Mar.1: Divine Rescue

Psalm 25: 1-10
Genesis 9: 8-17
Mark 1: 9-15
1 Peter 3: 18-22

A vector running through the lectionary readings for the first week of Lent is the theme of divine rescue. In the acrostic Psalm 25, the writer reminds the Lord of the mercy shown to him in the past, appealing for forgiveness of sin and deliverance from enemies. Genesis 9:8-17 contains the first “covenant” described as such in the Hebrew Scriptures. It applies to all of humanity, the animal world, and the earth. Following the covenant concept, Mark 1:9-15 describes the genesis of the new covenant: Jesus is baptized, receives the Holy Spirit, and begins to proclaim the approach of the kingdom of God. Finally in 1 Peter 3:18-22, recounting Christ’s resurrection from death “in order to bring you to God,” the writer describes the possibility of salvation God extends: “And baptism, which this prefigured, now saves you—not as a removal of dirt from the body, but as an appeal to God for a good conscience”.
Psalm 25 is also one of nine acrostics in the Book of Psalms, a form of poetry that elsewhere in the Bible only seen in Lamentations. The first word begins with the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, the second line with the second letter, and so on through the end of the alphabet, although the sixth and nineteenth letters are missing. In The Book of Psalms: a Translation and Commentary, Robert Alter writes that this structure might have been used as a mnemonic device because of the text’s liturgical use. The Hebrew noun in the phrase “I lift my heart” is nefesh, “essential self” or “life breath.”
It can be inferred from verse 7 that the speaker has erred: “My youth’s offenses and my crimes recall not. In your steadfast love, recall me—You; for the sake of your goodness, O LORD.” Alter writes that the juxtaposition of the pronouns “me” (li) and “You” (‘atah) is unusual in Hebrew in the line “recall me—You”. After the imperative verb “recall,” the second-person “You” would not be necessary. While the word hata’im in line 8 can be translated “sinners” or “offenders,” Alter also notes that the etymology of the word suggest missing a target. Asking the Lord for forgiveness, the speaker also appeals specifically for wisdom: “Make me to know your ways, O LORD; teach me your paths."
In this passage we thus see the speaker alternating requests for help with expressions of trust in God’s faithfulness. The speaker directly asks God to recall earlier love and mercy, appealing as if to a person who can be swayed by rhetoric. We see the word hesed, or “steadfast love,” which also figures prominently in the Book of Jonah characterizing divine love. At the conclusion of that book, Jonah addresses God (4:2), saying, “That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and rich in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.” Hesed can also refer to the mutual loyalty of the partners in a marriage, as seen in the description of Hosea as husband and covenant partner. The appeal to hesed shows that the speaker views himself as having an ongoing relationship with God, a sense of continuity that dovetails with the lectionary’s next passage, Genesis 9: 8-17.
In order to understand the lectionary reading 8-17, it’s necessary to read it in the context of the whole chapter. 9:1-7 contains the basis for the Noachide laws in Judaism, considered binding upon Gentiles as well as Jews and referenced in Acts 15:20 and 21:25. The laws are given in response to the acts of violence preceding the flood: God stipulates that humans, bearing God’s image, may not be killed.
Genesis 9:8-17 thus contains the first covenant described in the Bible, preceding the Ten Commandments. After giving the Noachide laws, God in turn declares, “I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” As a sign of the covenant, God places a bow in the sky turned away from humanity: “When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.” We also see the bow depicted as God’s weapon in Ps 7:12-13 and Hab 3:9-11. The anthropomorphic way that God is portrayed here is noteworthy.
A great information source for the concept of covenant (berît) in the Bible is The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures by Michael D. Coogan. Coogan compares structure of covenants in the Bible to that of political treaties in the ancient Near East. He writes that in this region and time period, Israelites were the only group known whose texts describe a relationship with a deity in terms of a treaty. Coogan uses two classifications for treaties: those between parties that are presumed equal, like Solomon and Hiram the king of Tyre, and “suzerainty treaties,” where one party is presumed to be superior to the other. A typical structure of the second kind of treaty includes identification of the suzerain or stronger party; history of the relationship, emphasizing the suzerain’s benevolence; stipulations, or obligations imposed on the weaker party, which might include prohibition of relationships with other powers, requirement to respond to a call of assistance from the suzerain, or payment of tribute; and blessings for observing the treaty. This basic structure characterizes the communication we see from God to Noah in Genesis 9. Other covenants central to the Bible include those between Abraham and God, between God and Israel (The Book of the Covenant containing the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20), and what Christian theology calls the New Covenant, or New Testament.
Mark 1:9-15 shares in common with the Hebrew Scripture lectionary readings a depiction of hope for a new beginning. In Psalm 25, the speaker appeals to God’s mercy and steadfast love for forgiveness of sin; Genesis 9 shows God committing to protect humanity in the form of a covenant; and Mark 1 portrays the beginning of Christ’s ministry. According to the New Oxford Annotated Bible, the Gospel of Mark has traditionally been attributed to John Mark of Acts 12:12 and 15:37, who is thought to have composed it in Rome summarizing Peter’s preaching (1 Pet 5:13.) The narrative associated with Christmas is absent; we first encounter Jesus, not in a manger, but with the other figures of the Trinity:

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased. (9-11).

Jesus goes through a trial in the wilderness, as did Elijah in 1 Kings 19, then begins to proclaim the Gospel. The NOAB annotation describes his mission: “At the right time, in fulfillment of long-standing yearnings and hopes, God is finally acting to reestablish his beneficent will for the people. (Repent means) return to God’s way, in response to the good news of God’s action.” 1 Peter 3:18-22 describes the culmination of those hopes in the form of the resurrection: “For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit . . .”
For parishioners who have not read the New Testament cover to cover, 1 Peter 3:19, “. . . also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison,” might come as a shock. I did not grow up in a tradition in which this passage made frequent appearances in sermons and Bible studies, unlike what one might call “Greatest Hits” like the Parable of the Sower. Typical questions one might ask include, “Which spirits? When did this happen? What happened to them as a result?” I found one of the more extensive glosses in Begegnung fürs Leben: Die Studienbibel für jeden Tag: Neues Testament, published by the Hänssler Verlag. The annotation lists several possible readings, including linking this passage to Matthew 27, when rocks burst, graves open, and the dead rise. When I asked Rev. William Rich at Trinity Church Boston for clarification, he explained that this passage holds great importance in the Eastern Orthodox tradition and was well-known during medieval times. It is the subject of many icons, including one with Christ standing over a grate of hell with a massive hook, pulling out souls. “Google ‘Harrows of Hell’ to the see icons,” he said.

--Elizabeth Fels

Sources:
Alter, Robert. The Book of Psalms.
Coogan, Michael: The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures.
Coogan, Michael, ed. The New Oxford Annotated Bible (3rd ed).
Begegnung fürs Leben: Die Studienbibel für jeden Tag: Neues Testament, Hänssler Verlag.
(Adapted from Life Application Bible, by Tyndale House Publishers, 1988.)

February 22--Alone With Jesus

. . . Jesus took Peter, James, and John up on a high mountain by themselves. While they watched, Jesus’ appearance was changed. His clothes became shining white, whiter than any person could make them. Then Elijah and Moses appeared to them, talking with Jesus. . . .

. . . Peter did not know what to say, because he and the others were so frightened.

Then a cloud came and covered them, and a voice came from the cloud, saying, ‘This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!’

Suddenly Peter, James, and John looked around, but they saw only Jesus there alone with them . . . (Mark 9:2-4, 6-8).



It is Transfiguration Sunday, and we have been here before. Some version of this story from one of the synoptic gospels proclaimed every year on the Sunday before the church enters the season of Lent. We take it for granted.

The disciples do not.


What Peter and James and John see on this high mountain alone with Jesus frightens them to the core. The disciples are so frightened, in fact, that they actually follow Jesus’ instructions not to tell anyone what they have seen . . . a command they have no trouble breaking earlier—and later—in Mark’s gospel. Even Peter, who is normally eager to express his opinion or make a prediction about who Jesus is and what the Jesus movement should be doing “d[oes] not know what to say” in this moment of terror. He can only tell Jesus, “It is good that we are here,” and then mumble something incoherent about making tents for the three luminous figures who have just appeared in front of him.

To these three disciples—who think they know Jesus pretty well by now—the transfiguration of Jesus, in which he takes his place among the giver of the Law and the prototype of the Prophets, is a terrifying experience. They spend the rest of their lives trying to make sense of it, not even telling the story until after “the Son of Man had risen from the dead” (Mk. 9:10).


To many churchgoers today, this story is commonplace, another one of those “miracles” we either accept on faith or explain away as an interesting metaphor for our own “mountaintop experiences” of feel-good spirituality. But there are a few people among us who have experienced something dramatically similar to this moment of transfiguration—this moment of seeing the human face of the living God right in front of us and being told to listen!—in all its glory and all its terror.


A good friend of mine felt it in church last Sunday . . . and no, she was not delusional! She just knew she was experiencing something deeply profound, something that felt like the voice of God telling her to listen, something that felt like a “call” . . . but she had no idea what it meant. She was afraid, but she was calm in her fear. It was as if something was falling into place, something was being revealed that was deeper than anything she had ever known, something was being asked of her even though she could not articulate what it was.

And after talking with her, I realized that it may actually be more important to focus on the moment after the transfiguration, as powerful as the original event may have been for the disciples and for my friend. Because when it is all over, when the voice of clarity fades, when the shimmering robes evaporate, Peter and James and John look around and see only Jesus, there, alone with them.


They do not understand that Jesus will die and that they will abandon him. They do not understand that this time “alone” with Jesus is so very precious . . . that it will not last forever . . . that they will become even more frightened than they have been just now.


But they are alone with Jesus, for just this brief moment . . . and I like to imagine that they are at peace, even though they have not understood anything that has or will come to pass. They simply know it is a big deal, that God is with them, and that they will not ever be alone without Jesus.


They will not ever be alone “without Jesus.”

It is a terrifying thing to confront the power of God that transcends the ages, to follow Christ to his death, to hear the voice of God demanding that we listen without clear guidance about what is being said.

But I would suggest that the power of the transfiguration, as it leads us into Lent, as it leads us into crucifixion, as it leads us through the lonesome valley of death and darkness and despair is that we will never be alone without Jesus. We will never be alone without the physical presence of God in our midst. We will never be left without some reason to hope, without some reason to trust, without some reason to expect a future resurrection.


With this assurance of God's eternal presence, then, may we enter boldly into this season of Lent, this time of repentance, this time of transformation, this time of releasing what needs to die within us and among us in order to allow the spirit of God to rise again. We are not ever alone in our calling.

Not ever.

Not ever.

Not ever.

Amen.



Gusti Linnea Newquist


(additional lectionary texts for this week: 2 Kings 2:1-12; Psalm 50:1-6; 2 Corinthians 4:3-6)


Dear friends, it is with great joy and a twinge of sadness that I announce my departure from these pages. I will be leaving Boston at the end of the month in order to accept God’s call to serve as the next Co-Pastor of St. Mark’s Presbyterian Church in Tucson, Arizona (pending the election of the congregation, the approval of the presbytery, and my subsequent ordination). I have been grateful for this time to share my thoughts with you and even more grateful to those of you who have shared your comments with me.

My sister Harvard Divinity School alumna, Elizabeth Fels (MTS ’08) will pick up the blog beginning next week.

February 15--Running to Win

"You know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize. So run to win! All those who compete in the games use self-control so they can win a crown. That crown is an earthly thing that lasts only a short time, but our crown will never be destroyed. So I do not run without a goal. I fight like a boxer who is hitting something--not just the air. I treat my body hard and make it my slave so that I myself will not be disqualified after I have preached to others" (1 Corinthians 9:24-27).

I just love it when Paul gets competitive.

It strikes a deep inner chord in me to know I am not the only follower of Christ who likes to win.

I know we Christians preach the need to curb our ambition, to love others beyond our own achievements, to want what is best for everybody, to put the needs of others before our own. I know the first shall be last and the last shall be first.

But there is just something deeply fundamental in me—perhaps cultivated from the earliest days of childhood—that wants to be the best! That strives to be the best. That feels a fleeting but still potent flash of pride in winning an earthly crown. In the words of Ricky Bobby from that great film sensation Talladega Nights, "If you're not first, you're worst!" And who wants to be worst?


Even Ricky Bobby, however, has a serious conversion experience once he realizes how much his competitive drive has been based on the fear and pain of a childhood lacking in paternal love . . . and how carelessly he has hurt his best friend in his pursuit of greatness. By the end of the movie, “racing to win” has become more about Ricky’s integrity than about his victory lap around the NASCAR track. In order to “win,” once Ricky has changed his mind and heart, he has to be willing to lose. And he has to be willing to love his neighbor as himself.


This, of course, is more along the lines of what Paul had in mind when he encouraged the first century Corinthians to “run to win.” It is a spiritual discipline he is talking about . . . of being willing to “lose” for the sake of our integrity . . . of risking failure in order to love those who desperately need our care . . . of resisting the temptation to let anything in our lives distract us from responding to the grace of God . . . of training our hearts and minds—and yes, even our bodies—to the lifelong work of living in the Spirit.


But it is a communal race! We cannot win it alone.


Paul did not have the same concept of team sports that we do, but he surely understood the church as the “Body of Christ.” And this communal body, I think he would claim, must run the race together, must win the race together, and must do this by undergoing rigorous conditioning, just as the individual bodies within it must set measureable goals toward achieving that crown which will never be destroyed.

It is a victory in this life when we in the church really do live out good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and liberty to the oppressed. And it is a victory in the life to come when we place every part of our lives into the hands of a loving and challenging God and allow these lives to be transformed.


So what does the “conditioning” for this race look like?


Some believers have taken Paul’s words about “treating the body hard” quite literally . . . adopting an ascetic life or even engaging in self-flagellation as a way of knowing the suffering of Christ.

Others of us lift up the inherent goodness of the body and its capacity to perform great feats—athletic or otherwise—when we invite God to cultivate and guide its energy as we would cultivate and guide a garden, as a trainer would cultivate and guide an athlete.


In either case, we know that God cares about our bodies and how we discipline them and how we use them to promote justice and peace . . . and we know that God cares about the hearts and minds and spirits that accompany our bodies . . . and we know that God is inviting every part of our being into a race we can only win if we let go the competitive desire for an earthly crown and be willing to “lose” for the love of the world.


So our invitation this week is to hear clearly the voice of the Holy Spirit training us and cheering us on, whether our next practice session is at the local soup kitchen, in our daily devotional life, or in advocating for peace in the halls of Congress.


May God grant us the victory, may we "run to win." Amen.


Gusti Linnea Newquist



(additional lectionary texts: 2 Kings 5:1-14; Psalm 30; Mark 1:40-45)

February 9--The Reason He Came

As soon as Jesus and his followers left the synagogue, they went with James and John to the home of Simon and Andrew. Simon's mother-in-law was sick in bed with a fever, and the people told Jesus about her. So Jesus went to her bed, took her hand, and helped her up. The fever left her, and she began serving them.

That evening, after the sun went down, the people brought to Jesus all who were sick and had demons in them. The whole town gathered at the door. Jesus healed many who had different kinds of sicknesses, and he forced many demons to leave people. But he would not allow the demons to speak, because they knew who he was.

Early the next morning, while it was still dark, Jesus woke and left the house. He went to a lonely place, where he prayed. Simon and his friends went to look for Jesus. When they found him, they said, 'Everyone is looking for you!'

Jesus answered, 'We should go to other towns around here so I can preach there too. That is the reason I came.' So he went everywhere in Galiless, preaching in the synagogues and forcing out demons. (Mark 1:29-39)

I am struck in reading this passage from Mark's gospel by the reason Jesus gives for his presence in Capernaum: to preach.

I should not necessarily be struck by this particular raison d'etre of Jesus. His preaching is, after all, well documented throughout the gospels, particularly in the long discourses of the Sermon on the Mount as described by Matthew and the Sermon on the Plain in Luke.

What strikes me about Mark's version, I think, is the simplicity of the message, at least in these early chapters: "The right time has come," Jesus says. "The kingdom of God is near. Change your hearts and lives and believe the Good News!" (Mk 1:15).

Surrounding this short three-sentence sermon (wish I could get away with THAT on any given Sunday!) are the stories of healing, the stories of casting out demons, the stories of people desperate for someone to give them real, tangible hope. The stories of forgiveness of sins.

This is what changes people's lives!

And so I find myself reflecting again, as someone called to preach, on what this actually means for those of us who now "preach Jesus" all these centuries later, who have the responsibility of connecting a contemporary community of faith with this first century preacher from Nazareth who healed and cast out demons and forgave sinners.

It should not come as a surprise to any of us who preach the gospel that the crowds gathered around Jesus seem far more drawn to his pastoral care than they are to his words from the pulpit. At least that is the case in this particular passage at this particular stage of Jesus' ministry in this particular gospel.

It is, in fact, his manner of forcing out demons, of healing the sick, of forgiving sins that draws people in to his verbal message. And they really do change their hearts and minds.


Preaching is such a humbling calling for those of us in this business, whether we are speaking the words from the pulpit or whether we are living the words in all the other aspects of our ministry. I have described it as the ultimate act of submission, begging God for a word.

But it is so much more than that, isn't it? It's about all the other things we do beyond the pulpit: the teaching, the pastoral care, the gathering of community around bread and wine. It's about seeing the kingdom of God right in front of us and helping to make it a reality.


So my prayer for all of us who preach this week is that our preaching of the good news will come from our living of the good news . . . and that God will grant us the grace to know what that means.


Amen.



Gusti Linnea Newquist



(additional lectionary texts: Isaiah 40:21-31; Psalm 147:1-11, 20; 1 Corinthians 9:16-23)