Lectionary Commentaries for August 4, 2024
Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

This week, we come to the beginning of Jesus’ Bread of Life discourse. Building on last week’s exploration of Jesus’ feeding miracle that tested his disciples on land and on sea, Jesus addresses the crowd he fed, who had sought to make him their king (6:14). Jesus’ retreat from this crowd demonstrated his rejection of this title from them at this time (6:15). For John’s Gospel, Jesus is assuredly “king,” but of God’s kingdom, which operates differently from the kingdoms of the world (12:13–15; 18:36–37). 

Yet, this crowd is persistent, and for that, we should give them some credit. The crowd lingered after Jesus’ withdrawal, remaining when the disciples left without their teacher. Moreover, this crowd is resourceful. They didn’t know how Jesus got to the other side of the Sea of Tiberias, but when the opportunity came to join him, they jumped aboard arriving boats and traveled to meet him. Then, they searched for him. 

When they finally catch up to him and ask respectfully, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” (6:25), we can imagine they both are genuinely curious and feel they deserve an answer. After all, they have shown themselves faithful students by keeping track of their rabbi’s movements and investing time to find him. Nevertheless, as Jesus’ teaching reveals, we can do all the right things and not even know we’re doing them for insufficient reasons until we have allowed our outlook to be reframed by his instruction. 

I call them “insufficient reasons,” rather than “wrong reasons,” on purpose. This crowd that tracked Jesus down had initially followed him because of the “signs that he was doing for the sick” (6:2). Jesus healed members of this crowd and then fed them, testing his disciples to show them he can provide the impossible (6:5–15). In his actions, then, Jesus acknowledges and provides for the physical needs of this crowd. His ability to do so sparks their allegiance. Jesus, more than any governor, bureaucrat, or emperor, provided for them on that day. No wonder they wanted him to be their king! 

Showing their loyalty, this crowd toiled to find Jesus the next day. But rather than praise, Jesus chastises them, exposing the shortcomings of the crowd’s faithfulness. Although the crowd calls Jesus “Rabbi,” they aren’t quite ready to receive the revelatory teaching he gives (see also 3:2; 4:31). Rather than telling them about his miraculous sea-crossing, Jesus answers: “Truly, truly, I tell you, you are seeking me not because you saw signs, but because you ate from the loaves and were satisfied. Stop working for food that is perishing but for food that remains for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you” (6:26–27; my translation). 

Like his earlier evaluation of enamored groups, Jesus doesn’t trust this crowd; instead, as 2:23–25 informed us, Jesus “knows what is in humanity.” Jesus knows that this crowd has followed him and worked to do so. But while they might be searching for the right one, they are doing so for an insufficient reason. No matter how good it is to cure and feed a needy crowd, Jesus says he has been sent to give something even greater: himself. 

When I read this story, I find it easy to understand the crowd’s confusion. Haven’t they done the right thing? Didn’t they wait for Jesus even after his disciples abandoned him? Yes—and no. According to John’s Gospel, the crowd is right to follow Jesus, but they, like us, need help to see that Jesus’ life-giving mission reaches farther than they can imagine. The crowd wants Jesus to repeat signs they already know—by giving them daily manna in this wilderness (6:30–31)—so that way, their existing definition of Jesus as “the prophet, the one coming into the world” is affirmed (6:14; see also Deuteronomy 18:15–18). 

Yet, as Jesus explains, their analogy is all wrong. Jesus isn’t a new Moses, and he isn’t offering more manna. Even though Moses was a great prophet and leader through whom God did wonderful signs and liberated the Israelites, Jesus says he is a greater gift from the Father. He is the “bread of life” given so that all who consume him—who believe, remain with, trust him even when he says scandalous things—will participate in God’s type of life. Even when the crowd asks for “this bread,” Jesus knows they aren’t quite ready for it (6:34–36).

The crowd suddenly disappears in John 6:41. While this might surprise us, it’s a part of John’s consistent focus on the audience listening to the entire Gospel, so they will then have the advantage of knitting this story together. Careful audiences can make connections between 6:24–35 and previous scenes, such as 2:23–25 mentioned above. But they might also catch the language of “descending” and the “Son of Man” that sounds like Jesus’ initial promise to his disciples (1:51) and his later conversation with Nicodemus (3:13). 

Jesus also calls himself the “true bread” (6:32), which may remind us of his being the “true light” in 1:9. The discussion of “food” and “works” resonates with 3:19–21, and with his previous teaching to the disciples in 4:32–35. When his disciples reasonably and rightfully try to make him eat after a day of traveling, Jesus chides them with the cryptic words “My food is to do the will of the one who sent me and to complete his work” (4:34). Only by working through the Gospel repeatedly can we begin to make these connections and put together the more profound portrait of God’s self-revelation through Jesus. 

God certainly knows our daily needs, but through Jesus, God also shows us that our preoccupation with our needs can prevent us from seeing the “greater things” God is doing (1:51) and that God wants to do through us (14:12). God’s will isn’t for temporary sustenance, but for ongoing life. And this living only happens when we allow our expectations to be reshaped and we receive the living bread given to us.

Be sure also to check out the blog article by Kendall Vanderslice on Preaching the Bread of Life series from John 6.

This text from Exodus begins what is known as the “Wilderness Wanderings” of the Israelites. Having just witnessed God’s saving power in their safe crossing of the Sea of Reeds, the people begin to complain about the less-than-ideal conditions of their current situation. This story is part of a larger collection of texts in which the Israelites “murmur” (read: “complain”) against Moses and/or Aaron for their plight and, therefore, complain against God. 

The pattern is established that when the going gets tough, the people grumble. This strand within the broader wilderness story portrays a common human characteristic of not being satisfied with what we have, a “grass is always greener” outlook on life. Rather than judging the Israelites for their ingratitude, this story offers us the opportunity to hold up the scriptural mirror to ourselves and ask how we often reflect the same disposition.

Exodus 16:1 informs the reader that we are now one month away from crossing the Sea of Reeds, and the Israelites have begun their long journey to the Promised Land. The Israelites immediately doubt Moses and Aaron. This behavior was also seen in Exodus 14 when the Israelites reached the Sea of Reeds and were trapped between the watery obstacle and Pharaoh’s army. While these people may seem ungrateful, we might be able to understand their doubting Moses and Aaron. The whole idea that Moses was going to secure their freedom from Pharaoh had seemed preposterous from the beginning. 

To this enslaved group, Moses was a stranger at best, or a product of Pharaoh’s household at worst. They had no reason to trust him, much less believe his story that God had called him to this very task of liberation. They had witnessed and suffered from many of the plagues orchestrated by Moses and God. They had walked across on dry land in the middle of the Sea of Reeds. All of it seemed surreal, so they were waiting for their “luck” to run out and this dream to end. For the Israelites, the enemy they knew (Pharaoh) was better than the unknown of their future. 

Despite their doubt, God responds to their need for food. The Lord tells Moses that each day the Lord will provide bread for the people (verse 4a); however, what the people receive is a strange substance that is like flour (described in verse 31 as being similar to coriander seed that tasted like honey-flavored wafers) from which they can make bread. Besides providing sustenance for the whiny people, the Lord has another motive for the gracious act: “In that way, I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not” (verse 4b). 

There are some rules for how the people are to collect the substance they will find each morning. They must gather only enough for one day’s food and shall not keep any leftovers. This is not only a curbing of possible greed but also a way of teaching the Israelites to trust the Lord and gain confidence in the Lord as one who can provide for them. 

This chapter of Exodus holds many possible avenues for reflection and exploration. The 15 verses of this week’s reading introduce several of these ideas. Our text, along with several others in the Torah, raises the issue of faith and trust in the Divine, our leaders, and ourselves. Members of faith communities in the 21st century are not immune to these doubts, even though we no longer see the world as the ancient Israelites saw it. Those who lived in a “pre-scientific” time had only one explanation for strange and awesome life experiences; they believed these were caused by supernatural beings (gods/God). 

Our knowledge of the world (for example, weather, illness) means we no longer blame these things on divine activities. In some ways, this makes faith and trust in God even harder to maintain. 

We have witnessed, and continue to witness, many examples of people in positions of leadership doing unethical things and not seeking the betterment of those who put them in that position of authority. Politicians have caused many people to always assume they are not trustworthy and prevent the inevitable disappointment. Religious leaders have also behaved in ways that have led to a loss of respect for clergy. 

With all the decisions we face in our fast-paced world, it is very easy to doubt ourselves, our choices, and our ability to do what is asked of us. In what ways do you struggle to have faith and trust? What would it take to trust and have faith in God, others, and yourself?

The Israelites’ complaining about their circumstances in the wilderness allows us to consider how we, too, are never happy with what we have. The Israelites cried out from their oppression for liberation, and God sent Moses, Aaron, and Miriam to lead them into a different future. Once they had what they wanted, it turned out that freedom was not what they had imagined. It involved more responsibility than they had anticipated. 

While they were enslaved in Egypt, their basic needs were provided for them. Even though they suffered under heavy work and threats to their children, they at least knew where they would get their next meal. In the wilderness, they were scared about the future and worried they could not make it alone. 

How often have we wanted something so much (and perhaps even prayed for it), only to get what we wanted and find out it was not all we had hoped it would be? How often do we say the words “If only I had … I would be content,” but we continue to add to that “if only” list? What does it take for us to be satisfied with what we have? Perhaps we could ask another question: “Do we ever get what we thought we wanted, only to say, ‘What is it?’”

Last week’s passage invited us to consider the spaces of power that we inhabit; this week’s passage gets more personal.

The close reading of last week’s passage shows emphasis on the movement between spaces and across boundaries that correlate to the power of the David-Uriah-Bathsheba dynamic. Now that David has executed his plan, and Uriah has died, the narrative continues. Bathsheba is now unnamed and referred to as “the wife of Uriah.” Interestingly, she remains nameless as “wife of Uriah” in the genealogy of Matthew 1. She is now the victim of both her own rape and her husband’s murder, making her a widow. 

Besides the emotional trauma, the economic impact of widowhood was devastating. In an agrarian society with patrilineal descent, the widow has little opportunity for sustenance. From an economic perspective, verse 27 might seem charitable in this ancient Near Eastern worldview. David did not have to marry her. But he does, and the son becomes his own within the royal house and with potential rights to the throne. In fact, the passage can end here, with Bathsheba residing in the royal house, and the story of David’s reign can move to international matters.

But the end of verse 27 leads us to consider a more subversive interpretation. The text adds the commentary “But the thing that David had done displeased the LORD.” Before this note, there is no moral commentary on David’s actions—only narrative description. But this note moves us to look a bit more carefully at David and Bathsheba’s interactions and to look at the spaces of power. 

Once again, David has all the agency. He does not depart from the privilege of his palace, but David “sent” for her and “brought” her. Bathsheba is relegated to an object. Her only direct action is that she “bore him a son.” She is then absent for the remainder of the passage.

The text transitions to David’s interactions with Nathan, as the sent messenger of the Lord. The transition of 11:27–12:1 shows the subtle, yet sovereign divine power. God is displeased, so he sends Nathan. But this display of power shows a part of God who is gentle and nurturing while maintaining divine holiness. Such violation of God’s commands cannot go unpunished. But rather than inflicting direct punishment, God sends a messenger. And rather than having the messenger immediately pronounce judgment, Nathan shares a parable that allows David to discover his own failure.

The story involves a poor man and a rich man. Within the story, the sin is a form of economic oppression. It is not explained how the rich man was able to take the poor man’s single ewe. But both ancient and modern readers can easily observe exploitation of the poor by the rich. 

One of the more stunning details is revealed at 2 Samuel 12:4–5. David was completely unaware of his own sin! He committed sexual assault. To cover it up, he committed premeditated murder. Are there more despicable acts than rape and murder? His protected position made him immune from his own wrongdoings. He did not go to the battlefield and expose himself to vulnerability, but he was in the protected physical spaces of his palace in Jerusalem. As king, he was surrounded by people who did everything he asked without question.

But at a distance, the crime is obvious to the king. As Nathan narrates this story, David’s anger begins to burn at this injustice. Appropriate for a king, David summarily renders a decision for execution against this rich man. 

Then verse 7 abruptly changes Nathan’s tone into direct accusation. Nathan stunningly reveals that David is the rich man. He had unlimited material goods. He had power. Yet he took away the sole material good of the other man. The violation is named not against Bathsheba nor Uriah, but against God’s very teaching as revealed in the rhetorical statement, “Why have you despised the word of the LORD?” 

As we read this passage, perhaps our anger also burns against David. But such a response, to quickly judge before self-examination, would parallel David’s lawless actions. Rather, our response should be to question our own hidden sins. To properly frame the passage, it begins with looking at our own spaces of privilege and power. 

David does not do this. But the reader can see David’s positional privilege from the narration as David finds himself in Jerusalem, in the palace, on his rooftop, and in his chamber. An understanding of these positions gives us insight to our own wrongdoings. What are the ways that we exploit? What are the ways that we conspire? The examples of rape and murder often absolve us as our reaction might be “At least it’s not rape or murder!”

But instead, I think these extreme examples should alert us to the gravity of our own harmful actions that may be hidden from our very consciousness. The most cursory review of Christian history reveals some of the most egregious practices of violence, judgment, oppression, and anti-Semitism by Christians. In many of these cases, Christian leaders were not even aware of their wrongdoing. What makes us think we are more self-aware?

God then continues in his gentleness to David. David is punished. But he does not die. With David’s full confession “I have sinned against the Lord,” Nathan then is able to console David: “Now the LORD has put away your sin; you shall not die” (12:13b). Such a response of graciousness is also ours if we allow David to speak for us: “I have sinned against the LORD.”

Psalm 78’s superscription reads, “A Maskil of Asaph.”¹

While some commentators and readers ignore the superscriptions of the psalms, these little introductions often provide significant clues for understanding the psalms’ meanings and purposes. In the Hebrew Bible, unlike Christian Bibles, a psalm’s superscription is not placed as a preface to it. Rather, it is included as the psalm’s first verse. What insight into Psalm 78 can its superscription provide?

First, the psalm is described as a maskil. The Hebrew root of this word is sakal, which means “to have insight, to teach.” Thus, we may understand a maskil as a teaching song.

Second, Psalm 78 is ascribed to Asaph. The Korahites (Psalms 42, 44, 45, et cetera.), Heman the Ezrahite (Psalm 88), Ethan the Ezrahite (Psalm 89), and Asaph were singers and musicians at the Jerusalem Temple during the reigns of David and Solomon (compare 1 Chronicles 6:31–37; 9:19). So, we are introduced to Psalm 78 as a teaching psalm from the time of David and Solomon.

In verses 1–3, the psalm begins with words of admonition to its listeners. The psalm singer then recounts in great detail the activity of God in the lives of our ancestors during the exodus from Egypt, the wilderness wanderings, the settlement of the land, and the establishment of the ancient Israelite nation with David as king.

Verses 23–29 are a poetic retelling of God’s provision of manna and quail during the wilderness wanderings. According to Exodus 13–16, God led the Israelites out of Egypt with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night (Exodus 13:21–22). They arrived and camped at the Reed Sea, and soon Pharaoh and his army were in hot pursuit.

The people then turned to Moses in fear and anger, saying, “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? … Let us alone and let us serve the Egyptians, for it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness” (Exodus 14:11–12). Thus began the grumbling—a constant theme of the journey through the wilderness.

Later, the people continued to grumble about the lack of fresh water to drink and food to eat (Exodus 15:24; 16:3). God answered the people out of the pillar of cloud, and promised them manna and quail (Exodus 16:10–12). The word “manna” is taken from the question that the Israelites ask when they see the manna for the first time: “What is it?”—in Hebrew “man hoo” (Exodus 16:15).

While Psalm 78 recounts the story of God’s good provisions for the Israelites during the formative years of their being, it also reminds the reader/hearer of another aspect of God. God is not only the God of the faithful (God’s followers), but God is the God of all creation. God rained the manna down upon the people in the wilderness by “commanding the skies above” and “opening the doors of heaven” (verse 23). God directed the quail to them by “causing the east wind to blow in the heavens” and “leading out the south wind” (verse 26).

Thus, God is the God of creation and of good provision for God’s people. But the verses following our focus text in Psalm 78 remind us of still another aspect of God.

Psalm 78:29–31 echoes the story of God’s giving of the manna and the quail in the book of Numbers, a story with a very different outcome from the one in Exodus 16. In Numbers 11, the Israelites cried out against Moses, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at” (Numbers 11:4–6).

God’s good provision of the manna was not enough, so quail arrived at the camp on “a wind from the LORD” (Numbers 11:31). But Numbers 11:33 says that “the anger of the LORD was kindled against the people,” and the LORD “struck the people with a very great plague.”

The “teaching” of Psalm 78, the teaching to which the faithful should “give ear” (verse 1), is a teaching of hope in the goodness of God and a warning of the consequences of continual disobedience.

God called our ancestors in the faith out of Egypt into a new life of abundance in the land of promise. The people were called to undertake a difficult journey of faith. When they were afraid, when they despaired, and when they grumbled, God provided. But the story from Numbers tells us God does become angry. What does this mean? Do we worship an angry God?

This author maintains that God gives each of us a path to travel and that God continually provides for our journey. Our choice is to trust God to provide for the journey or to grumble at every turn in the road.

Are we allowed to question, to call God to account and confront God with the hard questions of life? Absolutely. The most frequently occurring type of psalms in the book of Psalms are the lament psalms, in which singers cry out to God about the injustices, pains, and oppressions of life.

We are allowed to question God and call God to account. But at some point in the journey, we must learn to trust God. God’s ways are not ours; God’s wisdom is not ours.

Ponder the teaching of Asaph, a singer in the courts of David and Solomon. Did David and Solomon learn about trusting God from the stories that were passed down to them, the “parables and dark sayings of old,” those things that “our ancestors have told us” (Psalm 78:2–3)?

I suspect they did, and I suspect we all might learn something about the journey of faith by embracing those stories.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website August 2, 2009.

This passage forms the hinge between the theological statement of Ephesians 1–3 and the exhortatory material that follows (4:17–6:20).¹ It provides a theological rationale for the behavior that is required of the church.

The primary call is to unity. The recipients of the letter should make “every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (4:3). They are to equip the saints for ministry “until all of us come to the unity of faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God” (4:13). The sevenfold use of the word “one” (4:4–6) forms the center of a poetic statement of the church’s unity. The list culminates with the oneness of God. Just as earlier parts of Ephesians have identified God as the source of the church’s identity (compare 1:3–8), so here the unity of the church reflects the oneness of God.

In the Greek, verse 7 also begins with the word “one.” In English translation, it is not possible to maintain the parallel. “And each one of us was given grace” is one way to think of the parallel made by the Greek. Following on the heels of verses 4–6, verse 7 brings the notion of oneness back to the individual experience—each one of us. The believer’s experience of God’s grace relates to the larger goal of the oneness of the body.

The unity of the church is a reflection of God’s gift of reconciliation in Christ. The opening “therefore” (4:1) indicates that the argument here follows logically upon the previous verses. In Ephesians 1–3, the author has elaborated upon the reconciliation between Jews and Gentiles that God has brought about in Christ. The repeated use of the word “one” in 2:14–16 (as in 4:4–8) highlights this aspect of the message: the church is “one new humanity” created by Christ.

The mystery of the faith (compare 3:9) is that, through the one body of Jesus, God has brought together two disparate groups under one plan of salvation. While both Jews and Gentiles once lived according to the flesh (2:3), Jews were nevertheless “near” to God, while Gentiles were “far off” (2:17). Through Christ, both groups are now joined together and draw nearer to God. The writer uses two metaphors to express the joining and the resulting closeness with God: Jews and Gentiles form one body with Christ as its head (1:22–23), and one structure with Christ as its cornerstone (2:21–22).

The church should reflect this unity. However, the author makes clear that the perfection of the church is a process and not a completed event. Christ has equipped the church with gifts (4:7, 11) so that the church as Christ’s body may reach maturity. The body metaphor of verses 12–16 is interesting: the church is depicted as growing into its own body. Christ is already “mature” (verse 13; the Greek that the New Revised Standard Version translates as “maturity” is more literally “the complete man”).

Yet the church, which is Christ’s body, must build up the body until it arrives at the stature of Christ (verse 13). Likewise, in verses 14–15 the image evoked is that of the body growing up to meet its head, Christ. In the author’s view, the church is already the body of Christ, even as it continues to grow toward Christ.

The list of offices in 4:11–13 poses a theological problem for many interpreters. In these verses, the gifts given by Christ appear to be identified with various leaders, whose job it is to train all the saints. By contrast, the “gifts of the Spirit” of which Paul speaks of in 1 Corinthians 12 seem to be gifts that any believer may possess and use for the good of the body (compare 1 Corinthians 12:4–11). For many readers, the related text in 1 Corinthians may be more appealing because the whole church shares equally in the gifts of God. Here, the gifts seem to belong exclusively to church leaders—or, more precisely, the gifts are the church leaders.

However, it is also possible to read 4:11–13 as a recognition that good leaders are necessary for the church’s unity. Elsewhere, the author has already assumed that God has given grace as a gift to every believer (4:7; compare 1:3–6). Nevertheless, certain people are gifted in particular ways for the building up of the body, and this is a gift of God’s grace. The language here does not demand uncritical obedience to leaders, but understands leaders as a gift from God to guide the growth of the body.

Seen in the context of Ephesians, the unity to which the church is called in 4:1–16 can have challenging implications for contemporary churches. In the first century, many Jews and Gentiles struggled to accept the message of reconciliation of Jews and Gentiles (compare Galatians, Acts 10–15). God’s gift of reconciliation means that those who were understood to be “far off” are now those who are equally gifted by God. The “dividing walls” of today’s churches might also be seen in this light, although in our case the more relevant categories would be those of gay and straight, black and white, rich and poor, or men and women. In its unity the church should embody the reconciliation made possible in Christ, who “has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us” (2:14).

In Ephesians, unity is not the same as uniformity. The mystery of God that is revealed in Christ and results in the reconciliation of Jews and Gentiles does not obliterate the distinctions between these different groups. Instead, what is made known through the church is “the wisdom of God in its rich variety” (3:10). Part of the call of 4:1–16 is to tolerance, or “bearing with one another” (4:2). The assumption is not that all distinctions will cease, but that even with the persistence of differences, the church may nevertheless grow together as a body.

Notes

1. Commentary previous published on this website on August 2, 2009.