Lectionary Commentaries for September 29, 2024
Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

This story comes as Jesus heads toward Jerusalem.¹

Throughout Mark 8–10, Jesus struggles to turn the disciples’ thoughts from human thoughts to God’s thoughts. The disciples have great difficulty getting to where Jesus is leading them. Peter tried to protect his friend from the danger ahead, and Jesus called him Satan. The disciples argued among themselves about who was greatest, and Jesus called them to welcome children. Remember last week, when he held that toddler in his arms? Our story picks up there, and we have no indication that Jesus has set aside the child.

A conversation not followed

John speaks up for the first of two times in Mark’s gospel. On both occasions, John addresses Jesus as “Teacher” and immediately demonstrates that he has not followed Jesus’ teaching. The second occasion will be when Jesus predicts his upcoming passion for the third time, and John, together with his brother, will turn away from the prediction again to pursue their own greatness. That second John-speech shares many traits with the one assigned for today.

In the first part of the story (which we heard last week), Jesus is holding the toddler in his arms and exhorting his disciples to attend to children if they wish to pursue greatness. John interrupts him—“Teacher”—without any sign that he has heard this and steers the conversation away from hospitality and compassion. John seems to be king of the non sequitur.

Multiple responses

The speech patterns in Jesus’ reply suggest surprise and frustration. Jesus has to take several runs at explaining John’s error. No one verbally interrupts Jesus for clarification as they often do. Yet, as we overhear Jesus’ response, we sense that he sees how little the disciples are following his argument. He offers multiple responses to explain all that is wrong with John’s censure of the exorcist.

First, Jesus emphatically states not to stop him. Then three gar clauses in rapid succession point out the problems with John’s assumptions. The New Revised Standard Version drops the middle “for,” which could have connected the multiple attempts to teach those who prove unteachable. My own translation would be this:

“Don’t stop him, ’cause there is no one who will do a work of power by my name and very soon after be able to pronounce misfortune on me, ’cause all who aren’t against us are for us, ’cause all who offer you a cup of water based on a name, because you are under the anointed one, I tell you, this is the way it is, they definitely won’t lose their reward.”

Returning to the child

Because the lectionary separated what Jesus says about the toddler he holds from John’s non sequitur, Jesus seems to be the one who makes a leap to a new topic. But actually, Jesus is bringing the attention of the disciples back to his teaching about the child he still holds in his arms. He has told them of the importance of welcoming the little ones; now he warns of what will happen if they act hostilely toward the same.

Just as Jesus took three runs at John’s confusion in the hopes of straightening him out, here he takes several runs at explaining the perils of acting scandalously toward the little ones. Unlike the three random responses to John, these come across as carefully thought out. This is where Jesus was headed prior to John’s interruption. Close repetition holds the argument together as Jesus talks about the cost of harming children.

(Late manuscripts tried to make the parallels even more emphatic by using the language of verse 48 after each warning. The use of more trustworthy, earlier manuscripts leads the New Revised Standard Version to omit verses 44 and 46.)

The repetition serves to drive home Jesus’ warning vividly. Similar to the response to the exorcist issue, Jesus begins with a clear and unambiguous statement. Those scandalizing the little ones who trust deserve to sleep with the fishes.

Then Jesus states three times that losing a scandalizing member is preferable to gaining a place in the eternal fire. This echoes the warnings in Mark 8 about losing oneself in order to find oneself, although the metaphor has become very concrete. Hands, feet, and eyes are lost so that one’s self is not.

Fire

A bridge between the unquenchable fire discourse and Jesus’ final point is made by first linking fire to being salted with fire, and then linking that salting with salt and its proper functioning. Jesus calls the disciples to have salt among themselves.

In order to be sure they are following this time, Jesus moves out of metaphor and speaks plainly (perhaps again responding to the puzzled look on their faces): be at peace with one another. In the journey toward Jerusalem, peace among them has proven and will prove to be a continual challenge.

The sacrament of children

When seen in the narrative flow, this text warns of missing Jesus’ call to care for the little ones. Inattention to the little ones imperils one’s life eternally. Children are portrayed as those who practice that key marker of discipleship: they trust or believe in Jesus (verse 42). When Jesus held the toddler in their midst, he declared the child a sacrament of God’s presence and his own: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me” (Mark 9:37).

This story warns us to pay attention to the children who give us access to the presence of God. We are to do all within our power to protect and care for them within and outside of the community of faith. Sometimes we do damage to them actively. But just as often we, like John, simply lose track of those whom Jesus has put in the center of community. We become distracted by competition or our own status. Jesus calls us to be a community of peace where trusting children are cherished.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website September 30, 2018.

Numbers 11 invites the reader to reflect on leadership during extreme circumstances. Sound familiar?

As always, when looking at the lectionary verse selections, responsible exegetes will read the surrounding material for important context. The first 10 chapters of the book of Numbers mark the end of the Hebrews’ stay at the foot of Mt. Sinai. The people literally receive their marching orders in chapter 10 and depart on the second stage of their wandering through the desert.

Not long after embarking, they begin complaining and God smites them with fire (11:1). Moses, once again, intercedes on behalf of the people, just as he had done when the worship of the golden calf enraged God in Exodus 32–34. The fires die down (11:2), but this little episode reiterates the precariousness of Moses’ leadership. He is caught between a complaining people and a God prone to wrath. As their intermediary, Moses is both a part of the people and above them—ordained by God, but beneath God. In short, this is both a lonely and a dangerous position, and the rest of the chapter illustrates the burden Moses’ office places upon his shoulders.

The lectionary text first highlights what the New Revised Standard Version translates as “the rabble” (ha’asapsup) complaining about the lack of meat in their diet as they wander through the desert (11:4). The term translated “rabble” only occurs here in the Hebrew Bible and is probably related to the Hebrew root ’sp, which has connotations of gathering together, adding to, or assembling. Some traditions associate the ha’asapsup with the non-Israelites added to the camp in Exodus 12:38, though neither the term nor the verbal root is found in this verse.

Dennis Olson points out a rabbinic tradition that ties this group to the fringe movement also associated with the rebellion in verses 1–3. He suggests that the protests of the fringe movement begin on the outskirts of camp and spread toward its center.¹ This group pines for their days in Egypt, recalling the abundance of “free” fish, fruit, and vegetables that sustained them while they were enslaved. Even their complaint, however, carries with it an indictment of God’s providence: “There is nothing at all but this manna to look at” (verse 6). Verses 7–9 remind the reader of what manna was, evoking the first providence of food in the desert in Exodus 16.

The lectionary verses return our focus to the character of Moses, caught between a weeping people and an angry God. Moses turns to the lament tradition and asks God why God set the burden of leadership upon him. Like Elijah, Jonah, and Job, Moses resorts to the extreme language of a death wish at the conclusion of his protest: “If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once—if I have found favor in your sight—and do not let me see my misery” (verse 15).²

God heeds Moses’ cry here and offers a solution that involves Moses gathering 70 elders to the tent of meeting. Afterward, God addresses the people, returning to a wrathful and sardonic tone, and gives them so much meat that they would be sick of it (verses 20–23). Verses 24–25 illustrate God’s concession to Moses, to allow 70 elders to prophesy, sharing the burden of leadership, at least for a time.

The reading concludes with two men not among the 70 at the tent who began to prophesy among the people, Eldad and Medad. When word reaches Moses, his protégé, Joshua, suggests that Moses stop them. Moses offers a humble response: “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the LORD’s people were prophets, and that the LORD would put his spirit on them” (verse 29).

Numbers 11 offers us multiple angles from which to read. Our tendency might be to read from the perspective of or to empathize with Moses, especially if we are pastoral or civic leaders ourselves. The danger in this might be that we caricature the people of Israel and, by analogy, those whom we lead too quickly as “rabble” with insignificant complaints. To guard against this, we might read from the perspective of the people and empathize with their plight as former slaves who are now wandering in the desert with a quite limited diet. Or if we read this text from the perspective of Joshua, we might recognize his idolatry of strong centralized leadership as a mirror to our own culture.

The date for this lectionary text is in the midst of national and international conversations about leadership. Those preaching this text from within the United States context will be facing the cacophonous crescendo leading to the end of a national election cycle. Internationally, we are in a global election super-cycle with over 50 nations holding elections in 2024.³ Many of us have heard people we may hastily label “rabble” from every point on the political spectrum raising their outcry about issues, some trivial and others consequential.

In the midst of these cries is the refrain of a call for strong leadership. Perhaps reflecting on this text may help us rethink what strong leadership might encompass. Perhaps this text might cause us to abandon the idea that strength comes from a single individual and take a cue from Moses, recognizing that the leadership of many might be preferable to the authoritarianism of one. What would it mean for us in this global election cycle to echo Moses’ sentiment and pray that all our leaders might receive a portion of God’s spirit?

Notes

1. Dennis T. Olson, Numbers. Interpretation (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1996), 64.
2. See 1 Kings 19:4, Jonah 4:8, and Job 3:11. See my commentary on the lectionary reading for August 11, 2024, on Elijah’s suicidal language:  https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-19-2/commentary-on-1-kings-194-8-7.
3. Jill Lawless, “Over 50 Countries Go to the Polls in 2024. The Year Will Test Even the Most Robust Democracies,” Associated Press. January 10, 2024, https://apnews.com/article/global-elections-2024-preview-cb77b0940964c5c95a9affc8ebb6f0b7?utm_source=copy&utm_medium=share.

The idiom “caught between a rock and a hard place” means that an individual or group is in a situation where they must make a choice between two unpleasant or difficult experiences or courses of action. Readers see this idiom at play in Esther 7 when Queen Esther (also known as Hadassah [2:7], presumably the name her parents gave her; hereafter I refer to her by this name), voices to the king that she and her people—the Jewish collective—have been sold “to be destroyed, … killed, and … annihilated” (7:4). But “if we had been sold merely as slaves,” she says, “… I would have held my peace” (7:5).

Queen Hadassah finds herself in a troublesome situation: to speak out against Haman, who sold her people to destruction for 10,000 talents of silver (3:9), or to remain silent (“hold her peace”). The situation is challenging because of gender and other power dynamics at play: although she is now the queen of the Persian Empire, she lives in a patriarchal and colonial world wherein men have advised the king to legalize male supremacy, which he does through the establishment of a law “that every man should be master in his own house” (1:22b).

Moreover, earlier in the narrative, Hadassah’s cousin and guardian, Mordecai, had advised her to hide her kindred and people (2:20). Thus, Hadassah’s “speaking out” in chapter 7 exposes her ethnic identity, which now makes her a target for death.

Both the Jewish collective and Hadassah individually are “caught between a rock and a hard place.” According to Hadassah’s speech, it seems the Jewish collective would have preferred and chosen enslavement over death, which foregrounds their collective histories and memories of enslavement. They are not depicted as enslaved people in the book of Esther; however, readers might be aware that the Jewish collective had oral traditions of remembering their enslavement in and release from Egyptian captivity (Exodus 13:14–16, Deuteronomy 11).

Additionally, in the book of Esther, there is a reference to Babylonian captivity (2:6). It seems Hadassah is strategically petitioning the king to allow her and the Jewish collective to live—perhaps even if that means as enslaved people—rather than die at the hand and by the legal decree of Haman.

Hadassah’s utterance illuminates how the Jewish collective lives in a society wherein they must make a hard decision between two types of oppression: enslavement and death. My husband questioned in response to this observation: “What type of society have we created that people have only two death-dealing experiences from which to choose? Are we merely creating rocks and hard places for people?” We both pondered, “Can societies not offer any life-giving, softer options?”

As I read Esther 7, it brings to mind two contemporary contexts in which this idiom intersects with others. The first is the transatlantic enslavement trade, wherein more than 10 million enslaved Africans were transported to the Americas between the 16^th and 19^th centuries. They too experienced diminished and contested agency through colonialism. For many, their deepest conviction, as expressed in the Negro Spiritual “Oh, Freedom,” was: “Before I’d be a slave, I’d be buried in my grave, and go home to my Lord and be free.” They, who were enslaved, preferred death over enslavement.

Yet another 21^st-century idiom is “I’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six.” This idiom has diverse interpretations. One is “I’d rather kill than be killed,” which is embodied by the Jewish collective in the book of Esther as they murder over 75,000 people who were planning to kill them under Haman’s edict (9:16). Another interpretation is “I’d rather be imprisoned [which many people contend is a modern form of enslavement¹] than killed.”

I find it quite fascinating that those who are not enslaved (the Jewish collective and many contemporary individuals) would prefer enslavement over death, while enslaved persons from the continent of Africa and many of their descendants preferred death over enslavement. Nevertheless, the focus on this idiom is to illuminate that powerful people in both ancient and contemporary societies have created “caught between a rock and a hard place” contexts that force disempowered people to choose between oppressions asphyxiating individuals’ and groups’ abilities to live and thrive.

Equally disturbing, Hadassah is “caught between a rock and a hard place” as Mordecai pressures her to speak out on his and the collective’s behalf. His actions are unsettling for multiple reasons. Foremost, as already mentioned, he instructs her to conceal her identity, but in chapter 4, weaponizes her silence regarding her identity against her as he coerces her to intervene on behalf of the Jewish collective. He says, “Do not think that in the king’s palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silent at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish” (4:13).

To some, his tone is threatening. The heartbreaking irony of this demand, however, is that he refuses to let her “hold her peace,” which, in this context, would be a life-sustaining choice, as she has already reminded him of the king’s edict that states that if a person goes to the king without being called, they will be put to death (4:10–11). Yet Mordecai pressures Hadassah to choose speaking out over silence, although he himself had not done so in chapter 2, in order to protect her from the king’s sexual abuse. As the story is depicted, Mordecai “held his peace” when the king legally trafficked and sexually abused Hadassah and countless other nameless girls. Now that his actions lead to the Jewish collective being “caught between a rock and a hard place,” he bullies Queen Hadassah into becoming a savior.

In chapter 9, the Jewish collective celebrates their survival. Their sorrow turns into gladness, their mourning into celebration. Yet this celebration must be held in tension with the fact that they kill more than 75,000 people. They survived … but by appropriating the “master’s tools” of violence and death. It seems they may still be “caught between a rock and a hard place.”

Notes

1. For example, see: Angela Y. Davis, Are Prisons Obsolete? (Seven Stories Press, 2011), and Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow (The New Press, 2020).

Psalm 19 celebrates God’s ordering activity through the use of two different literary elements. To understand the lectionary reading of verses 7–14, one must have the whole psalm in view. The first section of the psalm is a meditation on the heavens, describing how the sky bears witness to God’s creative skill (verses 1–6). God’s ordering of human behavior is the subject of the second section. The psalm exalts the law and culminates with a prayer that the words and actions of the psalmist might be in complete accordance with this law (verses 7–14). Through its diverse literary forms, the psalm has a unified message: God has turned chaos into order. God continues this ordering work in the lives of people to whom the law has been revealed. 

The heavens give witness

The psalm’s initial claim is that the heavens provide a witness to God’s establishment of order (verses 1–6). Though the heavens cannot speak the words of humans, they tell a clear story nevertheless. The sky stays high above the world. The movement of the heavens can be observed as regular and orderly. All of this testifies to Yahweh’s supreme organizing power. The heavenly bodies, which God created and set in perpetual motion, constantly speak of God’s power. Their “speech” differs from human speech, but their “words” nevertheless attest to God’s work.

The religious cultures of Israel’s neighbors associated the sun with divine order. Indeed, the sun god was seen as the high god in the pantheon of ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. The sun was the god who orders chaos and, as such, had a heroic and vigorous presentation in these religious systems. Psalm 19, however, proclaims something distinctly different. The sun is not a deity. Rather, Yahweh created the sun. The sun serves as a witness to Yahweh’s ordering power. For Yahweh sets the stage for the blazing, dazzling journey of the sun across the sky every day. The sun itself is not a god of order as in other surrounding cultures. Instead, the sun—with its regular motion that God established—provides a clear witness to God’s ordering power. 

The power of God’s law 

After describing the order of the cosmos, the psalm focuses on God’s order for human behavior (verses 7–14). The God-ordained movement of the heavenly bodies resonates with the order that God gives the community through the law. This order emerges through the words of the law, as the psalm proceeds systematically through a series of six statements extolling the benefits of observing the law. This is some of the most carefully structured poetry in the whole Old Testament, with a particularly high degree of poetic parallelism.

The form and the message of these verses are perfectly aligned. Each line begins with a legal term: “law … decrees … precepts … commandment … fear … ordinances.” This is element A. The exception is “fear,” which is a more abstract concept, but nonetheless related to the observance of God’s law. The second element—element B—is the possessive phrase “of the LORD.” The final element—element C—is a positive adjective, followed by a gerundive phrase. Thus we can map the sequence:

The point of this observation is that the psalmist has created a very complicated, ornate way of saying a fairly simple thing: that the law is good. But instead of opting for economy of speech, the psalmist carefully arranges a mode of exalted speech. The heavens spoke without words. Yet the psalmist has the ability to use words, so he takes advantage of the opportunity, like a modern writer getting out their thesaurus and flooding the page. Through its regular rhythms and patterns this poem mirrors the order that Yahweh brings to the world through the law. Because of its value for ordering life, one should seek the law above all else (verse 10). 

The psalm concludes with a petition, that the psalmist would be able to be a part of the order God has created, through the world and through the law. The psalmist acknowledges that the law both saves and condemns. It delights (verses 7–10), but it also serves as a warning (verses 11–12). Vigilance is necessary. 

The psalmist also recognizes the fact that there are those who would willingly break the law, “the insolent” (verse 13). The psalmist prays that God would guard him from those people who would stand outside God’s established order. 

The final verse of the psalm is one of the most familiar in the entire Bible: 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you,
         O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.

The psalmist requests that his words would accord with the divine words (in other words, the law). The psalm began with a meditation on the inaudible words that the heavens speak by their very existence. The psalm concludes with words that are immediate and personal. The psalmist asks that the words that come out of his mouth will be harmonious with the words of the law and the testimony of the heavens. “The meditation of my heart” (verse 14) refers once again to inaudible words: these are words that are formed internally but as yet unuttered. The psalmist asks that these words too will be in keeping with God’s ordinances. 

Seeing the world differently 

God’s ordering work is evident through nature, through the movement of the heavens and the sun, but also through the law. For many Christians, and especially Protestants, the law is not something to extol. Yet the psalmist describes the law as sweet, dripping, viscous honey, and as glimmering, rare, costly gold. It is so priceless and so delightful because it tells us how to order our lives. This law is an external, gracious revelation that orders the individual life and the wider community. 

We can also see the ordering work of the law embodied in Jesus Christ. Through Christ we see the world and the law differently. In Christ we can meet the same God who created the heavens, who graciously gave the law to the Israelites in the midst of the chaotic wilderness, the God who gave them an identity, and a way to live in right relationship with each other and with God. Through Christ we can see God ordering the world again—through the incarnation.

Jesus brings the order of God to us in the most immediate way. The heavens bore witness, but they could not speak our language. The law spoke words in a particular language to a particular ancient community, thus graciously revealing God’s order. And in Jesus, God speaks a new word, the Word made flesh. Order comes to the world through Christ’s very life, death, and resurrection. And the Word made flesh issues commands that still go out through all the earth. 

The first four chapters of James are not exactly comforting. In fact, the author’s blunt, pithy rhetorical style gives quite the opposite sense—this is a letter intended to shock, indict, and jolt readers into faithful, wise action. The author’s focus on integrity—soundness of being—is key throughout. Signs of this soundness include caring for the vulnerable, being consistent and peaceable and also willing to yield to others, and showing mercy (James 1:12, 27; 2:12–13; 3:17–18). Likewise, there are external signs of internal unsoundness of being: double-minded wishy-washy-ness, discrimination against the poor and in favor of the wealthy, and slanderous speech and community disputes (James 1:6–8; 2:1–11; 3:3–12; 4:1–3, 11–12). 

Internal realities inevitably well up into external expression. But those who know they lack wisdom, or who suffer other sorts of maladies, are exhorted to ask (James 1:5; 4:3). And here at the close of chapter 5 (and the whole letter), a softer tone overtakes the harsh accusations of the previous chapters, as the author assures his audience that these prayers will be answered. 

Earlier on in the letter, the author has repeatedly asked questions with apparently obvious answers (for example, “What good is it … ?”—not good—and “Can a fig tree yield olives?”—obviously not). As a result, the tone can come to feel primarily accusatory, with seemingly few solutions offered to the many problems described. Part of the benefit of reading the whole letter for context, and not only excerpted passages, is that after the (arguably warranted!) onslaught of sharp warnings, arriving at this part of the whole feels relieving, reassuring, encouraging. 

Finally, some answers—well, more like one in particular—following the repetitious style of James. Are you suffering? Pray. Are you cheerful? Pray. Is anyone sick? Pray. Eight times in eight verses prayer is mentioned, with three of these in the imperative (in other words, “Do this”): for example, confess your sins and pray for one another for healing (5:16). Appropriate for a letter focused on holistic being, illness and sin are here drawn as companions: the sickness of the body and the sinfulness of the soul, or conversely, sickness of the soul leads to the sinfulness of the body. 

The material dualism that this distinction between body and soul may lend itself to, however, is not on the table for James. Rather, the body belongs to the soul and the soul belongs to the body, “for just as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead” (2:26). Recall how often James reminds readers of the deep need for consistency of character (see also 1:4, 6–8, 11, 17, 22–27; 2:10, 17, 26; 3:9–18; 4:1–3; 5:7–12). Confession and prayer do not only bring healing but can “save the sinner’s soul from death and cover a multitude of sins,” the final exhortation of the entire letter (5:20). 

The author of James has earlier invoked several biblical figures: Abraham and Rahab, who illustrate that faith works (2:21–25), and both “the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord” and Job, who provide biblical models of endurance and patience (5:10–11). Here, too, another scriptural exemplar is provided, namely the prophet Elijah, whose whole prophetic ministry is defined by the effectiveness of his prayers. The context in which Elijah is mentioned in James is suggestive of the author’s knowledge not only of his prayer for rain but of a wider swath of tradition surrounding Elijah—rainfall and fruitfulness, healing from sickness, and turning a sinner back from their sinful ways. 

To best understand Elijah’s function in James, his narrative context in the Hebrew Bible is instructive. We are introduced to Elijah in 1 Kings 17, just after Ahab becomes king of Israel (1 Kings 16:29–34). Right away, he makes a bold declaration to the new king: “As the LORD the God of Israel lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word” (17:1). Drought descends. 

Then, in the third year of drought and famine, another word comes to Elijah—at last, the LORD has decided to send rain (18:1). In the aftermath of the crushing defeat (and killing) of the prophets of Asherah and Baal and Israel’s subsequent return to the LORD, Elijah climbs to the top of Mount Carmel and bows down on the ground in a posture of prayer, his face between his knees. Finally, after three and a half years of drought, the sky grows black, wind blows, and heavy rain falls (18:42–46). Elijah’s prayer worked.

In another biblical tradition, Elijah is cast as a sort of superhuman prophet. At the end of his ministry, he does not die but is taken up to heaven in chariots of fire (2 Kings 2:10–12). Elijah appears, glorified, along with Moses—the prophet par excellence—on the mountain at the Transfiguration (see Matthew 17:14–21; Mark 9:2–9; Luke 9:28–36). James, on the other hand, narrows in on the accessibility to Elijah’s prayerful effectiveness, in addition to Abraham’s and Rahab’s faithful actions and the prophets’ and Job’s endurance. These biblical characters are not mentioned by James as unattainable, ideal models but as instructive examples to follow. Elijah was “a man just like us”; that is, James’ readers can imitate this famous prophet (James 5:17). 

Elijah’s prayer works at two levels: his prayer works in that God answers him; his prayer works in that his participation and posture reflect his faithful action. It is these faithful actions that the author of James hopes readers will also come to embody—with body and soul working as one.