jesus into words? Will they be poets or professors? 

Words, just because they are words, are not what they refer to. In other words, words always fail to communicate. Think of communicating not in the sense of giving information but spreading a disease. Words: holocaust, genocide, racism, and the list goes on. “Slavery” is on this list, but we betray all the enslaved and their children the moment we steady ourselves and forget them by drawing up lists and saying, “God is always good and saves us from each item on the list.” Satisfied with words, content with lists, we account for disasters and file them safely away. 

Preaching is not accounting. Preaching is not enumerating the disasters that befall others and then piously saying, “There but for the grace of God go I.” Preaching is not saying what is. It is not a matter of counting. Paul proclaims himself “your slave” and uses language to put his flesh, his terror in the night, his horror of controlling neither outer nor inner worlds before his readers’ eyes and in their/our ears.