II Samuel 17-24; I Kings 1-7; Psalms 52-55; I Corinthians 8-12

In two days, I’ll be leaving with my wife to lead a tour group to Turkey and Greece. That’s exciting, as you can imagine, but it means that I have a huge load of things to get done before departure (apart from doing my share of the packing!). Among other things, I’ve got to choose those things which I can let go until I’m back. One of those choices occurred last weekend…when I didn’t write a blog for The Year of the Bible! Well, I want to at least say “hello” this week, and there’s a piece in the New Testament readings from I Corinthians that fits nicely.

As it happens, we will be visiting Corinth on our travels. It will be the third time that I’ve had a chance to go there, and I’m looking forward to seeing it again. You may be aware that the city is located at a very strategic spot. It is on the south side of the isthmus that joins mainland Greece to the Peloponnesus, so that it controls the north-south trade route. Likewise, shipping regularly crossed east-west through the Gulf of Corinth, with ships often offloading their cargo to be carted across the isthmus while the ships traveled around the southern (and dangerous) tip of the Peloponnesus. In fact, smaller ships were often carted across the land themselves, along with their cargo – a pretty amazing feat to imagine. All of this meant that Corinth became a wealthy city, and it was visited by many different nationalities. That contributed to its reputation, of course, as a wide open place, where “anything goes.”

We’re all familiar with the Olympic games, held ever four years in Olympia (which we will also visit). You may not know that the Greeks were sports fanatics. Corinth itself held games every two years, called the “Isthmian Games.” They drew throngs of people, both to compete and to watch. Since Paul spent about two years in the city, he almost certainly was at Corinth during one of the games, and he had to have experienced the enthusiasm and excitement in the city leading up to the competition. Notice what he writes in chapter 9: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners compete, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. Well, I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air.” (vss. 24-26)

Paul knows how the games work: there is only one prize in a competition. You are either a hero…or you’re not. He mentions two of the sports that were regular features of Greek games: running and boxing. Somehow, I don’t picture Paul as a sports enthusiast himself, but he certainly understood how they worked, and he knew how to draw analogies from the discipline involved in physical competition for living a successful life of faith.

Now, picture all those sermons you’ve heard that mention football, or baseball, or cricket (oh, maybe not). When we pastors make those kind of references, we’re following in Paul’s footsteps. We might want to remember, however, that he kept his illustrations very brief!

I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks, and I’ll return to this blog when I get back. In the meantime, may your reading be blessed!

I Samuel 16-31; Psalms 48-49; Mark 14-16; I Corinthians 1-2

This week we will read a long story in I Samuel about a rapidly deteriorating relationship between Saul and David. It’s a tragic story. Saul seemed to start out so well, so faithful, and so humble. Now, though, he’s paranoid about his position and especially distrustful of David’s success and popularity. Saul becomes the villain to David’s hero. Of course, much of what we read here about David is anything but praiseworthy. From fleeing to the Philistines for safety while feigning madness (21:10-15), to marrying numerous wives (25:42-43), to fleeing to the Philistines again and then raiding their towns secretly (26:1-12), David’s personality does not present a very pretty picture.

Of course, these depressing episodes are intermingled with others where his deeper (we hope!) character emerges. David remains friends with Saul’s son, Jonathan (chap. 18); he passes by twice on opportunities to kill Saul, saying that such action against the anointed king would be a denial of the authority of the Lord God (chaps. 22, 24), and he protects Abiathar, the son of the priest Ahimelech (22:20-23).

In each of these incidents, David acts honorably. That is worth noting in the midst of the darkly dishonorable attempts of Saul to capture and kill David at all costs. Famously, Saul even descends into the Pit, consulting a medium for information – the “witch of Endor,” as she is traditionally known (chap. 28). Now this is doubly tragic, in that it was Saul himself who, much earlier, banished all mediums and wizards from Israel (28:3). Compared to Saul, David looks pretty good.

Nevertheless, David’s honor is tarnished – as our own actions often are, we should note! – and honor doesn’t seem to come off too well in the Book of I Samuel. Or does it? Go to the end of the Book, in chapter 31, and consider the brief comment – it almost seems like a footnote – about what happens after Saul finally meets his end. The Philistines, as you might expect, treat Saul abominably. After beheading him, they string up his body on a wall at the town of Beth-shan (31:8-10). Then we get the footnote. People from the Israelite town of Jabesh-gilead carry out a covert mission. They travel through the night to retrieve Saul’s body (and his sons’ too, apparently). They burn and bury them so that no further dishonor will occur.

Why is this significant? Much earlier, at the beginning of Saul’s rule, Saul saved the town of Jabesh-gilead from the Ammonites (chap. 11). Over the years, in spite of Saul’s deteriorating reign, these people remembered what he had done for him. Recalling the earlier actions of this failed king, and respecting the office of the king, they risked their own lives to show their respect and to preserve the kingship from further disgrace. Now there is pure, unadulterated honor – displayed by people whose names we don’t even know. It’s a great way to end this Book. And it’s a great way to strive to live life.

Ruth 3-4; I Samuel 1-15; Psalms 45-47; Mark 9-13

When you get to chapter 10 of Mark this week, you’ll read a story that’s familiar to many people. It’s traditionally called “The Rich, Young Ruler,” and it starts like this: “And as he [Jesus] was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him.” The man asks Jesus what he needs to do to receive eternal life; Jesus tells him to keep the commandments; the man is surprised, saying that he has been doing that all his life; Jesus tells him to sell all his possessions and follow Jesus; and the man, despondent, goes away. Then Jesus uses this incident to talk about the difficulty of entering the kingdom: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God” (vs. 25). Now it’s the disciples’ turn to be surprised, but Jesus says, “for God all things are possible.”

Notice that you won’t find two things here. (1) Mark doesn’t say that this man was young; and (2) the Gospel doesn’t say that he is a ruler either. Regarding the first of these, we are told that the man has kept the commandments “from my youth.” The impression is that he is not young, but rather a grown man. Now there’s a simple solution to our traditional title for the story. The Gospel of Matthew also records this story (19:16-30), and Matthew does indeed call him a “young man.” What about the description that he is a “ruler”? For that, you have to go to the Gospel of Luke, where the man is introduced immediately as a “ruler” (18:18-30)! In other words, it takes all three Gospels to get the title, “The Rich, Young Ruler.”

If you are wondering what’s going on here, you need to start with the fact that scholars are convinced that Mark’s Gospel was written first, and both Matthew and Luke used it as a basis for their own Gospels. If you read the stories side by side, you’ll notice that the basic story line and the primary point are the same, but Matthew and Luke have each crafted their accounts differently. Notice, for instance, that neither Matthew nor Luke says anything about Jesus setting out on a journey, or the man running up and kneeling. Mark’s whole story gives us a much more detailed description of the interaction, including the note that Jesus is sympathetic to the man: “looking at him, he loved him” (vs. 21).

By contrast, Matthew and Luke give a quick description of the circumstances. It seems that they are only concerned to make a point from the story. Reading the whole of Matthew’s Gospel, we see that he is writing about learning to be a disciple, and so he pictures this person as a youth, one who is growing up to mature faith. Luke, in contrast, is writing to people who are well placed in society, perhaps the aristocracy, and so he pictures the man as a ruler. If you read all three stories carefully side by side, you’ll find lots of minor changes and differences. Put the changes all together, and what you get is three different portraits of this man’s encounter with Jesus. It’s fascinating!

Now this suggests something that we need to remember. The Gospel writers intend to tell us the story of Jesus – the “history,” so to speak, of his life, death, and resurrection. However, they are not writing the kind of history we prize these days. They are not giving us every single detail of events as objectively as possible. Rather, they are writing a kind of theological history. This doesn’t mean that we have to worry that what they wrote is somehow “false” or “wrong.” They aren’t trying to deceive or mislead us. They are simply trying to draw out significant lessons from the life of Jesus to benefit their readers. In other words, they want us to know what these events mean “for us and for our salvation.”

Judges 11-21; Psalms 42-44; Mark 4-8

Most days this week, we’ll be reading in the Book of Judges. It makes for dreary reading, with all the violence, immoral behavior, and faithlessness. Even the author seems to feel the same way. He ends the book with the words, “all the people did what was right in their own eyes” (21:25). But we will end the week on a brighter note. Tucked away in the period of the Judges of Israel is this little book named “Ruth.” It gives us a vignette of a small family living at the time.

At the beginning the story seems just as dismal as everything else in the time of the Judges. Due to a famine in Israel, a man from Bethlehem, Elimelech, moves his family to Moab where, presumably, there is food available. There’s an irony here. Elimelech’s name suggests a man of deep faith: “My God is king.” Plus, the meaning of the name of his town, Bethlehem, is “House of Bread.” So, here is a man whose very name should remind him of trust in God, living through a famine in a town whose very name suggests an abundance of food! This could only happen “when the judges ruled” inIsrael.

This is ironic, but it’s only the first of a number of ironies in the story. After Elimelech and his wife, Naomi, settle in Moab (which means, by the way, that he chose to leave the Promised Land), their two sons soon marry. Not long afterwards, all three of the men in the family die. Left alone, Naomi decides to return home. Here’s another irony: Naomi is in great pain and is bitter about her situation (1:20) – and who can blame her? – but one of her daughters-in-law, Ruth, insists on returning with her. This foreign woman, it appears, has more faith in the God of Israel than did either Elimelech or Naomi.

Their timing is perfect. They arrive in Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest. Once again, Bethlehem is a “house of bread.” Ruth ends up gathering grain in the fields belonging to one of Naomi’s relatives and, as the saying goes, the rest is history. After a few twists and turns, they are married. As I mentioned two weeks ago when we looked at Rahab in Jericho, both of these women end up in the genealogy leading to David the King. That’s another irony here. Elimelech left the Promised Land, but his daughter in law, because of her deep faith, ends up as one of the ancestors in Israel’s Messianic line.

Back in February, we read the command in Leviticus 19 to “love the alien as yourself.” One of the examples Leviticus gives of following this command is an admonition not to reap everything from your field or vineyard, but to leave some for the poor and the alien (19:9-10). This is exactly what Boaz does. Thus, the author of the Book of Ruth leaves us with some good news. Even in a period as dismal as the Judges, there are still good people and deep believers to be found…whether they are Israelites or aliens.

Joshua 20-24; Judges 1-10; Psalms 39-41; Romans 15-16; Mark 1-3

Happy Easter! I hope your reading in The Year of the Bible has helped to make this Lent and Easter even more meaningful for you. (There’s a good chance it has made it busier…given the daily readings you’ve been doing!) Looking at the upcoming readings for this week, I was struck by the last chapter of Paul’s letter to the Romans. He’s coming to the end of this long letter, in which he has been introducing himself and his theology to the Roman Christians. Now, in chapter 16, he closes the letter with a variety of comments, greetings, and a beautiful benediction at the end.

There’s a lengthy section here that you’ll be tempted to read through quickly. Starting in verse 3, Paul gives his greetings to a variety of people. By the time he reaches verse 16, he has greeted over 25 in all! Apart from Prisca andAquila, who play a prominent role when Paul arrives in Corinth(Acts 18), most of the people who are named here are unknown to us. One interesting thing about this listing, as is often pointed out, is that some of the names refer to women. These days, it’s sometimes popular to picture Paul as a male chauvinist, or as anti-woman. But that obviously doesn’t tally with the random way he simply mixes men and women here, greeting them as co-workers in ministry as he happens to think of their names.

Another interesting thing is that Paul knows so many people in Rome…even though he’s never been there. He has met all of these people in towns along the way, as part of his missionary travels. Mostly, Paul has met them inAsia Minor (modern-day Turkey) or in Greece. But all of them are now in Rome! What’s my point? It’s really twofold. First, this shows us something about how the Roman Empire worked. We think we live in a mobile society, but the same can be said of the Roman Empire. Not to our degree, of course. Travel occurred primarily by foot, walking along the major Roman roads, or by sea, taking ships as they were available and were sailing the general direction you wanted to go. That certainly limited the amount and frequency of travel. Still, many people did feel free “to move about the country,” to paraphrase a slogan from a certain airline.

Second, and more important, Paul knew that all these friends of his would have found their way into a house church somewhere in the city of Rome, and those churches would be in contact with each other. Paul expected this introductory letter to be circulated among the Christians in Rome. This means that he could expect that all of these people would receive his greetings. It’s a reminder of just how much Christians accepted and supported each other. No matter where followers of Jesus Christ came from, they were considered to be part of the faith. They were received as though they were family (the “family of faith”), and the church truly was a welcoming and supportive community. In an age when there was no social safety net of any kind, that must have been really good news. “Christ is risen indeed.”

Joshua 1-19; Psalms 37-38; Romans 10-14

There’s a fascinating story in Joshua 2 today. The Israelites were on the edge of the Promised Land, and Joshua sent two men secretly to Jericho to reconnoiter. Word had spread that there was a large force assembling on the borders of the town, and people were understandably nervous. Thus, there weren’t many places that Israelite men could stay without attracting attention. In the local inns their presence would be obvious to all, so they “took up lodgings” in the house of a local prostitute, Rahab. There must have been some other eyes in the street, though, because before long the local ruler hears a rumor, and he sends some troops to investigate. However, Rahab protects her guests and sends the troops on a wild goose chase towards the Jordan River.

Then Rahab makes a covenant with the two spies, promising to get them safely away if they will preserve her when the Israelites descend on the city. The men agree, and they instruct her to place a scarlet cord in her window (vs. 18). We’ll read the results later this week, in chapter 6. The Israelites take Jericho, but they spare Rahab as promised. Afterwards, she and her family reside with the people of Israel, the writer tells us, “to this day” (vs. 25).

We don’t read much more about Rahab, except for one striking piece of information. She ends up married to a man named Salmon, with whom she has a child, Boaz. You may know that Boaz is the main male character in the book of Ruth. He marries Ruth, who by the way is another alien. Through this union, three generations later, the great king of Israel, David, is born. (See Ruth 4:21-22.) Many centuries later, as Matthew tells us in chapter one of his Gospel, the Messianic king is born from this same line of ancestors.

To go back to Rahab: when she saved the Israelite spies, she had no idea of how far-reaching her actions would be. How could she possibly guess that she would become a hero of the faith? There’s a famous list of heroes of faith in chapter 11 of the Book of Hebrews, which we will be reading next September. In that long list – which includes people like Enoch, Noah, Abraham, and Sarah – we find Rahab too (vs. 31). Ever after, in Christian history, this woman from a seedy background is revered as a great hero of faith. I think this is a good reminder of two things. First, we never really know what God might do in someone’s life, so we had best not give up on them, or judge them, too quickly. Second, we never really know what God may do with us either, so…(you fill in the blank!).

Deuteronomy 21-34; Psalms 35-36; Romans 5-9

Psalm 36, which we read this week, is another of the many Psalms that call on the Lord for help in time of trouble. It’s built in three parts, with the opening verses (vss. 1-4) characterizing the wicked – those who break God’s laws, speak deceitful words, and generally plan mischief and evil. As verse 4 puts it, “They plot mischief while on their beds.” That’s almost a humorous image (Why don’t they just count sheep?), but you don’t get the feeling that the Psalmist sees much to smile about in the description.

In the middle part of the Psalm (vss. 5-9), the Psalmist turns from the evil of the wicked to praise the goodness of God. Steadfast love, righteousness, and just judgments come from God. People have nothing to fear from God. No evil machinations or deceitful acts, but only love and abundant blessings, are to be expected from the Lord of heaven and earth. Then, in the third part (vss. 10-12), the Psalmist calls out to God to employ his goodness to keep people safe from those evil ones just mentioned.

As I read, verse 7 in the second section jumped out at me: “All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.” It seems that the Israelites liked the image of wings. You might remember the popular song called “On Eagle’s Wings,” based especially on Psalm 91. There the picture is that God will carry those who trust in Him to safety on strong wings, like those of an eagle. Here, wings are used in a different way. The implication is that we are in a protected nest, with God’s all-powerful wings spread over us for protection.

This is a popular image. It’s used a number of times in the Psalms, and we find it in other books too. For instance, when Boaz meets this foreigner, Ruth, while she is gleaning in his field, he says, “May the Lord reward you for your deeds, and may you have a full reward from the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come for refuge!” (2:12) Life was not very secure in ancient Israel. This picture of God as a protective, powerful bird, shielding God’s people from harm in the shelter of a nest, with wings stretched out over them, must have given them a deep sense of comfort and security.

So, the next time we are feeling insecure, or when we wonder why evil always seems so dominant in the world, let’s try out this image. Let’s picture ourselves, or those we are concerned about, dwelling in a safe place, with wide wings unfolded above us, guarding us and those in need from all evil.

Deuteronomy 6-20; Psalms 33-34; Acts 8; Romans 1-4

In the nearly three weeks that I have been away, enjoying “R & R,” I hope your reading in The Year of the Bible has gone well. I can’t say I’m really glad to be back from vacation (!), but I am glad to be able to get back to this blog. There are some interesting readings again this week.

 A couple of days ago, Andrew Purves, a professor of theology at the Seminary, made a telling comment. As the years go by, he said, he is less and less interested in getting caught in the “either-or’s” that have often created conflict in the Church – things like predestination versus free will, or grace versus works. I was reminded of that comment as I looked at Romans 2:6-7. In times past, those of us in the Protestant tradition have spent a lot of time arguing (rightly, I believe) that salvation in Christ comes through faith (that is, grace), not our own works. However, we have also had to defend this position by stressing that, of course, Christians will in fact do good works.

 The problem here is that, oftentimes, we have become too wrapped up in stating this theological position precisely and perfectly accurately. The result is that we’ve overlooked the fact that the New Testament – and even the great apostle of faith, Paul – isn’t nearly so concerned to speak with this kind of precision. That’s why you will find all kinds of Bible interpreters and Bible blog writers on the Internet doing cartwheels when they run across verses like Romans 2:6-7: “For  God will render to every one according to his works: to those who by patience in well-doing seek for glory and honor and immortality, God will give eternal life.”

 On the surface, this verse sounds like it contradicts other verses, especially in Paul, that deny any place for works in gaining salvation. Thus, the cartwheels I just mentioned. Some people try to define the “works” as the act of believing itself. Others suggest that Paul must mean works that are done by someone who is already a believer. That may well be true, in the sense that such a person is predisposed to believe in God and desires to live according to God’s ways. (See later in chapter 2, though, where Paul seems to conclude that no one really does this.)

 My point here isn’t to discuss the exact meaning of verses like Romans 2:6-7, or to outline a precise doctrine of justification by grace through faith. I simply want to note what a lot of people seem to overlook, namely, that it’s “ok” to speak about “works” in the Christian life. Naturally, a little caution is undoubtedly wise. We must always remember that salvation is God’s gift – a gift we don’t deserve. Still, living a good life is also important to think about and to strive to accomplish. To put it differently, “work” doesn’t have to be a four-letter word!

For the next two and a half weeks, I’ll be away on vacation, so I won’t be adding any more posts. I wish you many blessings as you continue your reading, and I’ll look forward to starting up again in two or three weeks!

Leviticus 13-26; Psalms 23-25; Acts 8-12

You will probably remember reading earlier, in Matthew 22, about the lawyer who came to Jesus asking what the greatest commandment in the law was. He was probably not surprised when Jesus began quoting from Deuteronomy 6:4, “You shall love the Lord with all your heart….” That passage, called the “Shema” after its first word, “Hear,” would be expected. But the lawyer may have been surprised when Jesus continued…there is a second law that is also foundational! “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

 This second law, of course, comes from the Old Testament book that we are reading now, a book that seems very alien to our contemporary ears. Jesus is quoting from Leviticus 19:18. The words are set in the middle of admonitions not to hate your kin or reprove your neighbor, and also not to take vengeance or bear a grudge against anyone. Rather, you must “love your neighbor as yourself.”

 A lot of what we read in Leviticus no longer appears applicable today, and some of what we read seems just plain odd. These words, however, are certainly relevant, and they may hit a little too close to home. After all, these words may oblige us to rethink how we treat some people that we really don’t like very much. Maybe that’s why, in Luke’s account of the encounter between the lawyer and Jesus, the lawyer has a quick retort: “And who is my neighbor?” (10:29)

 Unfortunately for the lawyer, Jesus proceeds to tell the parable of the Good Samaritan. Presumably, the lawyer is a little surprised, if not offended, that Jesus includes such people as Samaritans in the orbit of neighbor-love. I am tempted – maybe you are too – to smile a bit at the lawyer’s discomfort. After all, we don’t have to worry about Samaritans any longer. Or do we? Look a few paragraphs further in Leviticus 19, because verse 34 says, “You shall love the alien as yourself.” That is, don’t oppress the alien; treat aliens like citizens; and love them as you would yourself.

 We may not have Samaritans in our midst, but we do have aliens, and there has been plenty of debate about them. Are they legal or illegal? Are they taking our jobs away? Why are we letting so many into the country? These are serious, debatable issues, to be sure. But what’s our attitude when we discuss such questions? And what are our feelings towards those who are so different? It seems to me that we had better keep Leviticus 19:34 in mind whenever we talk about, or meet in the street, those who are dissimilar to ourselves…“You shall love the alien as yourself!”

Exodus 37-40; Leviticus 1-12; Psalms 20-22; Acts 3-7

Last week I mentioned Rembrandt’s “The Three Crosses,” in which he focuses on the moment in the crucifixion when darkness descended on the earth. I also noted that the shock and mystery that Rembrandt underscores seems to be similar to what Matthew – whose Gospel we were reading last week – must have felt when he quotes Jesus’ words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (27:46) You may know that this quotation comes from the first words of Psalm 22, and, as many have pointed out, they probably indicate that Jesus was thinking of the entire Psalm.

Well, Psalm 22 just happens to appear at the end of this week’s readings in The Year of the Bible. (I didn’t plan this!) If you look closely at the Psalm, you’ll see that it contains a number of thoughts that parallel details in the Gospels in the story of the crucifixion. I’ll stick with Matthew to highlight the parallels.

 Matthew 27:35 – the soldiers cast lots for Jesus’ clothing
          Psalm 22:18          “they divide my clothes among themselves,
                                             and for my clothing they cast lots.”

Matthew 27:39 – passersby deride him, shaking their heads and mocking him
          Psalm 22:7            “All who see me mock at me.”
          Psalm22:12-13     “Many bulls encircle me,
                                             they open wide their mouths at me,
                                             like a ravening and roaring lion.”

Matthew 27:43 – rulers say that God should deliver him if God wants to
          Psalm 22:8             “Commit your cause to the Lord…
                                             let him rescue the one in whom he delights.”

Then, finally, at the end of this series come the words “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In Psalm 22, the mocking and derision are described in various places, but otherwise, it’s almost as though the Gospel story has reversed the order of these parallels as we read them in the Psalm. The Psalmist opens his lamentation with these heartfelt words, and the next verses (through verse 18) describe his sufferings, ending with the tragedy that his enemies are already dividing up his clothing while he is still alive.

In the Gospel account, the lament “My God, my God” comes at the end of these many sufferings, and it becomes the climax of the story. Jesus says these words as he dies. The end has come; all hope appears to be gone. But, wait! The Gospel accounts don’t end there. They go on to tell of something marvelous, incredible even…the resurrection is coming!

 Notice that Psalm 22 doesn’t end with hopelessness and despair either. From verse 19 on, the lament of the Psalmist turns into a profession of trust in God’s goodness and providential care. Later generations will see what has happened, and they will praise the Lord (vss. 30-31). In fact, “All the ends of the earth” and “all the families of the nations” will worship God, who has dominion over the world (vss. 27-28). Matthew isn’t quoting the Psalm at this point, but doesn’t it sound like the Psalmist’s words are ringing in his ears when he ends his Gospel with the Great Commission: “All authority has been given to me; go and make disciples of all nations”?