Lectionary Commentaries for August 25, 2024
Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

John 6:56–69 presents a controversy arising from Jesus’ claim to be the bread of life.  Jesus’ teaching did not draw all people to him but alienated many, so they left his company. Jesus, the living bread, claims that whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood abides in him and he in the person. It’s important to note that this statement, like many others in the Gospel of John, is symbolic. It’s not about literal consumption but the deep, intimate relationship with Jesus. To receive from Jesus “the saving power” he gives his followers, the believer must “feed on him.”

The expression “feeding on Jesus” (his flesh and blood) best captures the intimacy in the relationship. To feed on Jesus is to “absorb his teaching, his character, his mind, and ways; [and to] appropriate the virtue in him till his mind becomes our mind and his ways our ways; till we think somewhat as he would do if he were in our place, and can be and do what without him we would not be or do; and this because his power has passed into us and become our power.”¹ Eating and drinking metaphors best express oneness, intimacy, and the best way to be part of Jesus’ life.

Jesus indicates the profundity of the relationship, comparing it to the relationship between him (Jesus) and God (6:57), which is perfect and permanent. Partaking of Jesus’ flesh and blood means establishing and remaining in this relationship, lasting and deepening to all eternity, and enabling the believer to live forever.

As usual, every teaching of Jesus and the signs he performs lead to division; while some people believe in him, some leave his company because they find Jesus’ statement unacceptable and murmur, “This is a hard saying; who can listen to it? How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” They take the literal sense of the words and miss Jesus’ point, which requires thinking at a higher level. Jesus clarifies that they need to think beyond the ordinary literal sense.

His audience should abandon literal interpretations and interpret the discourse about eating Jesus’ flesh and drinking Jesus’ blood in light of the ascension and gift of the spirit (6:62–63). Jesus, whose flesh all must eat, is more than literal human flesh. He is not merely the fleshly human but the One who came from above. Flesh, as such, is unprofitable; only the spirit gives life. The subject of Jesus’ discourse is the means that conveys Spirit and life. Jesus’ true home is higher than the physical home the audience knows, so they must listen to the words from One who came from above and whom they will see ascend. Jesus’ message is symbolized by eating and drinking Jesus’ flesh and blood.

The unbelievers missed the point, so they left Jesus’ company. Jesus is losing followers because of his hard teachings but is not stepping back despite this. He uses the occasion to challenge his disciples whom God has drawn to him. He also knows that one of them (Judas) will betray him. “Will you also go away?” Jesus asks. Peter responds, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (6:68). Peter confesses acceptance of the invitation to be with Jesus and to remain with Jesus in a deep relationship. There is no other person to whom believers can go.

When I was a biblical Greek student during my graduate studies, one of my professors was famous for his excellence in teaching, yet he was unpopular among students for awarding low grades. For Intermediate Greek, students had no alternative but to take the course with him. However, another professor offered an alternative course for Advanced Greek. That meant that the so-called mean professor would lose many students he had in Intermediate Greek since students wanted to learn and get good scores.

My cohort, instead, had a few more of us willing to take the risk of low scores and learn from this excellent teacher. Walking into the classroom on the first day of school, the teacher was surprised to see more students than usual. Other than appreciating it, he said, “Why have you not gone away?” Jokingly, I responded, “To whom shall we go? You have the message of eternal life.” The class had one minute of laughter, with the professor chuckling more often. The professor was never the same. He developed a relationship with the class, resulting in outstanding learning and excellent student scores. We learned how to respond to his “hard saying.”

Jesus’ teachings may be challenging, but he does not shy away from them. He continues to offer hard truths that, if we remain with him, can profoundly benefit us. Are we willing to stay with our Teacher even when his teachings seem complicated? Can we, like Peter, say, “To whom shall we go?” and commit to Jesus, the teacher of excellence, whose word gives life? Can we embrace the relationship, “eating his flesh and drinking his blood,” so that we maintain a deeper relationship with him?

Peter, a man of both strengths and weaknesses, is an excellent example of faith. He is not perfect but has his moments of shining. He can misunderstand situations and will even deny Jesus at the arrest and trial, but he often gets it right. In Peter’s mind, no one can teach better than the teacher of excellence; followers must stick to Jesus, to his words that create a deeper, intimate relationship with him.

“We believe and have come to know that you are the Holy One of God” is Peter’s portrait of the process through which they have come to believe in Jesus (6:69). This beautifully expresses the process of believing. “It starts with a venture that what one thinks could be true, and then, in a little while, something surer and steadier than the initial faith, faith grown to knowledge, a knowledge gained from facts of one’s personal experience.”² Peter’s unwavering belief and commitment to Jesus at this point should inspire readers.

Notes

1. George Arthur Buttrick, ed., The Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary, vol. 8 (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1991), 573–574.
2. Buttrick, ed., The Interpreter’s Bible, 576.

The book of Joshua follows on the heels of Moses’ farewell address found in Deuteronomy. It begins what scholars commonly refer to as the Deuteronomistic History, which includes Joshua through 2 Kings. Utilizing a variety of sources, the Deuteronomistic historians retold Israel’s story from its emergence in the Promise Land until the fall of Jerusalem, pointing out where the people “went wrong” and made mistakes that eventually led to the exile (for example, choosing a human ruler over God, worshiping other gods, failing to care for the vulnerable, et cetera). 

Since this recounting was done through hindsight, which we say “is 20/20,” the compiler was able to identify the bad decisions and the ways the people broke the covenant with God and with each other.

In Joshua 24, Joshua gathers the Israelites at Shechem (an important religious shrine for the later northern kingdom) to renew the covenant, which was part of the instructions God gave to Moses and the people at Mt. Sinai. On a regular basis, the Israelites were to take the commandments out of the ark of the covenant and read them aloud for the whole community to hear. Then the Israelites would be given the opportunity to affirm/reaffirm their commitment to the covenant. 

This would be particularly important to do for future generations who did not witness the powerful acts of God during the exodus and at Mt. Sinai. This would allow the next generation to decide for themselves whether they were willing to enter into the covenant that God had made with their ancestors. 

In this week’s reading, the Israelites who have survived the wilderness wanderings and the “conquering” of Canaan are standing at Shechem with Joshua. Given the inconsistency of their behavior in the preceding stories, Joshua is offering them a chance to “get right” with God and choose whom they will follow into the future. “Now, if you are unwilling to serve the LORD, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served in the region beyond the river or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD” (verse 15).

Another interesting aspect of Joshua 24 is its parallel with Deuteronomy 34. In this latter text, Moses was making his final speech to the Israelites, standing just outside of the Promised Land. In this week’s reading, Joshua gives his final speech to the people standing inside the Promised Land. Joshua’s address begins in the preceding chapter (Joshua 23) and is meant to be both an exhortation for the future and a history lesson about the Israelites’ past. 

Having successfully brought the people into the Promised Land and divided the land among the tribes of Israel, Joshua is ready to attain his eternal rest. His mission is completed, but like most good leaders, Joshua is concerned about the people’s future and has just a few words (not the 34 chapters of Moses’ speech!) to say before he dies. 

After reminding the people of all that he and God have done for them, Joshua asks them to choose whether they will remain faithful to the God who brought them this far or to the gods of their early ancestors (prior to Abraham) and probably of their neighbors. Not once, but twice, the Israelites affirm their commitment to God and to the covenant at all costs: “Therefore we also will serve the LORD, for he is our God” (verse 18). With the covenant renewed, Joshua sends the people back to their homes, and now he can die in peace.

The idea of a covenant renewal ceremony may seem strange to many of the faithful today; however, this text provides important insights for the 21st century. While we all want to believe that the promises we make (to God or to one another) are sincere and will not be forgotten, the complications of life have a way of making those promises fade. What would it be like if we had opportunities to renew our commitments on a regular basis? 

For example, when two people enter a covenantal relationship in the presence of God and witnesses, they make promises to one another about their commitment to that relationship. As time passes, the couple may encounter difficult life circumstances that make those promises fade from their active memory. What if the couple would take each anniversary as an opportunity to remember and reaffirm the promises made in the past? Some people do this in a renewal-of-vows ceremony, which is particularly helpful because it also involves witnesses to the couple’s promises. 

In our religious lives, how do we renew our covenant with God and with the people of God? Some churches celebrate a service in which people are invited to “remember their baptism” (which is a bit difficult for those who were baptized as infants). But does this service also ask people to recommit to their baptismal vows (if there were any)? 

What about within the community? Often groups (religious or secular) have a “covenant” by which they live (for example, behavior standards, vision and mission statements, et cetera), but they rarely give the members/participants a regular opportunity to be reminded of the “covenant” and to reaffirm their commitment to it. For example, once a year, a congregation might gather the people, read their vision and mission statements aloud, and ask the community to reaffirm these values and promises for the coming year. 

Are there ways you or your faith community hold “covenant renewal” ceremonies?

One of my former colleagues, Randy Litchfield, has written and taught a great deal about the idea of place as something unique and distinct from a mere location. He writes that place is not a mere setting for self-expression or a background element of life’s drama, but it is “the fabric of drama itself, the unfolding web of relationships between God, humans, and creation.”¹ It is not a stagnant pool, but a flowing stream in which we live and move. I believe this idea is helpful for our reading of the lectionary text today.

First Kings 8 invites us into the scene of the dedication of the temple. This is an auspicious occasion, as indicated by the guest list: elders, tribal heads, and leaders of the ancestral houses of Israel. Verse 6 draws our attention to a critical moment of this chapter—the movement of the ark of the covenant to the most holy place within the temple.

The ark itself is a prominent symbol of the long journey and spiritual commitments of the children of Israel. It was commissioned during their 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, and it traveled with them as a tangible symbol of God’s presence and the relationship between them and God. The transition of the ark from tabernacle to temple evokes a sense of stability, grounding, and permanence. More than a dwelling, this is a true home.

I am reminded of the interpretive approach I learned from scholar and preacher Anna Carter Florence for reading through biblical texts. She encouraged me to try focusing on the verbs in the text and getting a sense of the movement and action of the people involved. First Kings 8:1, 6, 10–11 is all action—assembling leaders, bringing the ark, the priests coming out of the holy place and being unable to stand, the glory of the Lord filling the house. These actions establish a picture of the unfolding relationship between the people and God.

The temple has already been built, but it is now being dedicated. It is being occupied with the kind of intention and interaction that transforms it from a space into a place. The temple becomes the site for the active and ongoing embodiment of the covenant in real time. What we observe in these verses is a vision of divine and human partners embracing a sacred rhythm, moving in sync as the covenant lives and breathes through their dynamic relationship.

Verses 22–30 and 41–43 draw our attention to the words of King Solomon—excerpts from his prayers of dedication. It is worth noting that Solomon’s prayer begins in the temple before the altar. But his words are directed to the Lord who, according to verse 27, cannot be contained in heaven, much less in the house Solomon has built. This uncontainable power implies a ubiquitous reach and influence. Whether in the heavens or on the earth, the Lord hears and responds to those who keep the covenant. The bulk of Solomon’s prayer is an affirmation of the God who reciprocates faithfulness with a faithful people.

Furthermore, Solomon’s prayer in the temple is the fulfillment of God’s promise in verse 25: “There shall never fail you a successor before me to sit on the throne of Israel, if only your children look to their way, to walk before me as you have walked before me.”

The text suggests three sites from which people might engage the Lord: within the temple (verse 22), toward the temple (verse 30), and from a foreign land toward the temple (verses 41–43)—three different locations, all oriented toward the house of worship. What can we make of this? Recall that Solomon himself acknowledges that no space can contain the Lord. Yet, a house has been built, and this house becomes a focal point for the practices and petitions of many people.

Let us consider the common thread between these three locations: they are all sites of prayer. It is prayer that guides the attention and affections of those oriented toward God. It is not a matter of where they are, but where their hearts are focused. Prayer opens communication with God and allows for the transformation of any location and situation into a place where the alignment of divine and human activity can happen.

If God’s power and presence can be active anywhere, what makes the house built for God so important? What come to mind are the memories of my childhood, marked by visits to my grandparents’ house. I am reminded of the sound, feel, and sight of holiday gatherings, birthday parties, weekend barbecues, and family dinners. I felt a sense of anticipation and excitement whenever we arrived at the threshold of their front door.

Long after they departed from that house, I remember driving by that familiar address. The house still stands, but it hadn’t been their home for decades. It was the exact location but no longer the same place. If those walls could talk, they would tell the stories of multiple generations who gathered and broke bread, laughed and mourned, worked and played, all in the unceasing current of life together. The life that flowed through that space could not be contained by it, but the space was made significant by the fact that life happened there.

Without question, the temple building held symbolic significance. Yet, it was the gathering of the people, the movement of the priests, and the weight of the Lord’s glory that turned the edifice into a holy place. Brick and mortar, timber and stone: they offer structural reinforcement but not substantive relationship. The latter emerges when God, humanity, and creation gather together in living, moving agreement.

Notes

1. Randy Litchfield, “Purpose, Place, and Vocational Imagination,” in Roots and Routes: Calling, Ministry, and the Power of Place (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2019).

With the concluding verses of Psalm 34, the author has returned to the subject matter with which he began, namely the suffering from which God delivered him (verse 4).¹

Along the way, as we saw last Sunday, the psalmist explored the connection between worship and some of the wisdom principles for right relationships (verses 9–14). It may have been possible, however, to get the wrong impression from those general principles. The way the question in verse 12 is posed—”Which of you desires life, and covets many days to enjoy good?”—might suggest to us that if we simply uphold the standards of right speech and action listed in verses 13–14, we can count on a long and happy life.

In case we are tempted to follow that logic, the remainder of the psalm brings us back to reality. Today’s psalm lection is fraught with a sense of conflict between good and evil, intense affliction for the righteous, but also the hopeful assurance that the Lord is aware of such trouble and acts to rescue the sufferer. Among the many avenues for reflection available to us in this passage, the following three ideas stand out to me.

The reality of suffering for the righteous
The psalmist unflinchingly holds the traditional wisdom of verses 11–14 together with the fact of suffering for the righteous. Given the reputation of the book of Proverbs as presenting a simplified view of obedience and blessing, we should notice that the object of oppression and trouble in verses 15–22 is not some group of pretend worshipers or secret slackers who finally get what’s coming to them. If that were the case, then we could explain their sufferings and take refuge in our tidy theology of prosperity for the righteous.

However, this psalm won’t let us off the hook. Without disparaging the general truth of traditional wisdom, the author nevertheless states that the righteous do indeed suffer. They “cry” and experience “troubles” (verses 15, 17).² They are “brokenhearted” and have “afflictions” (verses 18–19). It is also likely the case that these righteous ones are “socially marginal,” turning to Yahweh for help instead of to some other source within human society.³  Such a class reading may help to explain a source of their affliction, but the repetition of “righteous” points to a moral/spiritual cause of persecution as well. One thinks, in this regard, of the apostle’s encouragement of those who “suffer for doing what is right” (1 Peter 3:14; 4:15–16).

The reality of evil in the world
As obvious as this affirmation seems, I take the time and space to comment on the “conflict” theology present in the psalm. There are excellent biblical and theological reasons for shunning a world and life view that explains everything in terms of conflict. We live with the increasing potential for demonizing enemies and even average folks who simply disagree with us on politics and religion. A gospel mindset teaches that abundant life isn’t about identifying the “bad guys” in every situation or turning every issue into an ultimate battle between good and evil. That being said, the tone of opposition in our passage is confirmed by human experience.

Thus, in spite of the very real danger of oversimplification, Psalm 34 provides an eloquent Old Testament conversation partner for the New Testament epistle reading this Sunday (Ephesians 6:10–20), with its message of spiritual conflict. The psalmist’s reason for acknowledging such conflict is not to demonize evildoers but to maintain solidarity with the victims of evil. The believer leaves the judgment in the hands of the Lord (verse 16). While this passage is not a mandate to end the struggle for justice, the author prefers to trust the mysterious workings of providence, namely that “evil brings death to the wicked” (verse 21a). Moreover, the passive sense of verse 21b (“those who hate the righteous will be condemned”) tends to remove personal vengeance from the disposition of justice.

The reality of divine rescue
In spite of the above painful realities, the psalmist nevertheless believes that God is actively present to bless and save the righteous sufferer. This theme is lifted up in manifold ways that all have a vivid, sensory, and personal expression: God’s “eyes” and “ears” which see and hear the plight of the needy (verses 15, 17); God’s “face” which is “against evildoers” (verse 16); God’s nearness to and salvation of the “brokenhearted” (verse 18); God’s keeping “the bones” and redeeming “the life” of the righteous (verses 20, 22). Thus, Weiser writes, “The true happiness of a godly life consists in the nearness of God and in the living experience of his help and not in being spared suffering and affliction.”⁴  This notion dovetails nicely with the sense of “abiding” in the gospel lection for today, John 6:56–69.⁵

There is a challenge here of translating the truths of an ancient Hebrew worldview into modern Christian categories. To speak of rescue is not to advocate some type of “victorious Christian life.” We are clearly cautioned by the ultimate expression of Jesus as the perfectly righteous sufferer who does not experience God’s rescue on the cross but only from the grave. Even so, we do not have to suggest, with Derek Kidner, that verse 19b “urges the mind to look beyond death.”⁶

There will be moments in the here-and-now when the believer asks others to join her in thanking God for answers to prayer, deliverance from illness, provision for the journey, and so on. The cumulative effect of verses 15–22, therefore, is to assure the believer that whatever the outcome of any particular experience of persecution, grief, or pain, God’s nature as a rescuer offers hope and peace.⁷ And that truth makes possible the act of worship in the midst of suffering.

Notes

1. Commentary first published on this site on Aug. 23, 2009.
2. In verse 17a, the NRSV follows the Greek by clarifying that it is indeed “the righteous” who cry for help.  The Hebrew has no such noun, simply writing, “they cry …” The potential problem is that the immediately antecedent noun in verse 16 is “evildoers.” The Hebrew could imply that those crying out to God in verse 17 are repentant evildoers. In spite of the grammatical openness, such a reading goes against the grain of the whole passage, and verse 15 has just used “righteous” with another noun for “cry.” See W. VanGemeren, “Psalms,” in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary (Zondervan, 1991), 285.
3. Walter Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms (Augsburg, 1984), 134.
4. A. Weiser, Psalms: A Commentary (Westminster, 1962), 299; italics his.
5. J. Clinton McCann, “Psalms,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible (Abingdon, 1996), 816.
6. Derek Kidner, Psalms 1–72 (InterVarsity Press, 1973), 141. Still, Kidner is right in seeing Christ’s resurrection as a fulfillment of this hope, given the New Testament’s citation of the psalm with respect to the cross (verse  20 in John 19:36). Patristic interpretation certainly went in this direction. See C. Blaising and C. Hardin, eds., Psalms 1–50, Ancient Christian Commentary (InterVarsity Press, 2008), 19: 266–269.
7. See M. Gilmour, “Crass Casualty or Purposeful Pain? Psalm 34’s Influence on Peter’s First Letter,” Word and World 24 (2004): 404–411.

In our present cultural moment in the United States, many a preacher might hesitate before taking today’s text to the pulpit. An aggressive, militarized version of Christianity, brewing at the margins of social and political life for decades, has moved into the spotlight in the US. The militarization of religion is not confined to Christianity; militarized interpretations of Islam, Hinduism, and Judaism are also on the rise. Might a sermon focusing on Ephesians 6:10–20 only stoke the flames? Perhaps not.

Early Christianity was largely pacifist. Some early fathers of the church refused to baptize members of the military unless they renounced their profession.¹ Such realities suggest that Paul (or Ephesians’ letter’s Pauline author) was not advising a militarization of the faith as he penned today’s text. In fact, appropriating the trope of putting on armor, but emphasizing its defensive components, may be a deliberately subversive rhetorical strategy.

Paul is a prisoner, with ample opportunity to contemplate the various pieces of armor on the Roman soldiers around him. He is also familiar with the type of speech (called a peroratio) that a Roman general would deliver to stir up the troops. Here, he adopts in a subversive manner both the armor metaphor and the peroratio format to encourage courageous but non-aggressive faith. All but one of the pieces described here is for protection, not attack. The one exception—the “sword” of the Spirit—is (in the Greek) “spoken word, proclamation.” And the content of that proclamation? “The gospel of peace” (verse 15)!

Today’s reading has three main sections. The first, verses 10–12, describes the “struggle” in which Paul’s readers find themselves. In verses 13–17, Paul speaks of protective armor. The closing verses (verses 18–20) focus on prayer, a fitting capstone for the paraenetic material (chapters 4–6) and for the letter as a whole.

Although most translations don’t reflect it, Paul’s opening admonishment (verse 10) is stated in the passive voice: “Be made strong in the Lord” and with the “power” of the Lord. This clearly signals a departure from the norms of a pre-battle speech, where a general would call for guts and promise glory. Paul makes clear that his readers need a strength only God can give them.

The threats Paul’s readers face are not, for the most part, physical ones, yet are no less real (verses 11–12). Paul names them using apocalyptic terminology they will recognize. They must confront “the wiles of the devil” (verse 11), the machinations of “rulers and authorities,” the schemes of “cosmic powers,” and “spiritual forces of evil in heavenly places” (verse 12). Paul characterizes the social, political, economic, and religious “struggle” (verse 12) in which his readers find themselves as manifestations of the last, desperate stand of cosmic powers already defeated in Christ’s death and resurrection (3:8–10).

Yet, the same apocalyptic vocabulary that connects with Paul’s readers can be dangerous, deployed in our current time and place. Doing so will have the effect of demonizing anyone who disagrees with us. While the Ephesians writer’s specific terminology will not serve us well, we can most certainly address our 21st-century congregations’ experiences of struggling with powers beyond their control.

Theologians like Walter Wink and Charles L. Campbell have proposed that some of the most formidable forms of power we face today are indeed “supra”-human or “meta”-human. A few decades ago, we thought in terms of faceless, transnational conglomerates whose policies advantaged powerful nations over others, reinforced racial inequities, and threatened life—both human and nonhuman. Such forces still impact our lives, but they have been joined by other webs of power and influence that most of us have no leverage to expose, much less rein in.

Today we conduct our lives through websites and social media platforms. These algorithmically regulated universes (see comments for second reading, August 18, 2024—the 12th Sunday after Pentecost) are set up in such a way that we find ourselves inhabiting seamless silos of information that may or may not reflect measurable facts on the ground. Moreover, artificial intelligence can mimic legitimate newscasters or powerful global leaders and, in seconds, stoke widespread fear or outrage. At this point, typical web-users aren’t equipped to detect the fakery. Clearly, we, no less than Paul’s readers, grapple with forces that are difficult to track or unmask. And like our ancestors in faith, we seek faithful ways to avoid being duped and manipulated by these systems.

In verses 13–17, Paul subversively appropriates pieces of Roman armor to speak of the defenses God already provides; they need only be taken up. Truth is the belt on which everything else depends. Righteousness—not self-righteousness, but a sense of just and right relations—is a Christian’s life-saving breastplate. All-terrain shoes enable us to be on the move, proclaiming the “gospel of peace.” (Clearly, this is no ordinary battle!) The shield of faith quenches the flaming arrows of adversaries. (Roman shields were covered in water-soaked leather for this purpose.) Salvation—in Pauline perspective, already obtained in Christ’s resurrection and ascension—defends the head, center of thought and emotion; it protects from fear.

Our only weapon: the “sword” of proclaiming the gospel of peace.

Our text’s final section, focused on prayer, provides (as mentioned above) a fitting capstone for the paraenetic section of Ephesians and the book as a whole. Prayer is the breathing apparatus of the body of Christ. Paul counsels us to pray “at all times” and “in the Spirit.” The meaning of this latter phrase is much debated. At the least, it suggests prayer that seeks to be more and more aligned with the will and ways of God. It involves a humble willingness to have our understanding about God and others challenged and reshaped.

Prisoner Paul asks his readers to pray that he will proclaim boldly. We get it: it’s hard work to preach in daunting times. We fear, on one hand, sowing division or misunderstanding. On the other, we fear failing our people through overcautious silence. One might close a sermon on these verses by sharing these very challenges with our listeners—and by asking them to pray for us, as we do for them.

 Notes

1. John Helgeland, “Christians and the Roman Army 173–337.” Church History 43 (1974), no. 2:149–163, 200.