Covenant: the next generation
Commentary
One of the central concepts of the Bible is the "covenant." A covenant is a contract-plus. Like a contract, a covenant is an agreement between two parties to behave in a certain way: I'll do this, and you will do that. Unlike a contract, however, the two parties are not necessarily equals; a king, for example, could enter into a covenant with his people, while in no way ceding power to the people. Further, you can't just walk away from a covenant. A contract, sure -- just pay the penalties for breaking the agreement and you're off the hook. Covenants, however, frequently invoke curses on those who do not live up to their obligations. Certainly the biblical covenants -- of God with Abraham, for example, or the Sinai tradition -- embrace these ideas: they are covenants of unequals that cannot lightly be set aside.
Our lections this morning show that "covenant" was not an idea but a living tradition -- not a concept that demanded assent, but a way of being that demanded a creative response to the vagaries of life. Thus, we find Rebekah re-enacting the part of Abraham as the covenant passes from one generation to the next. We find Paul explaining how the Sinai covenant can't do everything that has been claimed for it, and we find Matthew painting the covenant with Moses in the new colors of Jesus.
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
While our lection takes snippets from the longest chapter in the book of Genesis, the preacher would do well to become familiar with the entirety of this leisurely told narrative that gives pride of place to speeches rather than events, using detailed repetition to push the story along and give it suspense and resolution. The story centers on the literary convention of the betrothal at the well (cf. Jacob and Rachel, 29:1-14; Moses and Zipporah, Exodus 2:15-22; there are parallels, also, in Ugaritic literature and John 4). The hints of humor along the way (for example, the avaricious portrait of Laban, or Rachel's hustling to water the camels) might provide a little spice for the sermon; sometimes the best sermon stories are those of scripture itself.
The story is in transition between Abraham and Isaac (cf. the similar transition scenes of Jacob in chapters 34-35 and Joseph in 47-50). The transition is spurred by three major events. The first spur is the death of Isaac's mother, Sarah, which leaves the position of clan matriarch open for Rebekah, whom Isaac will love as a mother-substitute (24:67). The second spur is the virtual deathbed scene of Abraham in 24:1-9. While Abraham doesn't actually die until 25:7-11, these are his last words in the story (and the original version may have recounted his death after v. 9 or v. 61). Clearly, Abraham has ceded the leadership of the clan to Isaac, who now owns all of his possessions (v. 36) and is called "my master" by Abraham's servant (v. 65). Isaac is on his own in the promised land, with no mother, no father, and no family, until Rebekah comes to complete the covenant with children. The third spur of the transition is their marriage.
The marriage of Isaac and Rebekah rounds out the Abraham cycle, recapping the promise and fulfillment of the covenant. The language of the original covenant (12:1-7) is reiterated in 24:1-9. The marriage will fulfill God's promise to Abraham of many descendents (vv. 7, 27, 50-51, 60). The theme of "blessing" moves from Abraham (v. 1) through his servant (v. 31) to the family of Laban and Rebekah herself (v. 60).
Another theme through the story is the prosperity brought to Abraham by God because of the covenant (vv. 21, 40, 42, 56). Further echoes of covenant language are found in the references to loyalty and fidelity (vv. 12, 14, 27, 49). It is actually Rebekah, not Isaac, who follows Abraham's footsteps in response to God's call, moving from the tent of her mother (v. 28) in Haran in upper Mesopotamia to that of her mother-in-law in the Negeb (v. 67). Rebekah's words of assent to the marriage (literally "I will walk," v. 58), echo the original command to Abraham to "walk" to the promised land (21:1), and the blessing her family uses to send her off echoes the blessing God once gave to Abraham (22:17).
The theme of divine providence is at the forefront of the story. The hidden hand of God is invoked again and again (vv. 7, 21, 27, 40, 42, 48, 56). The guiding angel that leads Abraham's servant to the well can be discerned only by faith (v. 40), and yet the human actors are also important in moving the drama along. The unnamed servant shows his wisdom and worthiness as he speaks, subtly persuading Rebekah's family by embellishing Abraham's prosperity (vv. 1, 35), omitting unseemly details in Abraham's original charge (such as his refusal to let Isaac himself travel to Haran, vv. 6, 38-40), and emphasizing Rebekah's desirable pedigree in the retelling of their meeting (vv. 46-47). Laban, too, propels the story along, taking one look at the jewelry given to his sister and saying, "Yes" (thus the narrator hints at his future role in the story as the greedy exploiter of Jacob).
But it is Rebekah herself who becomes the prominent character in the story. She is tested and proven true; her personal qualities of helpfulness, kindness, hospitality, care for animals, as well as her beauty and availability, commend her as a proper wife for Isaac, who indeed responds to her with love (vv. 14-21, 67). A hint of their future relationship is found not only in her forthrightness (v. 58), but also her Herculean camel-watering (the anachronistic reference to camels is quite amusing, since Rebekah would have really have had to hustle to bring enough water for ten thirsty camels in her little jug). In their marriage, Isaac would prove to be the most passive of patriarchs, while Rebekah would be pro-active in ensuring the family's future.
Romans 7:15-25a
Paul picks up the discussion of the covenant tradition at another major turning point: the giving of the law (or Torah) to Moses. What place did Torah have under the new covenant that Jesus initiated in his body and blood? Paul's contention is that Torah definitely has an important place in Christianity -- just not the place many people thought.
Paul's thought here is perhaps obscured rather than elucidated by his use of an exemplary first-person style. Many commentators have tried to interpret this passage autobiographically, but the truth is that Paul was not talking so much about his personal experience as he was making an argument. Indeed, personally, Paul clearly saw himself as a good Jew, a commendable Pharisee who was able to observe Torah (cf. Acts 22:3; Galatians 1:14; Philippians 3:6). His use of "I" is not meant to be taken as personal history, but as part of the form of the particular kind of argument he makes in Romans. The "I" makes the argument less abstract, as if it were acted out on a stage rather than merely spoken about.
This section of the argument actually stretches back to 6:1, where Paul begins to take up objections to his theology and deal with them one by one. By chapter 7, he has arrived at the issue of Torah, which for Paul the Pharisee was perfect and holy (7:12). However, as a Christian, Paul had a problem with Torah, for it taught that Jesus not only lived as a sinner, but also died accursed (Galatians 3:13). How could such a man be Messiah? Obviously, the place of Torah in the life of a Christian must be re-thought. The problem was not with Torah per se, but with the claims made for it, in particular, that Torah could bring life. However, Jesus' death and resurrection prove this to be a false conclusion; only God can bring life, and God chose to bring it to one who was cursed by Torah. In fact, wasn't the notion of the ability of human beings to give themselves life by doing the works of Torah another instance of human arrogance before the God who is the sole source of all being? Torah has been over-sold as healing medicine; it can do no such thing. What then is the purpose of Torah? It is merely the diagnostician, not the healer.
Paul asserts in chapter 7 that Torah is not the problem; the problem is sin. Note that he almost always uses the word in the singular; we are not talking about peccadilloes but a power, almost personified, which is capable of reign and dominion (6:14). Sin is in fact a power that enslaves those it is able to trick and capture (6:15-23). The locus of this slavery is the "flesh," i.e., the human being in its natural condition (7:14), and the symptom of this slavery is death (5:21; 6:23). And though sin is powerful, it is dormant apart from Torah, which enables it to be known (4:15; 5:13; 7:8). The problem is that while Torah can reveal sin, it can do nothing to prevent it, and nothing to liberate those who have been enslaved by its power (which includes, Paul believes, all of us, 6:23). The commandments tell us what sin is, but they cannot heal us of it (7:7-13).
The only solution to the power of sin is to die to sin (7:1-6). Even if you keep Torah faithfully, as Paul did, life will not spring from Torah, simply because it is not to be found there. Life comes through Jesus Christ. Specifically, new life is established through death and resurrection, first and foremost Jesus' own death and resurrection (which prove that he is indeed the source of life) and secondly through the believer's own death and resurrection, the identification with Christ in baptism (6:1-14). Our sharing in his death and resurrection leaves us dead to sin and alive to God. It is our relationship with Jesus, not our relationship with Torah, that gives us life.
Our lection details the enslaving power of sin. Sin creates a divided self, as our minds move one way while our flesh (again, to be understood as the entirety of the human being) moves another. The mind acknowledges the goodness of Torah, but the flesh is enslaved by sin, and the power of sin is greater than intellectual assent to Torah (vv. 16, 19, 22, 25). Thus sin becomes a "law" or "rule" of its own, because it cannot be sidestepped (v. 21); it becomes "another law," an alternate Torah that exploits the weakness of human flesh to do its own dirty work (v. 23). So we end up living in a "body of death" (v. 24), which can be freed only by death and resurrection (v. 25). Paul sums it up: "So then, with my mind I am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin" (v. 25). Human beings are divided between the goodness we can recognize, and the evil we cannot help but act out. Paul's solution to human two-sidedness is elaborated in the next chapter: through God's gift of Christ, we have access to the power of the Spirit, which outranks that of sin, resulting in our liberation from slavery (8:1-4).
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Matthew's take on the relation of Jesus and Torah is even more radical than that of Paul, because Matthew sees Jesus as the heir of Moses. Matthew clearly draws on biblical language about Moses. The declaration about the Father and the Son (11:27) is modeled on Exodus 33:12-13. The saying on rest (v. 29) reflects Exodus 33:14. Moses is called "meek" in Numbers 12:2 (cf. v. 29). But, Matthew doesn't stop with painting Jesus to look like Moses. Matthew actually presents Jesus as the personification of Torah itself.
A section on John the Baptist has led the narrative into issues of reward and punishment. Matthew 11:1-19 covers John the Baptist, who, while identified as Elijah (v. 14), is clearly subordinated to Jesus (vv. 1-6). Although John the Baptist is marked as a turning point in salvation history (v. 1), he has been rejected by his contemporaries (vv. 16-19).
Both Jesus and John have actually been rejected by "this generation" (v. 16; cf. 12:38-45; 16:4; 17:17; 23:29-36; 24:34), an allusion to the wilderness generation (Deuteronomy 1:35; 32:5, 20). The issue is "eating and drinking," which is Bible-speak for "excess" (cf. Isaiah 22:13; Matthew 24:38, 49; 1 Corinthians 15:32). The mini-parable about flutes and funerals has two possible interpretations: most commentators see it as an allegory about John the ascetic and Jesus the party-goer, both of whom are dismissed as extremists by "this generation." An alternate and perhaps more likely view is that both groups of children stand for "this generation," who like ill-behaved children pout when neither John nor Jesus play the game they wanted. Ironically, these children claim to represent "wisdom," yet, only the children who accept Jesus will receive true wisdom (v. 25). The "little ones" are Jesus' disciples (cf. 18:6; 21:6, 9), who correspond to the "gentle and humble" Jesus himself (v. 29).
The end of the section about the Baptist contains the key to understanding what comes next: "Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds" (v. 19). Clearly, Matthew has Jesus equating himself with a personified Wisdom (cf. Proverbs 8-9; Wisdom 7-8); her deeds are his deeds (cf. 11:2-6). When you consider that Wisdom was equated with Torah (Sirach 24:43), Matthew's picture becomes quite extraordinary. Jesus is himself the personification of Torah. This is confirmed by a close examination of the rest of the passage. We have already noted the allusions to Moses. The language of revelation in verse 27 reflects Wisdom tradition, for only God knows Wisdom (Job 28:12-27; Sirach 1:6-9; Baruch 3:32), and vice-versa (Wisdom 9:1-18; 10:10). The saying in verse 28 is also modeled on sayings about Wisdom (cf. Sirach 24:19; 51:23, 26-27). And when Jesus speaks of his "yoke," he is using language that the rabbis reserved for Torah (vv. 29-30, cf. 23:4; Jeremiah 5:5; Acts 15:10); Torah was like the yoke used to guide and harness farm animals. Now Jesus himself offers that same yoke to those who would come to him.
Matthew thus draws Jesus as both Torah and Torah-giver, the new Moses and the substance of the teaching. Those who come to him will receive sabbath-rest, not because they will have leisure, but because they will be guided to their true purpose. The yoke of Jesus' instruction proves surprisingly light, because there is no friction: it directs us in the proper paths and distributes the weight evenly upon us. It is light and easy because it is the way of God, the way we were meant to be.
Application
There are many lenses through which to look at the Bible, and many ways to perceive God's covenant. If it were not so, life would be dull indeed, and the Christian life merely a matter of repeating memorized tracts. Biblical theology does not necessarily fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, and that is its glory. The multiple avenues of access ensure that the covenant remains a living tradition, not a dead and dusty regulation.
The living tradition of the scripture is clearly demonstrated in these very disparate lections. In Genesis, we view God's action on a historical scale, part of a larger narrative that looks forward even as it glances back. Paul allows access to God's point of view on a different level, not through narrative but through argument; he sees the covenant as pointing toward Jesus. And finally, Matthew gives us a completely new take on the covenant, as seen from the perspective of Jesus looking back. What he sees is indeed a living tradition, for it lives in him.
Alternative Applications
1) Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67. Divine guidance is not incompatible with human freedom as far as the Bible is concerned. There is no doubt in Abraham's mind that God has led him thus far, and would lead his servant to the next step: "The Lord, the God of heaven, who took me from my father's house and from the land of my birth, and who spoke to me and swore to me, 'To your offspring I will give this land,' he will send his angel before you, and you shall take a wife for my son from there" (24:7). The servant himself depends on divine guidance: "Then I bowed my head and worshiped the Lord, and blessed the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who had led me by the right way to obtain the daughter of my master's kinsman for his son" (v. 48). Even the avaricious Laban can see that "The thing comes from the Lord" (v. 50). Yet, at each step along the way, human beings act under their own volition. Foremost among them is Rebekah herself, whose simple reply to the question says volumes about her: "I will walk" (v. 58).
2) Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30. Normally we expect Matthew to tell us homey little stories about sowers and seed, farmers and tax collectors. Here, however, he speaks with a voice we would be more likely to expect from the Gospel of John: "All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him" (11:27). The verse is actually shared with Luke, however (cf. Luke 10:21-22). It is a reminder that linear schemes in history are usually inadequate; it would be a mistake to say that Matthew reflects a less-developed Christology than John. It would be more accurate to say that Matthew developed a different Christology for a different place and time; for the Jewish Christians who populated Matthew's church, it was important to understand the precise relationship between Jesus and Torah. Matthew showed them that there was nothing incompatible in their messianism, for Torah was properly understood only through Jesus, who was not only the true interpreter of Torah, but also the fulfillment and personification of it.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 45:1-17
Perhaps some worshipers will remember the pomp and circumstance connected with the wedding of Charles, Prince of Wales, to Lady Diana Spencer on July 29, 1981. This event, televised around the world, attracted vast numbers of viewers. Golden vestments, an elegant, one-of-a-kind, designer wedding dress, swords and sashes, multiple choirs, the rumbling organ of Westminster Abbey -- their wedding had it all. There were even choir anthems composed especially for the occasion.
Psalm 45 displays the superscript, "Ode for a Royal Wedding." It's an ancient version of the anthems composed for the wedding of Charles and Diana -- and, from its colorful description, it appears that ancient Israel's royal wedding festivities were every bit as elaborate as a royal wedding today. Verses 1-9 -- not part of the lectionary reading -- provide some of that colorful detail. This king is handsome and full of grace. His elegant sword and sharp arrows are a sign of his eagerness to fight for justice. His throne and his scepter, his rich garments fragrant with the aroma of anointing-oil, the soaring melodies of stringed instruments -- these details bear witness to the joy and gravity of this solemn occasion.
Beside the king stands his queen, attired in garments of equal majesty. The portion of this psalm that is today's lectionary reading is addressed to her. Its goal is to encourage her to bow down and honor the king, showering him with praises and offering herself as the vessel by which he will have many sons.
The one who speaks is a royal scribe. Evidently more than a mere recorder of legal documents, this man is a court poet. This is a rare psalm, in that the identity of the author peeks through the veil that usually separates him from the subject matter. We can sense the scribe's awe and excitement, as he finds himself close enough to the wedding pageantry to witness this notable event.
So where is the sermon in this passage? To those who live in secular democracies, it would appear that this psalm belongs to the "state" side of the famous church-and-state divide. Yet, in ancient Israel, there was no such division. Israel was a theocracy, and the king was viewed as God's chief agent on earth. The celebration of a royal wedding was overflowing with theological as well as civil significance.
Translating that significance into language modern people can grasp is a difficult task -- one that many preachers will decide to sidestep, in favor of the more readily preachable texts provided this week by the lectionary. For those who do undertake the challenge, it would be fruitful to contrast the extravagantly positive language of this psalm with the reality of kingly rule. Even David -- whom all regard as representing at the pinnacle of Israel's monarchy -- acted cruelly at times and fell into very public sin. The advice of Psalm 118:9 is wise, reflecting a more realistic assessment: "It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes."
There is something in us that urges us to seek salvation from rulers of government -- but there is no ultimate salvation to be found there. Psalm 145 is a cautionary tale, for no human king could ever fulfill the hopes and dreams it expresses. Only a future king of Israel will be able to do that: and this king will wear a crown not of gold, but of thorns.
Our lections this morning show that "covenant" was not an idea but a living tradition -- not a concept that demanded assent, but a way of being that demanded a creative response to the vagaries of life. Thus, we find Rebekah re-enacting the part of Abraham as the covenant passes from one generation to the next. We find Paul explaining how the Sinai covenant can't do everything that has been claimed for it, and we find Matthew painting the covenant with Moses in the new colors of Jesus.
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
While our lection takes snippets from the longest chapter in the book of Genesis, the preacher would do well to become familiar with the entirety of this leisurely told narrative that gives pride of place to speeches rather than events, using detailed repetition to push the story along and give it suspense and resolution. The story centers on the literary convention of the betrothal at the well (cf. Jacob and Rachel, 29:1-14; Moses and Zipporah, Exodus 2:15-22; there are parallels, also, in Ugaritic literature and John 4). The hints of humor along the way (for example, the avaricious portrait of Laban, or Rachel's hustling to water the camels) might provide a little spice for the sermon; sometimes the best sermon stories are those of scripture itself.
The story is in transition between Abraham and Isaac (cf. the similar transition scenes of Jacob in chapters 34-35 and Joseph in 47-50). The transition is spurred by three major events. The first spur is the death of Isaac's mother, Sarah, which leaves the position of clan matriarch open for Rebekah, whom Isaac will love as a mother-substitute (24:67). The second spur is the virtual deathbed scene of Abraham in 24:1-9. While Abraham doesn't actually die until 25:7-11, these are his last words in the story (and the original version may have recounted his death after v. 9 or v. 61). Clearly, Abraham has ceded the leadership of the clan to Isaac, who now owns all of his possessions (v. 36) and is called "my master" by Abraham's servant (v. 65). Isaac is on his own in the promised land, with no mother, no father, and no family, until Rebekah comes to complete the covenant with children. The third spur of the transition is their marriage.
The marriage of Isaac and Rebekah rounds out the Abraham cycle, recapping the promise and fulfillment of the covenant. The language of the original covenant (12:1-7) is reiterated in 24:1-9. The marriage will fulfill God's promise to Abraham of many descendents (vv. 7, 27, 50-51, 60). The theme of "blessing" moves from Abraham (v. 1) through his servant (v. 31) to the family of Laban and Rebekah herself (v. 60).
Another theme through the story is the prosperity brought to Abraham by God because of the covenant (vv. 21, 40, 42, 56). Further echoes of covenant language are found in the references to loyalty and fidelity (vv. 12, 14, 27, 49). It is actually Rebekah, not Isaac, who follows Abraham's footsteps in response to God's call, moving from the tent of her mother (v. 28) in Haran in upper Mesopotamia to that of her mother-in-law in the Negeb (v. 67). Rebekah's words of assent to the marriage (literally "I will walk," v. 58), echo the original command to Abraham to "walk" to the promised land (21:1), and the blessing her family uses to send her off echoes the blessing God once gave to Abraham (22:17).
The theme of divine providence is at the forefront of the story. The hidden hand of God is invoked again and again (vv. 7, 21, 27, 40, 42, 48, 56). The guiding angel that leads Abraham's servant to the well can be discerned only by faith (v. 40), and yet the human actors are also important in moving the drama along. The unnamed servant shows his wisdom and worthiness as he speaks, subtly persuading Rebekah's family by embellishing Abraham's prosperity (vv. 1, 35), omitting unseemly details in Abraham's original charge (such as his refusal to let Isaac himself travel to Haran, vv. 6, 38-40), and emphasizing Rebekah's desirable pedigree in the retelling of their meeting (vv. 46-47). Laban, too, propels the story along, taking one look at the jewelry given to his sister and saying, "Yes" (thus the narrator hints at his future role in the story as the greedy exploiter of Jacob).
But it is Rebekah herself who becomes the prominent character in the story. She is tested and proven true; her personal qualities of helpfulness, kindness, hospitality, care for animals, as well as her beauty and availability, commend her as a proper wife for Isaac, who indeed responds to her with love (vv. 14-21, 67). A hint of their future relationship is found not only in her forthrightness (v. 58), but also her Herculean camel-watering (the anachronistic reference to camels is quite amusing, since Rebekah would have really have had to hustle to bring enough water for ten thirsty camels in her little jug). In their marriage, Isaac would prove to be the most passive of patriarchs, while Rebekah would be pro-active in ensuring the family's future.
Romans 7:15-25a
Paul picks up the discussion of the covenant tradition at another major turning point: the giving of the law (or Torah) to Moses. What place did Torah have under the new covenant that Jesus initiated in his body and blood? Paul's contention is that Torah definitely has an important place in Christianity -- just not the place many people thought.
Paul's thought here is perhaps obscured rather than elucidated by his use of an exemplary first-person style. Many commentators have tried to interpret this passage autobiographically, but the truth is that Paul was not talking so much about his personal experience as he was making an argument. Indeed, personally, Paul clearly saw himself as a good Jew, a commendable Pharisee who was able to observe Torah (cf. Acts 22:3; Galatians 1:14; Philippians 3:6). His use of "I" is not meant to be taken as personal history, but as part of the form of the particular kind of argument he makes in Romans. The "I" makes the argument less abstract, as if it were acted out on a stage rather than merely spoken about.
This section of the argument actually stretches back to 6:1, where Paul begins to take up objections to his theology and deal with them one by one. By chapter 7, he has arrived at the issue of Torah, which for Paul the Pharisee was perfect and holy (7:12). However, as a Christian, Paul had a problem with Torah, for it taught that Jesus not only lived as a sinner, but also died accursed (Galatians 3:13). How could such a man be Messiah? Obviously, the place of Torah in the life of a Christian must be re-thought. The problem was not with Torah per se, but with the claims made for it, in particular, that Torah could bring life. However, Jesus' death and resurrection prove this to be a false conclusion; only God can bring life, and God chose to bring it to one who was cursed by Torah. In fact, wasn't the notion of the ability of human beings to give themselves life by doing the works of Torah another instance of human arrogance before the God who is the sole source of all being? Torah has been over-sold as healing medicine; it can do no such thing. What then is the purpose of Torah? It is merely the diagnostician, not the healer.
Paul asserts in chapter 7 that Torah is not the problem; the problem is sin. Note that he almost always uses the word in the singular; we are not talking about peccadilloes but a power, almost personified, which is capable of reign and dominion (6:14). Sin is in fact a power that enslaves those it is able to trick and capture (6:15-23). The locus of this slavery is the "flesh," i.e., the human being in its natural condition (7:14), and the symptom of this slavery is death (5:21; 6:23). And though sin is powerful, it is dormant apart from Torah, which enables it to be known (4:15; 5:13; 7:8). The problem is that while Torah can reveal sin, it can do nothing to prevent it, and nothing to liberate those who have been enslaved by its power (which includes, Paul believes, all of us, 6:23). The commandments tell us what sin is, but they cannot heal us of it (7:7-13).
The only solution to the power of sin is to die to sin (7:1-6). Even if you keep Torah faithfully, as Paul did, life will not spring from Torah, simply because it is not to be found there. Life comes through Jesus Christ. Specifically, new life is established through death and resurrection, first and foremost Jesus' own death and resurrection (which prove that he is indeed the source of life) and secondly through the believer's own death and resurrection, the identification with Christ in baptism (6:1-14). Our sharing in his death and resurrection leaves us dead to sin and alive to God. It is our relationship with Jesus, not our relationship with Torah, that gives us life.
Our lection details the enslaving power of sin. Sin creates a divided self, as our minds move one way while our flesh (again, to be understood as the entirety of the human being) moves another. The mind acknowledges the goodness of Torah, but the flesh is enslaved by sin, and the power of sin is greater than intellectual assent to Torah (vv. 16, 19, 22, 25). Thus sin becomes a "law" or "rule" of its own, because it cannot be sidestepped (v. 21); it becomes "another law," an alternate Torah that exploits the weakness of human flesh to do its own dirty work (v. 23). So we end up living in a "body of death" (v. 24), which can be freed only by death and resurrection (v. 25). Paul sums it up: "So then, with my mind I am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin" (v. 25). Human beings are divided between the goodness we can recognize, and the evil we cannot help but act out. Paul's solution to human two-sidedness is elaborated in the next chapter: through God's gift of Christ, we have access to the power of the Spirit, which outranks that of sin, resulting in our liberation from slavery (8:1-4).
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Matthew's take on the relation of Jesus and Torah is even more radical than that of Paul, because Matthew sees Jesus as the heir of Moses. Matthew clearly draws on biblical language about Moses. The declaration about the Father and the Son (11:27) is modeled on Exodus 33:12-13. The saying on rest (v. 29) reflects Exodus 33:14. Moses is called "meek" in Numbers 12:2 (cf. v. 29). But, Matthew doesn't stop with painting Jesus to look like Moses. Matthew actually presents Jesus as the personification of Torah itself.
A section on John the Baptist has led the narrative into issues of reward and punishment. Matthew 11:1-19 covers John the Baptist, who, while identified as Elijah (v. 14), is clearly subordinated to Jesus (vv. 1-6). Although John the Baptist is marked as a turning point in salvation history (v. 1), he has been rejected by his contemporaries (vv. 16-19).
Both Jesus and John have actually been rejected by "this generation" (v. 16; cf. 12:38-45; 16:4; 17:17; 23:29-36; 24:34), an allusion to the wilderness generation (Deuteronomy 1:35; 32:5, 20). The issue is "eating and drinking," which is Bible-speak for "excess" (cf. Isaiah 22:13; Matthew 24:38, 49; 1 Corinthians 15:32). The mini-parable about flutes and funerals has two possible interpretations: most commentators see it as an allegory about John the ascetic and Jesus the party-goer, both of whom are dismissed as extremists by "this generation." An alternate and perhaps more likely view is that both groups of children stand for "this generation," who like ill-behaved children pout when neither John nor Jesus play the game they wanted. Ironically, these children claim to represent "wisdom," yet, only the children who accept Jesus will receive true wisdom (v. 25). The "little ones" are Jesus' disciples (cf. 18:6; 21:6, 9), who correspond to the "gentle and humble" Jesus himself (v. 29).
The end of the section about the Baptist contains the key to understanding what comes next: "Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds" (v. 19). Clearly, Matthew has Jesus equating himself with a personified Wisdom (cf. Proverbs 8-9; Wisdom 7-8); her deeds are his deeds (cf. 11:2-6). When you consider that Wisdom was equated with Torah (Sirach 24:43), Matthew's picture becomes quite extraordinary. Jesus is himself the personification of Torah. This is confirmed by a close examination of the rest of the passage. We have already noted the allusions to Moses. The language of revelation in verse 27 reflects Wisdom tradition, for only God knows Wisdom (Job 28:12-27; Sirach 1:6-9; Baruch 3:32), and vice-versa (Wisdom 9:1-18; 10:10). The saying in verse 28 is also modeled on sayings about Wisdom (cf. Sirach 24:19; 51:23, 26-27). And when Jesus speaks of his "yoke," he is using language that the rabbis reserved for Torah (vv. 29-30, cf. 23:4; Jeremiah 5:5; Acts 15:10); Torah was like the yoke used to guide and harness farm animals. Now Jesus himself offers that same yoke to those who would come to him.
Matthew thus draws Jesus as both Torah and Torah-giver, the new Moses and the substance of the teaching. Those who come to him will receive sabbath-rest, not because they will have leisure, but because they will be guided to their true purpose. The yoke of Jesus' instruction proves surprisingly light, because there is no friction: it directs us in the proper paths and distributes the weight evenly upon us. It is light and easy because it is the way of God, the way we were meant to be.
Application
There are many lenses through which to look at the Bible, and many ways to perceive God's covenant. If it were not so, life would be dull indeed, and the Christian life merely a matter of repeating memorized tracts. Biblical theology does not necessarily fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, and that is its glory. The multiple avenues of access ensure that the covenant remains a living tradition, not a dead and dusty regulation.
The living tradition of the scripture is clearly demonstrated in these very disparate lections. In Genesis, we view God's action on a historical scale, part of a larger narrative that looks forward even as it glances back. Paul allows access to God's point of view on a different level, not through narrative but through argument; he sees the covenant as pointing toward Jesus. And finally, Matthew gives us a completely new take on the covenant, as seen from the perspective of Jesus looking back. What he sees is indeed a living tradition, for it lives in him.
Alternative Applications
1) Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67. Divine guidance is not incompatible with human freedom as far as the Bible is concerned. There is no doubt in Abraham's mind that God has led him thus far, and would lead his servant to the next step: "The Lord, the God of heaven, who took me from my father's house and from the land of my birth, and who spoke to me and swore to me, 'To your offspring I will give this land,' he will send his angel before you, and you shall take a wife for my son from there" (24:7). The servant himself depends on divine guidance: "Then I bowed my head and worshiped the Lord, and blessed the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who had led me by the right way to obtain the daughter of my master's kinsman for his son" (v. 48). Even the avaricious Laban can see that "The thing comes from the Lord" (v. 50). Yet, at each step along the way, human beings act under their own volition. Foremost among them is Rebekah herself, whose simple reply to the question says volumes about her: "I will walk" (v. 58).
2) Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30. Normally we expect Matthew to tell us homey little stories about sowers and seed, farmers and tax collectors. Here, however, he speaks with a voice we would be more likely to expect from the Gospel of John: "All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him" (11:27). The verse is actually shared with Luke, however (cf. Luke 10:21-22). It is a reminder that linear schemes in history are usually inadequate; it would be a mistake to say that Matthew reflects a less-developed Christology than John. It would be more accurate to say that Matthew developed a different Christology for a different place and time; for the Jewish Christians who populated Matthew's church, it was important to understand the precise relationship between Jesus and Torah. Matthew showed them that there was nothing incompatible in their messianism, for Torah was properly understood only through Jesus, who was not only the true interpreter of Torah, but also the fulfillment and personification of it.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 45:1-17
Perhaps some worshipers will remember the pomp and circumstance connected with the wedding of Charles, Prince of Wales, to Lady Diana Spencer on July 29, 1981. This event, televised around the world, attracted vast numbers of viewers. Golden vestments, an elegant, one-of-a-kind, designer wedding dress, swords and sashes, multiple choirs, the rumbling organ of Westminster Abbey -- their wedding had it all. There were even choir anthems composed especially for the occasion.
Psalm 45 displays the superscript, "Ode for a Royal Wedding." It's an ancient version of the anthems composed for the wedding of Charles and Diana -- and, from its colorful description, it appears that ancient Israel's royal wedding festivities were every bit as elaborate as a royal wedding today. Verses 1-9 -- not part of the lectionary reading -- provide some of that colorful detail. This king is handsome and full of grace. His elegant sword and sharp arrows are a sign of his eagerness to fight for justice. His throne and his scepter, his rich garments fragrant with the aroma of anointing-oil, the soaring melodies of stringed instruments -- these details bear witness to the joy and gravity of this solemn occasion.
Beside the king stands his queen, attired in garments of equal majesty. The portion of this psalm that is today's lectionary reading is addressed to her. Its goal is to encourage her to bow down and honor the king, showering him with praises and offering herself as the vessel by which he will have many sons.
The one who speaks is a royal scribe. Evidently more than a mere recorder of legal documents, this man is a court poet. This is a rare psalm, in that the identity of the author peeks through the veil that usually separates him from the subject matter. We can sense the scribe's awe and excitement, as he finds himself close enough to the wedding pageantry to witness this notable event.
So where is the sermon in this passage? To those who live in secular democracies, it would appear that this psalm belongs to the "state" side of the famous church-and-state divide. Yet, in ancient Israel, there was no such division. Israel was a theocracy, and the king was viewed as God's chief agent on earth. The celebration of a royal wedding was overflowing with theological as well as civil significance.
Translating that significance into language modern people can grasp is a difficult task -- one that many preachers will decide to sidestep, in favor of the more readily preachable texts provided this week by the lectionary. For those who do undertake the challenge, it would be fruitful to contrast the extravagantly positive language of this psalm with the reality of kingly rule. Even David -- whom all regard as representing at the pinnacle of Israel's monarchy -- acted cruelly at times and fell into very public sin. The advice of Psalm 118:9 is wise, reflecting a more realistic assessment: "It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes."
There is something in us that urges us to seek salvation from rulers of government -- but there is no ultimate salvation to be found there. Psalm 145 is a cautionary tale, for no human king could ever fulfill the hopes and dreams it expresses. Only a future king of Israel will be able to do that: and this king will wear a crown not of gold, but of thorns.
