Lectionary Commentaries for September 22, 2024
Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

What if we welcomed children in Jesus’ name? 

On November 22, 2014, Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old child, was shot almost immediately while playing with a toy gun in a park. According to data from the Children’s Defense Fund, 16% (11.6 million) of all children in the United States live in poverty. Sadly, we have a long way to go in welcoming children. It seems our treatment of children has gone awry, far from what Jesus desires.  

Though packaged as a single lectionary reading, today’s Gospel is two pericopes situated across two locales: Galilee and Capernaum.

In Galilee Jesus continues the teachings that characterize his travels with the disciples. As we saw last week in Mark 8, He continues to predict his betrayal, death, and resurrection; and the disciples continue to misunderstand his words.  

In the second pericope, Mark returns us to Capernaum, the center of gravity where Jesus began teaching with authority (1:21–28). Jesus addresses an argument that was taking place among the disciples while he was teaching about his death and resurrection. Sometimes we, too, are talking when we should be listening. Imagine how their comprehension of Jesus’ life would have been different had they been listening instead of arguing.

The disciples are reluctant to say what’s on their minds, but Jesus already knows. He sits down and “call[s] the twelve” (verse 35), so it is not apparent who specifically was having the argument. Their focus is on position and status and greatness rather than on Jesus’ ministerial vision concerning those in need. Despite their being witnesses to Jesus’ life activities, they gravitate to the possibility for power and recognition as a benefit of their proximity to Jesus. One scholar questions, “If they had to choose—justice and anonymity, or injustice and fame—which would they choose?” Which would we choose, knowing that the path of justice involves risk and uncertain recompense? 

The proclivity toward power and status is particularly pertinent to contemporary readers in a capitalist society. Gentleness and kindness are virtues that sound good, but grit and ruthlessness are often associated with the most powerful and successful. Ambition is celebrated for some, critiqued in others. Jesus disrupts their notion of greatness and significance with an inversion of the social order: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant [also translated minister] of all” (verse 35). As is common for the Teacher, Jesus doubles down with an object lesson.

Jesus uses one who is considered property, or possibly nonhuman in the first century—a child—to demonstrate the waywardness of the disciples’ contemplations. The reference to children is revisited in Mark 10, yet other mentions of children give us a glimpse into their sickly and oppressed lives in the ancient world (see Mark 5 [the ruler’s daughter], Mark 7 [the woman’s daughter], and Mark 9 [the son unable to speak or hear]). In essence, to follow the way of Jesus is to receive children as human—that is, to treat the most marginalized with care and respect. To minister to the least of these. 

Readers must be careful not to neutralize or sanitize the experiences of children in the ancient world and contemporary society. Children are needy and not often thankful. Children require attention. Children mess things up, speak out of turn, and have no social filter. The disciples were like children in the sense that they were dependent upon the hospitality of others (6:8–11). And children help teach us what it means to be human and faithful. Before they learn to be someone else, they are their full selves. A social agenda for community well-being necessarily begins with considering the treatment of those who are most vulnerable. 

Jesus attends to the least of these, making visible a new kingdom, a new order, a new way of being, in direct contrast to the self-centeredness of his closest followers. Jesus centers children, blesses children, calls children to himself, declaring, “Whoever does not receive the kingdom like a child, will not enter it at all” (10:15). 

Likewise, we are called to welcome the vulnerable, having no expectation of anything in return, and thereby welcome Jesus and the One who sent him. Those who share the way of love without self-interest and hidden agendas partake in the realm of God. Social behavior that bends toward the Divine begins with how we treat those who may need us the most.

References

Allen, Amy Lindeman. The Gifts They Bring: How Children in the Gospels Can Shape Inclusive Ministry. 1st ed. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2023.

Allen, Ronald J., Dale P. Andrews, and Dawn Ottoni Wilhelm, eds. Preaching God’s Transforming Justice: A Lectionary Commentary, Year B. 1st ed. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011.

Blount, Brian K., Cain Hope Felder, Clarice Jannette Martin, and Emerson B. Powery, eds. True to Our Native Land: An African American New Testament Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007.

Myers, Ched. Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus. 20th anniversary ed. Biblical Studies. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2008.

A phrase not uncommon in English translation among the prophets is “The word of the LORD that came to…” We find this phrase in the opening verse of Hosea, Joel, Micah, and Zephaniah. Nowhere, however, does the phrase gain as much use as with the prophet Jeremiah, where it occurs no fewer than five times (1:2; 14:1; 46:1; 47:1; 49:34).¹

While the rendition “The word of the LORD that came to…” is a reasonable option for a widely read English translation, it fails to do justice to the theological depth and power of the Hebrew phrase. A much better translation, both semantically and theologically, would be “The word of the LORD that happened to…”² This translation rightly indicates that the word of the Lord is not a silent, even dead, word on a page, but rather a dynamic force that (re)shapes and directs the world on all levels. Consider in this vein that in Genesis 1, it was by word that God created the world and everything in and around it. Likewise, it is through God’s word that mere water, bread, and wine become life-altering and life-giving sacramental elements.

These observations about a few Hebrew words have special import for Jeremiah, for as indicated by the citations above, no other prophet makes more reference to the word of the Lord “happening.” Likewise, it would be difficult to argue that any prophet experienced the happening of the word of the Lord more profoundly, having their life shaped and shifted more significantly, than Jeremiah. Although we moderns (forgetting the sage words of Ecclesiastes 1:9) typically like to think of our challenges as patently unique in character and scale, Jeremiah may beg to differ.

The late seventh and early sixth centuries were particularly tumultuous within and around the kingdom of Judah and its capital city, Jerusalem. These years would bear witness to one of the best kings ever to rule in ancient Israel’s history (at least according to the Deuteronomistic History)—the reforming king Josiah, who sought to eliminate the worship of other deities besides the God of Israel and centralize sacrificial worship at the temple in Jerusalem. These efforts were lauded by some but met with tension and resistance by others, particularly those who were connected to shrines in what was earlier the northern kingdom of Israel.

Nonetheless, the years would also see Josiah’s political and religious reform efforts, and life, cut short when he was abruptly killed by Pharaoh Neco at Megiddo. A later king, Zedekiah, would be forced to watch his two sons be executed, after which his eyes were gouged out and he was carried off into exile in Babylon. All the while, international conflict raged between the declining Assyrian Empire, Egypt, and the neo-Babylonians—a conflict in which Judah continually found itself deeply entangled.³ It was into this chaotic and contentious context that God called Jeremiah to prophesy.

It is, therefore, little wonder that Jeremiah is often referred to as “the weeping prophet.” Jeremiah would find that it is impossible to speak a happening word of the Lord into such conditions from a safe distance or an insulated position. The word of the Lord happens not only to those toward whom God wishes to direct the word but perhaps, at least sometimes, even more so to those who are tasked with directing and delivering that word. As a result, we find among the best known parts of the book of Jeremiah one that is typically referred to as the “Confessions of Jeremiah” (11:1–20:18), although a title of “Prayers” or even “Laments of Jeremiah” would more accurately indicate the content.

Within these 10 chapters, we find five conversations the prophet initiates with God that are, in form, very similar to the laments of the book of Psalms.⁴ In these texts, Jeremiah expresses dismay toward God for the pain and suffering brought by the task to which he has been called and asks for God’s vindication, typically through actions of judgment on those who are troubling the prophet. At times, there are hints that, despite the difficulty he faces, Jeremiah remains committed to and confident in God (for example, 11:20). At other times, it would seem the prophet has lost nearly all hope (for example, 20:18).

Our pericope for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost comes from the first of Jeremiah’s laments. The chapter began with Jeremiah saying that the word had (again) happened to him. In the verses that follow, God calls upon Jeremiah to remind the people of the covenant that God established with them on bringing them out of the land of Egypt, and to draw the people’s attention to how they had egregiously broken that covenant primarily by worshiping other gods.⁵ As a result, calamity will come upon the people. They will cry out to their various gods, but to no avail. In fact, even the God of Israel will not heed their cries, nor even the prayers of the prophet himself should he call upon God on their behalf.

After the conclusion of the words of God through the prophet in verse 17, Jeremiah begins his first lament in verse 18, speaking in the first person of how God had made known to him the doings of the people. Verse 19 begins to reveal the import these things have for Jeremiah. He is not a passive mouthpiece, but rather discovers himself to be like “a gentle lamb led to the slaughter.” He then references schemes devised against him to destroy him, cutting him off from the land of the living so that even his name will no longer be remembered.

We have to look a bit beyond our pericope to realize just how painful this realization is for the prophet. Verse 21 suggests that it is the people of Anathoth who have conspired to kill Jeremiah, for they have said of him, “You shall not prophesy in the name of the LORD, or you will die by our hand.” Recall that the first verse of the book tells us that Jeremiah himself was from Anathoth, and even part of a priestly line there. So these are his own “hometown folks” who are now ready to kill him for prophesying in response to the word of the Lord happening to him!

In verse 20, Jeremiah, after essentially reminding God that God judges righteously (in other words, rightly), asks to see retribution upon those who are seeking his life. The prophetic plea then concludes with a declaration that he has committed his cause to the Lord.⁶

The degree to which we see Jeremiah’s plea being heard by God depends greatly on where we stop reading. If we stop with the assigned pericope, it remains very open-ended. Does God hear or do anything? Continuing just one more verse, however, we find God responding, and in verse 22 beginning to spell out punishment, including death by sword and famine that leaves not even a remnant. But does this happen?⁷ Looking just a few verses farther, in chapter 12, it at least sounds like Jeremiah has gotten no satisfaction in his case with God, asking, for instance in verse 1, “Why does the way of the guilty prosper?” And then there are four more laments still to come from the prophet before we get to the end of chapter 20!⁸

The word of the Lord happening may sound exciting—and it is!—but it can also be complicated, confusing, confounding—even dangerous. The disciples would come to know this truth of which Jesus was already very aware. If certainty is to be found, it comes far down the road—rarely, if ever really at all, on the journey.⁹

Despite the deep pain and suffering evidenced by the laments of Jeremiah, the prophet never relinquished his devotion to the God of his ancestors or to speaking the word that happened to him as it would—still prophesying the word of the Lord that was still happening, even after he was taken against his will to Egypt (46:13–28).

We affirm that God’s word still happens among and to God’s people to this day. If we learn anything from Jeremiah, it may be that chaos and conflict are not indicators of the absence of God’s word, but in fact point to the opposite—that God’s word is still alive and dynamic and active and happening. And thus we see the powers of this world that are contrary to God still trying to resist, oppose, and thwart it. It’s more than OK for us to join Jeremiah in lament when the contrary forces become almost too much to bear. But we also join Jeremiah in committing our case to God, knowing that God judges righteously.

Notes

1. The word order, both in the Hebrew and as rendered in English, is a bit different in Jeremiah. However, the vocabulary and thrust of the phrase are the same as among the aforementioned prophets. Twelve additional times, Jeremiah has the phrase “The word that came to Jeremiah” (7:1; 11:1; 18:1; 21:1; 25:1; 30:1; 32:1; 34:1; 34:8; 35:1; 40:1; 44:1).
2. The Hebrew verb in question is hayah.
3. For a fantastic summary of the historical backdrop to Jeremiah, see Patrick D. Miller, “The Book of Jeremiah: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” in The New Interpreters’ Bible Commentary, vol. 6 (Nashville: Abingdon, 1994), 555–560.
4. Jeremiah 11:18–12:6; 15:10–21; 17:14–18; 18:18–23; 20:7–18.
5. Verse 13, for instance, notes that the people’s gods had become as many as their towns.
6. The Hebrew word translated as “cause” (riv) normally has a juridical connotation and is rendered as “case” or even “lawsuit.” Jeremiah is thus bringing a case of injustice to God the righteous judge—the wrong of one to whom the word of the Lord has happened and who seeks to prophesy that word in turn having his life threatened for doing so.
7. One could suggest that it does happen eventually, at the hand of the Babylonians, but even that falls short of a specific recollection of the people of Anathoth actually getting what they had coming to them.
8. Although if we read still farther, we reach chapters 30 and 31—the Book of Consolation—where we find rather profound words of confidence and hope from Jeremiah.
9. See the wonderful book by Peter Enns, The Sin of Certainty (New York: HarperOne, 2016).

Proverbs 31:10–31 is perhaps one of the most well known portions of the entire book. Certainly, it has become one of the most popular sections of scripture in modern, evangelical Christian circles. In such spaces, the “capable wife” (Hebrew eshet khayil) is touted as the ideal woman; people admire her ingenuity, resourcefulness, and enterprising spirit in balancing/managing the household. She becomes the standard by which women weigh their productivity and success as mothers, wives, and women generally. Many progressive feminists, on the other hand, despise and repudiate this passage for its unhealthy and unrealistic portrayal of women. 

Interestingly, these two sides of the interpretive discourse miss an important point: this passage neither describes nor prescribes the character or actions of a real woman. Indeed, this biblical Wonder Woman is actually just that—a superhero with abilities and capacities beyond any typical person. She is not literal, but literary, and her function is theological. This Wonder Woman is none other than Woman Wisdom; chapter 31 should be read as an imaginative extended metaphor of the qualities of Woman Wisdom herself. In other words, “If Wisdom was actually like a woman …” 

Proverbs 31:10–31 is thus another didactic tool for the reader or intended pupil of wisdom; extended metaphors help to achieve understanding of an abstract concept in vivid and realistic terms. What’s more, the acrostic form (an “alef-betical” poem, using the Hebrew consonants in order as the start of each verse) of the poem highlights the literary qualities and gives the impression that this is an all-encompassing and culminating portrait. 

That we should read Proverbs 31 in this way is discernible by the connections of this woman to Woman Wisdom throughout the book of Proverbs. Here are some of these connecting points: 

1. Wisdom is “more precious than jewels” (3:15; 31:10; see also 20:15).
2. Wisdom is present in economic situations; note the repeated use of the Hebrew root sakhar (“income,” “merchandise,” “trade”; 3:14; 31:14, 18).
3. Wisdom is prudent and considerate (Hebrew zamam; 1:4; 8:12; 31:16).
4. Wisdom works to the upbuilding of household and family (14:1; 31:21–27).
5. Wisdom works diligently with her hands and is rewarded (3:16; 31:13–20).
6. Following wisdom leads one to a fruitful life (8:19; 31:16, 31).
7. Blessedness surrounds her and those who follow her (3:18; 31:28).

Proverbs 31:10–31 also balances chapter 1, where we first meet Woman Wisdom in Proverbs. There, instruction comes from a male parent (1:8); here, the instruction comes from a mother (31:2), though the role of a woman as a teacher was already introduced by Woman Wisdom’s speech (1:20–31). Chapter 31 also brings the call of wisdom full circle: Woman Wisdom called out at the city gates in 1:20–21, and this woman is praised in the city gates (31:31). 

Finally, the importance of the fear of the Lord in wisdom is made clear in 1:7 (“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge”) and reiterated by Woman Wisdom in 1:29 (some will not find wisdom because “they did not choose the fear of the LORD”); in the end, the woman of chapter 31 is praised because she “fears the LORD.” This woman embodies wisdom-living—this woman is Woman Wisdom. 

Wisdom personified as a woman (even as this Wonder Woman of sorts) is significant. To be sure, the fact that wisdom literature uses woman-figures as metaphors at all is undoubtedly problematic for feminist readers today. Such images are male projections, and there is the potential for voyeurism and exploitation inherent when one reads and interprets these texts. The proclaimer should approach this and the other Woman Wisdom texts, such as Proverbs 1:20–33 (see previous week’s commentary), prudently.

In fact, paying attention to the ways in which Woman Wisdom actually defies gender stereotypes throughout the wisdom material makes an important step in the right direction of squashing binaries and social constraints based on gender. As with Woman Wisdom’s speech in chapter 1, there is a strong sense here that this woman is not typical. The woman in chapter 31 is active both inside and outside the household. She is an entrepreneur, buying her own vineyard, selling her own produce (31:16, 18); producing cloth and selling it to merchants, suggesting the global reach of her market (31:24). In addition, her husband’s social status is dependent on her reputation (31:23). 

Her physical description defies gender stereotypes as well. The descriptions of her strength in verse 17 are found elsewhere in the Old Testament with regard to men, particularly in military settings. For example, David speaks of being girded with strength by God (2 Samuel 22:33, 40). Even the introductory description of the woman as “strong” (Hebrew eshet khayil), though often deflated with the translation “capable wife,” makes an important point about this woman’s status. With this modifier, the woman joins the ranks of others who are seen as pillars in the community, noted for their courage and loyalty: Jephthah, Jesse, Boaz, and others both named and unnamed—in other words, soldiers. (The only other woman in the Bible to be granted this moniker is Ruth [3:11].)

Military imagery is used throughout this passage, but is often softened and therefore lost to the reader, such as in the translation of “gain” in verse 11. The term (Hebrew shalal) refers to spoils and plunder, procured in some cases from war. In other words, the husband can rely and trust the woman because she has done the hard-won work of gaining property and wealth. 

As an extended metaphor, we see a deeper glimpse into what it means to follow wisdom. The breaking of gender stereotypes invites us to focus not on the gender of the described person but on the attributes themselves. Following wisdom thus takes courage, strength, diligence, kindness, compassion, and leadership. We see wisdom in all of its many facets, and the figure of Woman Wisdom serves as a balance to God, as a partner in the created order (see also Genesis 2:18). Indeed, strength and dignity are descriptors of both God and Wisdom (Proverbs 31:25; Psalm 96:6), and both are praised (Proverbs 31:28–29; Psalm 96:4).

In this description of a human (even a super-human), we can see a glimpse of wisdom at work—wisdom on the ground. Finally, Proverbs 31:10–31 serves as a fitting contrast to those described in Woman Wisdom’s first call (1:20–33): “Don’t be like these foolish ones,” she says; “strive for this exemplar instead.” Even if you never surpass her, you will have done excellently. 

It’s difficult for folks involved in ministry to come up with the right words for every prayer we offer.¹

Whether that was the case for the worship leaders and congregation of ancient Israel is hard to say, but with Psalm 54 they have left us with a prayer that remains shrouded in uncertainty over the precise problem behind the words, the specific voice in which the prayer is spoken, and the essence of the message the prayer communicates. Such a dilemma fills scholars with uncertainty, but as Brueggemann and Bellinger state, it is the general language that “makes the prayer more germane to various settings and generations in life.”² In keeping with this wisdom, I want to unpack the potential this uncertainty has for proclamation.

The poet’s original circumstances. If you consulted the commentaries, you know that this is one of a small number of psalms whose heading relates the prayer to circumstances in David’s life, in this case, 1 Samuel 23:19. The fact that the editors of the Psalter made this connection is an important snapshot in the history of the psalm’s interpretation, but it is an interpretation nonetheless. Modern scholarship has suggested a variety of settings: a king asking for deliverance from enemies, an accused person seeking vindication in a legal proceeding, or an individual representing the congregation in a Temple service.³ The crux of the matter has been the word which the NRSV translates as “insolent” (v. 3) but which others have rendered as “foreigners” or simply as “estranged ones.”⁴ This translational flexibility works to our advantage. Whether we are beset by a specific unjust person, wrestle with xenophobia, or we are assailed by estrangement from those most dear to us, we share with the ancient poet the fear that peace will not come to our relationships. To be sure, we can over-interpret our experiences of estrangement theologically, making every source of our trouble into an enemy of God.⁵ That’s why I find it so fitting that the poet places the affirmation, “God is my helper,” at the literary center of the poem.⁶ Keeping that focus, we find that God not only helps us with danger and discord; God helps us interpret those times accurately and wisely.

The poem’s literary form. While few question that the psalm fits the category of individual laments, there is uncertainty about whether the tone of its last verse is more fitting for thanksgiving psalms: “For he has delivered me from every trouble, and my eye has looked in triumph on my enemies.”⁷ If the crisis described in vv. 1-3 has passed, then perhaps even the petitions of vv. 1-2 are simply rehearsed for the sake of the congregation feeling the psalmist’s earlier desperation. What difference does this debate make for interpretation? We might, as Artur Weiser did, judge the poet harshly for this, suggesting that the conclusion shows he hasn’t let go of his suffering “to give himself up wholly to God, trusting him absolutely.”⁸ Several scholars disagree with Weiser for using the New Testament to critique the psalm’s outlook. For example, McCann sees a more “theologically significant” analogy to the Christian experience of the “already” and “not yet.”⁹ We can rest in God’s victory over evil as well as in our deliverance from its power while still acknowledging that “those who live to harm others will eventually have to face up to how they have chosen to live their lives.”¹⁰ And this tension, it seems to me, is not all that different from Psalm 54’s outlook.

The psalm’s theological message. In spite of the uncertainties about form and setting, we can be in no doubt of the poet’s conviction about the solution to his problem: the “name” and the “might” of God (v. 1). These are not two unrelated aspects of God, but after the fashion of Hebrew parallelism “the name carried something of the essential nature and power of God.”¹¹ The psalm also reinforces this point by using “name” to create closure around the psalm’s content: “Save … by your name” (v. 1) and “give thanks to your name” (v. 6). Furthermore, the actual names—“God” (‘elohim), “Lord” (’adonai), and “Lord” (yhwh)—are used for a total of six times, three in each half of the psalm.¹² I suspect that a church whose worship is informed by the common lectionary and follows a traditional liturgy is likely to reject an excessive use of the names of the God in songs, prayers, and sermons. Although I share that reticence, I don’t want my preferences to make me forget that this psalm taps into a deep current of biblical theology. The ancient Deuteronomists thought of the Temple as “the place for God’s name” (e.g. Deuteronomy 12:4-14; 1 Kings 8:27-53), and the earliest followers of Jesus healed and preached “in his name” (Acts 3:6; 4:12). Indeed, it is “at the name of Jesus every knee should bend … and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Philippians 2:10-11). While the psalmist trusts God to vindicate him in the face of opposition, he does not use God’s name as a weapon against them. For our poet, the name of God is to be used in prayer and praise. May it be so for us.

Notes

1. Commentary first published on this site on September 20, 2015.
2. Walter Brueggemann and William Bellinger, Psalms (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 246.
3. For an introduction to these options, see Marvin E. Tate, Psalms 51-100, WBC (Waco: Word Books, 1990), 46.
4. Beth Tanner, “Psalm 54: Leveling the Field,” in The Book of Psalms, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 469.
5. Brueggemann and Bellinger, 248.
6. There are 49 Hebrew words of the psalm (not counting the superscription), making “helper” (‘ozer) the 25^th and central word.
7. See J. Clinton McCann, “The Book of Psalms,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible (Abingdon: Nashville, 1996), IV, 894.
8. Artur Wesier, The Psalms, OTL, trans. H. Hartwell (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1962), 416.
9. McCann, 895.
10. Tanner, 472.
11. Tate, 47.
12. Richard J. Clifford, Psalms 1-72 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002), 258.

Earlier in chapter 3, the author of James shocked readers with the hazards of the tongue. The tongue is dangerous and untamable, analogically inconsistent with the laws of nature in that it can produce conflicting substances—both good, productive speech, or blessings, and bad, evil speech, or curses (3:1–12). James warns those who would teach others to be cautious because they participate in the moral life of those who follow them, inevitably reaping the consequences of their influence (3:1). 

Despite the strong rhetoric about the fiery tongue, itself set ablaze by Gehenna (a place of punishment) and spreading into large forest fires, the author initially appears to offer little in the way of methods for taming the tongue’s wildness. The latter half of chapter 3, our present passage, provides a way forward. 

If the tongue and its potential for inconsistency goes against the laws of nature, the solution is wisdom, which is characterized by deep inward consistency of character. Can a fig tree yield olives? No! Can a grapevine yield figs? Of course not! Neither can saltwater yield fresh water (3:12). So, too, does one’s outward character evidence one’s inner being: “Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom” (3:13). 

But—not so fast. According to James, there are two kinds of wisdom: that which comes from below, and that which comes from above. Wisdom from below is characterized by bitterness, envy, selfishness, boasting, falseness (3:14–15). This sort of so-called wisdom is “earthly, unspiritual [psychiké, physical], devilish,” because selfishness cannot help but lead to disorder (3:16). This follows from the first chapter of James as well, in which readers are instructed to ask for wisdom to overcome doubt. 

Those who are dipsychos, literally double-souled or double-selved, are easily tossed around, lacking in stability (1:5–8). That is, those who exhibit characteristics belonging to this lower “wisdom” lack substantiality, integrity, gravity. Even conflicts and disputes within community are the result of individual selfish appetites brought on by vapidity and half-heartedness. In this sense, disputes and conflicts are a sign of instability or inconsistency. Inner conflict—“cravings that are at war within you”—leads to outer conflict (3:18).

The concern with consistency and substantiality is extensive throughout both the Old and New Testaments. First Peter, for example, is also concerned with things that last. The “living hope” of 1 Peter is an inheritance “imperishable, undefiled, and unfading,” in contrast to the temporary reality of hardship, which, just as fire refines and purifies gold, reveals one’s internal essence (1:3–7). 

Where James refers to the wealthy who will pass away “like a flower in the field,” since “the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the field; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes” (James 1:11), 1 Peter more directly cites the same tradition from Isaiah: “all flesh is like grass, and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord endures forever” (1 Peter 1:24–25; Isaiah 40:6–8). Like the Letter of James’ focus on consistency and endurance, 1 Peter emphasizes the contrast between what is solid and therefore lasting, and what is unstable and therefore temporary. 

A few texts from the Hebrew Bible are also instructive in providing context for the approach to wisdom and being in the Letter of James. The Teacher of Ecclesiastes, Qohelet, repeatedly draws a stark contrast between the fleeting and the eternal: everything done under the sun is “vanity and a chasing after wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14; 2:17, 26; 4:4, 16), but “whatever God does endures forever” (3:14). The literal meaning here is hevel, vapor, chasing after rūah, breath. In contrast, “breath [rūah] will return to God who gave it” (12:7). 

In the end, in other words, everything will be revealed as what it really is—something, or nothing at all. Whatever belongs to the realm of God is eternal; whatever does not is literally a non-thing. The same sort of ethic applies throughout James: true things are solid things. Conversely, false things (or people) are frail things. Job mourns the fragility of his life and well-being as “but a breath” (7:7, rūah; 7:16, hevel). The psalmist, like James, refers to the vanity—the worthlessness—of riches (Psalm 39:6). 

The same terminology used by Qohelet, Job, and the psalmist—vapor or emptiness to characterize fleeting nature—is also commonly applied to idols, false gods, and false prophecy. Israel “followed idols [hevel] and became idolaters,” often translated as they “followed vanity and became vain” (see also 2 Kings 17:15; Jeremiah 2:5). We are talking, then, about far more than “vanity” understood as being preoccupied with aesthetics, or how things look. Rather, hevel is emptiness, nothingness, inevitably fleeting. Be warned: you become like what you worship. 

So, according to James, how does one become a person of solid substance, instead of a person of insubstantial vanity? For one thing, “resist the devil and he will flee from you; draw near to God and God will draw near to you” (4:7–8a). Proximity matters. Additionally, the author circles back to the first chapter, in which readers are told how to gain wisdom: namely, if you lack wisdom, ask God, who “gives generously to all who ask” (1:5). Here, “you do not have because you do not ask,” whether wisdom or anything else (4:2–3). 

The features of lasting wisdom are purity, peacefulness, gentleness, humility, mercifulness, action, impartiality, and integrity. And “a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace” (3:18). You reap what you sow.