Don't mention it?
Commentary
Saying "thank you" is something we do ten, twenty, thirty times a day. We say "thank you" to be the waitress who brings a cup of coffee to get the day started; "thank you" to the person who holds the door open; "thank you" to the member of the family who volunteers to do the dishes.
"Thank you" is a part of life. We say it without thinking. We do it because we appreciate this or that deed, this person or that one.
Yet it is strange how reluctant we are sometimes to acknowledge such thanks when it's said to us. "It was nothing." "Don't mention it." These are the responses that have become part of our language, and they seem to reject the importance of giving thanks. It's true in other languages, too. In German, danke schoen is followed by bitte = "please" or nichts zu danken = "nothing to thank about." One responds to Hebrew toda raba with bvakesha = "please." In Greek "thank you" is efkaristo and the response is parakalo = "please."
I suppose the reason why our language tends to put off an expression of thanks is to indicate the thing was done, the gift was given, freely -- without an expectation of any thanks. It's a way of saying that there were no conditions or obligations in the giving, and so "don't mention it."
That's the way our languages are built, but I doubt that we are. When we do something for, when we give something to, someone else, that "thank you" is important. If it's missing, in fact, it seems that something is wrong with the relationship. If I hold a door for a stranger and that person simply walks through without an expression of thanks, I wonder to myself where his or her manners are, or what side of bed he or she got up on this morning. The fact of the matter is, when a gift is given and an expression of gratitude follows, there's something of a relationship that takes place.
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Our pericope concludes that long section of the Book of Deuteronomy called the Code (chapters 12-26). The Code itself, as well as the preceding and the following material, is purported to come from the mouth of Moses as his last will and testament. According to the book's structure, Moses stood in the Plain of Moab just prior to his death and there reminded the people of all that transpired at Mount Horeb (alias Sinai) some forty years earlier. Modern scholarship dates the Book of Deuteronomy much later, though not at a particular time because it is clear that many different layers have covered the original scroll, probably the one discovered by Josiah's people in 621 B.C. and written half a century to a century earlier.
This section of the final chapter of the Code prescribes the ritual for the offering of the first fruits of the harvest. Such commands and ordinances appear elsewhere. At two places in the ancient Book of the Covenant (Exodus 21-23) the law requires the people to bring the choicest of the first fruits of the ground to the house of the Lord (Exodus 23:19; 34:26). According to Levitucus 23:10 a sheaf of the first fruits of the harvest will suffice, while at Numbers 15:20 the first batch of bread dough is to be offered.
This entire practice of offering the first fruits of the harvest is based upon the assumption that the land itself from which the harvest grows is the Lord's and that the Lord enabled the crops to grow by providing rain in due season. The ritual probably derived originally from the Canaanites, for whom the fertility of the ground (and everything else) was the essence of their religion. For those ancient neighbors of Israel the god who lavished the people with such abundance was, of course, Baal. For them Baal was the owner of the land, the one who brought the rain to fertilize the crops, and the one to whom offerings were due.
For Israel, however, the liturgical articulation of their motive was not the fertilization of the land by Yahweh, although in other places Yahweh did claim -- against Baal -- to be the one "who gave her the grain, the wine, and the oil" (Hosea 2:8; see also the opposite effect of withdrawing rain by Yahweh at Haggai 1:11). On the contrary, the motive for the offering of first fruits was stated simply: "Today I declare to the Lord your God that I have come into the land that the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us" (v. 3). The gift of the land rather than the constant fertilization of the soil brought the worshiper into the temple. Salvation history was the motivating factor.
The longer response occupies the central focus of our lesson. Verses 5-9 is a recital of that salvation history, beginning with the time of the patriarch Jacob and continuing until the present time when the gift of land could be experienced as productive. Whether these verses comprise an ancient historical creed out of which developed the narratives of the Hexateuch or whether they are a later summary of those lengthy narratives, the basic issues are the exodus and the gift of the land.
Verse 5 itself describes the ancestor of Israel as "a wandering Aramean." The patriarch Jacob was connected to Arameans in two ways. First, his mother Rebekah had a brother who seems to wear the label "Laban the Aramean," and from that designation we can trace at least half of Jacob's DNA. Second, after spending some years working for Uncle Laban the Aramean, Jacob married two of his daughters, Leah and Rachel. In short, we can be certain about the identity of the wandering Aramean. His descent to Egypt is, of course, a major function of the Joseph story in the final dozen chapters of the Book of Genesis. Moreover, the Book of Exodus opens with a paragraph that provides a few more details but parallels our verse rather precisely.
Verse 6 tells in one verse the first chapters of the Book of Exodus, about the enslavement of the Israelites and their harsh treatment at the hands of the Egyptians. Verse 7 reports that in response to that enslavement, "we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors." The "crying out" is a technical term for a cry for help in the face of injustice or oppression. The word appears in the same context in the words of the Lord to Moses at the burning bush (Exodus 3:7) and in other contexts at Judges 3:9, 15; 1 Samuel 9:16; Isaiah 30:18-19. As reported to Moses in Exodus 3, the Lord heard their outcry and saw their oppression. Therein lies the good news: Israel's God is one who listens to the cries of the oppressed. Yahweh takes the side not of the powerful but of the vulnerable.
As a result of that hearing and seeing, the Lord acted in a twofold way. First, the Lord "brought us out" of that land with signs and wonders that recall the plagues upon Egypt, the slaughter of the Pharaoh's firstborn son, the deliverance at the sea (v. 8). Second, the Lord "brought us in" to this land that flows with milk and honey. The "bring out -- bring in" formula characterizes one historical recital after another. See the similar creed at Deuteronomy 6:20-23, one recited as explanation to children about why the people of Israel keep the commandments. Or look at the longer version at Joshua 24:2-13 which provides the historical basis for the devotion of the twelve tribes to one Lord. In each case and in many others (see Psalm 105, 106, 135, 136), the "bring out -- bring in" formula summarizes the exodus tradition told in narrative at Exodus 1-15 and the tradition about the settlement (or conquest) of the land under Joshua.
This basic recital of salvation history provides the liturgical basis for the offering, and the one making that offering ties into the formula directly by saying, "So now I bring in the first fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me" (v. 10). Once that offering is set down in the temple, the worshiper joins the Levite priests and the sojourners in their midst for a party of some magnitude.
Throughout the confessional recital the worshiper speaks of the exodus and land traditions as though they were his own experience, even though this same creed about what the Lord did for "me" and "us" echoed in the temple halls for centuries afterward. The identification of the present worshiper with the ancestors who actually experienced those events provides a clue about the extension of community to include both the past and the future. That ongoing experience of salvation and of the gift of the land led Israelites of all generations to bring their offering of thanks to the Lord.
And the Lord never said, "Don't mention it." Not even once!
Philippians 4:4-9
Paul's Letter to the Philippians is a particularly personal message that is directed to people who love him. The feeling was obviously mutual, and with good reason. The congregation in Philippi held a place in Paul's heart as near and dear as a first love. In fact, the congregation in that city was the first one established by Paul on the European continent, and contact between founder and congregation continued over the years. Often this connection was maintained through personal visits, often by Epaphroditus, and through gifts of money that supported Paul's ministry here and there.
Paul's initial visit to Philippi must have occurred about A.D. 49. The record of that visit in Acts 16:6-40 cites the call through Paul's vision of the Macedonian, the meeting of Lydia, the trouble Paul and Silas caused when they exorcized a demon from a young girl, causing her owners to lose money in their fortune-telling trade and causing Paul and Silas to get beaten and thrown into prison. Having brought the jailer to faith, the two were released by the magistrates and asked to leave the city. Certainly personal connections were made, and specific individuals are cited as particularly meaningful to Paul and Silas.
None of that experience recorded in the Book of Acts connects to anything in the letter, although even thoughts about the people there caused Paul to "thank my God" (1:3). Paul is grateful that the Christians there "hold me in your heart" (1:7), and so he longs "for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus" (1:8). With words like that confronting us, we readers might get the impression we are reading someone else's love letter.
At least that is the tone of 1:1--2:30 and 4:10-23. The material between those blocks is of such a different tone that scholars have proposed that two letters have been merged here. The love letter was written to express Paul's gratitude for their partnership in the gospel; the other, 3:1--4:9, was occasioned by the invasion of other Christian teachers, indelicately called "dogs," "evil workers," and "those who mutilate the flesh" (2:3). These people were undermining the gospel Paul had taught the Philippians, and so, fearful for their fidelity and jealous for their partnership, Paul wrote the second letter.
Our pericope concludes that second letter. It is filled with exhortations that are intended to help the Philippian Christians keep the faith.
Verse 4 commands the people to rejoice in the Lord, and as though the readers would miss the instruction, Paul adds, "Again I will say, Rejoice!" From one point of view, the verse sounds comical. How can he order people to be happy? Is joy something that can be ordered? On the other hand, rejoicing in the Lord is not simply a matter of emotion. It is a conviction that in spite of what is happening in the world, the people can await in confidence the Savior who will come from heaven to transform their bodies to be like his (3:20-21).
One can indeed rejoice in the Lord with a disciplined joy. Every preacher knows what that is like. Every week comes that time to prepare the sermon for Sunday morning. Perhaps you set aside a specific day or part of a day for sermon preparation. You do not have the luxury of waiting to become inspired. You simply get to the task, and in the process the Holy Spirit works so that the word of God can be proclaimed. In the same way Paul ordered his readers to rejoice in the Lord, knowing that in their rejoicing they would find joy.
Throughout the combined letter, Paul speaks often of joy. He himself is filled with joy as he prays for them (1:4) and continues to rejoice (1:18), and in that process he is confident that as he rejoices with them, they will rejoice with him (2:17-18). They will also rejoice at the return of Epaphroditus following his illness (2:28), and Paul rejoices in the revival of their concern for him (4:10). Strikingly, all this rejoicing occurs even as Paul writes this letter from a prison cell (1:12-14), for even there he recognizes that others have been encouraged through his imprisonment to speak the word of God more boldly.
Such joy in the face of personal tragedy is possible for Paul because "the Lord is near" (4:5). This nearness of the Lord is not spatial proximity but temporal imminence, just as Jesus' announcement that the kingdom has come near (Mark 1:15) finishes his thought that "the time is fulfilled." The soon-to-be event of Christ coming from heaven (3:20-21) resounded through several of Paul's letters, because he expected Christ to come again even in his own lifetime (1 Corinthians 15:51-57; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). That expectation put everything else in perspective for Paul, and he encourages his readers to follow suit.
For that reason they can set aside anxiety about everything (v. 6). Paul's instruction here sounds like the teaching of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about what your body, what you will wear ... But strive for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given as well" (Matthew 6:25-33). Paul finds the remedy for anxiety in the privilege God gives us in prayer: "In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God." Praying for what they need is to occur in the context of thanksgiving for what they had already received. What God had done in the cross of Jesus Christ and what God has continued to do for us out of parental grace and love causes us to raise our hearts in thanksgiving and enables us to ask continuously for what we need in this life. On the basis of that exhortation we can be confident that God will not respond to our expressions of thanksgiving by saying, "Nichts zu danken."
Paul concludes the paragraph and the thought about anxiety by promising that God's peace, as unfathomable as it is (see Romans 11:33), will guard their "hearts and minds in Christ Jesus" (v. 7). In an older liturgy the words of this verse were often used to conclude a sermon. Personally I appreciated the opportunity to remind myself and the congregation that indeed God's peace does surpass all our comprehension, all our rationality, all our imagination. The gospel of Jesus Christ is so contrary to human reason that it is absurd from a human point of view. Martin Luther drove that point home when he offered his catechetical explanation to the Third Article of the Apostles' Creed. "I believe that by my own reason or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ or come to him." Luther went on to explain that the only way to partake in this theater of the absurd called the church was through the inspiring work of the Holy Spirit.
The apostle concludes this section of the letter (probably the end of letter two) with the instruction to employ all the principles known in that ancient Greek and Roman world to be virtuous: "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise." The word translated by NRSV as "excellence" is the Greek word arete, better translated "virtue." That was the most comprehensive word for ethics in the Greek world, the highest good in Stoicism. Paul's inclusion of that term at the conclusion of his list of pagan ethical principles demonstrates that Christians can appropriate such sound virtues as responsible ways to live in this world. Even though they are not distinctively Christian, imagine the negative impact on the world if Christians did not adhere to such basic expectations of society. While according to NRSV Paul's readers were to "think about these things," the Greek word encourages (as NRSV's footnote allows) "taking them into account" in their decision-making and behavior.
By continuing to follow Paul's example (see 3:17), the Philippian Christians can count on not merely the peace of God (v. 7) but the God of peace in their midst, as they await the coming of Christ.
John 6:25-35
By the time we arrive at this point in the sixth chapter of John's Gospel, Jesus had already fed the 5,000 with five barley loaves and two fish and had walked on the sea. The first miracle was experienced by the crowds, some of whom wanted to make him a king; the second known only by the disciples in a boat. It is to the first that our pericope draws our attention once more.
Having returned to the west side of the sea where Capernaum is located, Jesus was found by the crowd who could not figure out where he had gone. They asked him -- not as a king but as a rabbi -- "when did you come here?" On one level, Jesus did not answer their question at all. He did not indicate the time of day when he crossed from the one side of the sea to the other. But his response does seem to lead in a different direction, a higher one, namely to an allusion to his real origin. The author of John's Gospel, of course, focuses on that question repeatedly. He opened his Gospel with his profound understanding that the word that became flesh existed from the beginning with God and as God. At 7:28, in response to where he comes from, Jesus announced to the shocked crowd that God had sent him. Here in our pericope Jesus indicates that "on him God the Father has set his seal" (v. 27). He will continue to speak of his origin in heaven.
Yet the searching and the questioning by the crowds gave Jesus the opportunity to distinguish between the food we eat now, the food that perishes, and the food that endures for eternal life. The latter, Jesus told them, is the food for which they should work. The issue arose here because the crowds had seen with their eyes the miracle of the loaves and the fish, but they were not able to grasp the meaning behind it. We might caricature their experience as seeing but not envisioning, for "faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1). They had seen a sign on the road to the kingdom, but while they could read the words, they did not grasp its significance.
To Jesus' teaching that the work they must do is "believe in him whom he has sent," the crowds -- not even realizing they had already seen the sign -- asked for one. They cited the experience of their ancestors in the wilderness, namely, that "he gave them bread to eat" (v. 31). Upon reading their plea and the example they gave, we readers must wonder if these people were the same ones who experienced the miracle on the other side of the sea! But Jesus, like a typical rabbi, jumped at the opportunity to teach them that "he" in their own statement does not refer to Moses but to God, no, even more specifically, to "my Father."
As Jesus sets them up for the coming "I am" saying, he tells them "the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to this world" (v. 34). By now the crowds are salivating. "Sir, give us this bread always."
What follows is astonishing! Jesus claims to be "the bread of life," and then promises: "Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." In terms of the thirsty, the words have a familiar ring. In chapter 4, as Jesus spoke with the woman at the well in Sychar (Shechem, modern-day Nablus), he said that, in contrast to the water from the well, "those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty" (4:14).
Why is all that astonishing? The Gospel of John alone reports that the very same Jesus who promised people they will never be hungry or thirsty uttered from the cross, "I thirst" (19:28). It is perhaps an even more dramatic way of saying what occurs in Matthew 25, namely, that Jesus identified himself with the sick, the imprisoned, the naked, the hungry, and the thirsty. It is the sacrifice of his life on that cross that enables the rest of humankind to feed on the enduring bread and to drink the enduring cup.
On one level, Jesus' nourishing the hungry crowds with bread and fish was a visual expression of the petition he taught in the prayer: "Give us this day our daily bread." The utterance of those words acknowledges that God is the provider of our daily sustenance. Beyond the "fruited plains" and "amber waves of grain" is the God who makes the soil productive and the seeds grow and the sun shine and the rain fall. Everything that we eat is God's gift, and as we eat, we acknowledge with thanksgiving the Divine Provider.
On another level, Jesus' explanation of the feeding miracle to the crowds who pursued him raised their vision beyond the sight of nutritional food. He pointed them to himself as the meal that nourishes people for life eternal.
The latter point focuses our attention on our present-day health food craze. It's a rare day when we don't receive news about food. Either there's a shipment of ground beef that contains the E coli bacteria that could kill us, or there's another report about foods that are believed to prevent this or that disease or malfunctioning in our bodies.
Recent studies make striking connections between food and heart disease. It appears that the real demon in heart problems might not be cholesterol but homocystine, which can damage the walls of our arteries. The way to prevent the buildup of that nasty stuff is to eat plenty of cooked beans, spinach, and orange juice. As for cholesterol itself, avoid saturated fat. Blood pressure can be helped by bananas, potatoes, and more spinach.
Over the past couple of years some people have taken to Vitamin E as a means to prevent oxidation in our cells. It's kind of like rusting away with age. And so we tend to prevent the aging process from doing us in by what we eat for breakfast and swallow with our orange juice.
It's not a modern phenomenon.
Almost 5,000 years ago there was first composed in Mesopotamia a story about a man named Gilgamesh -- a prince who had everything life had to offer -- riches, physical strength, a good friend named En-kidu. Then one day, En-kidu died, and so the question of life and death occurred to Gilgamesh for the first time. He remembered that his uncle Uta-napishtim had survived the proverbial flood and had been granted by the gods life that lasted forever. Gilgamesh went off to find his uncle and learned from him not only the story of the flood but the location of a plant of life that would help Gilgamesh live forever. The young king went off on a long journey, found the plant at the bottom of the sea, and headed for home. But the hot sun of the Mesopotamian desert forced the king to set down the plant and go for a refreshing swim. When he pulled himself out of the pool, he discovered that a snake had eaten his plant. And so, of course, in due time Gilgamesh died. He had for a moment the plant of life, but the food of immortality slipped down the wrong throat.
We do not need to go any further than the Bible to see just about the same thing. In the Garden of Eden God placed two special trees -- one was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and the other was the tree of life by which humanity could live forever. Unfortunately, Adam and Even chose to eat of the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and so they were expelled from the garden before they could eat of the tree of life. To make certain they could never sneak back in to eat of that tree, too, God placed quite a barrier in the way. "And at the east of the Garden of Eden God placed the cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life."
The barrier to the food of life was lifted when Jesus said of himself, "I am the ultimate health food. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
Imagine that! All this searching for the way to life forever! And in the church it's offered as a free gift on a silver platter. It's the sacrament we call the Lord's Supper. And every time we eat of this true health food we are already beginning life eternal. According to John's Gospel, eternal life is not simply out there somewhere to be experienced as "future shock." It's right here, beginning now for all who eat the food that "gives life to the world."
As we give our thanks for the gift of daily food and for the food of eternal life, do not imagine for a minute that God will respond to our thanks by saying, "It was nothing." The gift, after all, cost God a Son.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Thanksgiving is a response to what God has done. It is not centered primarily in how we feel, so that there can be times when we do not feel thankful. And it is not an expression of gratitude for what we have been able to accomplish, so that we remain the subject of the action. No. Thanksgiving, according to the scriptures, has as its motivation, center, and subject the actions of the Lord. And because that is true, we can always give thanks.
Thanksgiving is, moreover, in the scriptures a public witness to the actions of God. The Israelites of the Old Testament never felt that God had been properly thanked for his deeds unless they told others about what God had done and thus glorified God's name in the eyes of others. So it is that we find in the Psalms of Thanksgiving public testimonies to what God has performed, and the necessity of telling others about those acts.
"Come and hear, all you who fear God, and I will tell what he has done for me." (Psalm 66:16; cf. Psalm 116:14, 18-19).
The case is similar here with regard to our text for the morning. There is no doubt in this passage as to who is the subject of thanks. It is "the Lord your God" -- a phrase repeated eight times, and the whole passage centers on God's deeds. In fulfillment of his promise to the patriarchs (v. 3), God has given the worshiper the land (v. 1) and all its produce (v. 11). He has chosen the place where thanks is to be rendered, namely in Jerusalem (v. 2). He has multiplied the descendants of Israel, and delivered them from bondage in Egypt, leading them through the terrors of the wilderness, and bringing them into the promised land, flowing with milk and honey (vv. 5-9). And so God is to be thanked and praised in joy (v. 11) for all his saving acts.
That thanks takes the form of the offering of the first fruits of produce from the land which the Lord God has given the worshiper. In recognition of the fact that the land belongs not to Israel, but to the Lord (Leviticus 25:23; Exodus 20:8-11), the law of Israel stipulates that all first fruits of the ground are to be offered to the Lord (Exodus 23:19; 34:26). And that offering, here in our text, takes the form of a public ceremony in the temple, in which the worshiper brings his gifts and makes the public confession of faith that is found in vv. 5-9.
The confession that we find in these latter verses is probably one of the oldest confessions to be found in the Old Testament. It follows the narrative of Israel's history that we find in the Hexateuch, or first six books, of the Bible. And by the events that are mentioned, it shows us what Israel considered to be the absolutely decisive acts of God in her past history: the wanderings of the patriarch Jacob, who went down to Egypt; the multiplication of the population in Egypt; the attention of God to his enslaved people's cries for deliverance; the Lord's redemption of them out of slavery, "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror, with signs and wonders"; and his gift of the promised land to them in the time of Joshua.
Those are the principal acts of God that formed Israel's faith in the beginning and that sustained her through all of the following years. None of them were acts on Israel's behalf that she deserved. And, as Deuteronomy 7:6-8 states, all were done by God for two reasons. First, he heeded Israel's cries for redemption from slavery simply because he chose Israel to be his special people and he loved them. Second, he redeemed Israel and led her to the promised land in order to fulfill the promise that he first gave to Abraham. At the core here of Israel's faith is a confession that testifies that her God is a faithful God, keeping his promise, and a loving God, bestowing his grace on a people who has done nothing to deserve it.
Are we not also able to make such a confession, that God has chosen us to be his people simply out of love, apart from any deserving on our part, and then has redeemed us also from our slavery -- not our slavery in Egypt, but our slavery to sin and death by the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ? We Christians too have a past full of the saving acts of God, to which we can make grateful response on this Thanksgiving Day. We confess all of those acts every time we recite the Apostles' Creed together: "his only Son our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried. He descended into hell. The third day he rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father. From thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead." Oh yes, we too have a confession of faith that tells publicly of all the deeds that God has done on our behalf.
Some of you also have a private confession that you can make, do you not -- an account of the acts of love that God has worked in your own particular life? How he has granted you gifts and good running over, preserved your spirit through trouble and suffering, guided you away from temptation, or given you the certain hope, when you have lost a loved one, that death never marks a final good-bye? I think we all could at this moment make a public acknowledgement of the mercies that God has shown to us. I hope you tell other people about those deeds of the Lord your God, and thus bring glory to his name.
But above all else, we Christians have those basic facts about God's acts in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ that form the very center, motivation, and content of our faith. And that brings us to the most startling aspect of our text for the morning.
If you will listen carefully to this text, you will notice that the pronouns suddenly change, as the confession is recited. The worshiper starts off talking about the past. "A wandering Aramean was my father; and he went down into Egypt ... and there he became a nation...." But then suddenly, the account becomes personal; the pronouns change: "And the Egyptians treated us harshly, and ... we cried to the Lord ... and the Lord heard our voice...." Suddenly the past is no longer past for this Israelite worshiper. It has become his present. He is there in Egypt; the Lord has delivered him from slavery, and brought him into the promised land.
And that is the way the story of our salvation in the Bible also works for us. When we read the New Testament accounts of the Last Supper, for example, that is not a meal taking place in the past. Suddenly we are there, eating and drinking with our Lord, receiving his new covenant in his blood, but also hearing that one of us will betray him. Or when we hear the story of the crucifixion, are we not also there at the foot of the cross, hearing Jesus' final prayer, "Father, forgive them..."? And do we not find ourselves also forgiven by that sacrifice? The Negro spiritual has it right, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" Yes, indeed, we were there. And "sometimes it causes me to tremble."
God's merciful acts of salvation, recorded for us in the scriptures, are not just past events. They are also deeds done for us right now, "this day," as our text says (v. 3). We now are chosen by God to be his special people. Our cries to him for deliverance are now, this day, heard by him. And we now, undeserving though we may be, are delivered from our slavery to all of our sins, and from our final slavery to the power of death.
So give thanks to God on this Thanksgiving Day, good Christians. For he has delivered us "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm." Praise his name, and glorify him forever!
"Thank you" is a part of life. We say it without thinking. We do it because we appreciate this or that deed, this person or that one.
Yet it is strange how reluctant we are sometimes to acknowledge such thanks when it's said to us. "It was nothing." "Don't mention it." These are the responses that have become part of our language, and they seem to reject the importance of giving thanks. It's true in other languages, too. In German, danke schoen is followed by bitte = "please" or nichts zu danken = "nothing to thank about." One responds to Hebrew toda raba with bvakesha = "please." In Greek "thank you" is efkaristo and the response is parakalo = "please."
I suppose the reason why our language tends to put off an expression of thanks is to indicate the thing was done, the gift was given, freely -- without an expectation of any thanks. It's a way of saying that there were no conditions or obligations in the giving, and so "don't mention it."
That's the way our languages are built, but I doubt that we are. When we do something for, when we give something to, someone else, that "thank you" is important. If it's missing, in fact, it seems that something is wrong with the relationship. If I hold a door for a stranger and that person simply walks through without an expression of thanks, I wonder to myself where his or her manners are, or what side of bed he or she got up on this morning. The fact of the matter is, when a gift is given and an expression of gratitude follows, there's something of a relationship that takes place.
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Our pericope concludes that long section of the Book of Deuteronomy called the Code (chapters 12-26). The Code itself, as well as the preceding and the following material, is purported to come from the mouth of Moses as his last will and testament. According to the book's structure, Moses stood in the Plain of Moab just prior to his death and there reminded the people of all that transpired at Mount Horeb (alias Sinai) some forty years earlier. Modern scholarship dates the Book of Deuteronomy much later, though not at a particular time because it is clear that many different layers have covered the original scroll, probably the one discovered by Josiah's people in 621 B.C. and written half a century to a century earlier.
This section of the final chapter of the Code prescribes the ritual for the offering of the first fruits of the harvest. Such commands and ordinances appear elsewhere. At two places in the ancient Book of the Covenant (Exodus 21-23) the law requires the people to bring the choicest of the first fruits of the ground to the house of the Lord (Exodus 23:19; 34:26). According to Levitucus 23:10 a sheaf of the first fruits of the harvest will suffice, while at Numbers 15:20 the first batch of bread dough is to be offered.
This entire practice of offering the first fruits of the harvest is based upon the assumption that the land itself from which the harvest grows is the Lord's and that the Lord enabled the crops to grow by providing rain in due season. The ritual probably derived originally from the Canaanites, for whom the fertility of the ground (and everything else) was the essence of their religion. For those ancient neighbors of Israel the god who lavished the people with such abundance was, of course, Baal. For them Baal was the owner of the land, the one who brought the rain to fertilize the crops, and the one to whom offerings were due.
For Israel, however, the liturgical articulation of their motive was not the fertilization of the land by Yahweh, although in other places Yahweh did claim -- against Baal -- to be the one "who gave her the grain, the wine, and the oil" (Hosea 2:8; see also the opposite effect of withdrawing rain by Yahweh at Haggai 1:11). On the contrary, the motive for the offering of first fruits was stated simply: "Today I declare to the Lord your God that I have come into the land that the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us" (v. 3). The gift of the land rather than the constant fertilization of the soil brought the worshiper into the temple. Salvation history was the motivating factor.
The longer response occupies the central focus of our lesson. Verses 5-9 is a recital of that salvation history, beginning with the time of the patriarch Jacob and continuing until the present time when the gift of land could be experienced as productive. Whether these verses comprise an ancient historical creed out of which developed the narratives of the Hexateuch or whether they are a later summary of those lengthy narratives, the basic issues are the exodus and the gift of the land.
Verse 5 itself describes the ancestor of Israel as "a wandering Aramean." The patriarch Jacob was connected to Arameans in two ways. First, his mother Rebekah had a brother who seems to wear the label "Laban the Aramean," and from that designation we can trace at least half of Jacob's DNA. Second, after spending some years working for Uncle Laban the Aramean, Jacob married two of his daughters, Leah and Rachel. In short, we can be certain about the identity of the wandering Aramean. His descent to Egypt is, of course, a major function of the Joseph story in the final dozen chapters of the Book of Genesis. Moreover, the Book of Exodus opens with a paragraph that provides a few more details but parallels our verse rather precisely.
Verse 6 tells in one verse the first chapters of the Book of Exodus, about the enslavement of the Israelites and their harsh treatment at the hands of the Egyptians. Verse 7 reports that in response to that enslavement, "we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors." The "crying out" is a technical term for a cry for help in the face of injustice or oppression. The word appears in the same context in the words of the Lord to Moses at the burning bush (Exodus 3:7) and in other contexts at Judges 3:9, 15; 1 Samuel 9:16; Isaiah 30:18-19. As reported to Moses in Exodus 3, the Lord heard their outcry and saw their oppression. Therein lies the good news: Israel's God is one who listens to the cries of the oppressed. Yahweh takes the side not of the powerful but of the vulnerable.
As a result of that hearing and seeing, the Lord acted in a twofold way. First, the Lord "brought us out" of that land with signs and wonders that recall the plagues upon Egypt, the slaughter of the Pharaoh's firstborn son, the deliverance at the sea (v. 8). Second, the Lord "brought us in" to this land that flows with milk and honey. The "bring out -- bring in" formula characterizes one historical recital after another. See the similar creed at Deuteronomy 6:20-23, one recited as explanation to children about why the people of Israel keep the commandments. Or look at the longer version at Joshua 24:2-13 which provides the historical basis for the devotion of the twelve tribes to one Lord. In each case and in many others (see Psalm 105, 106, 135, 136), the "bring out -- bring in" formula summarizes the exodus tradition told in narrative at Exodus 1-15 and the tradition about the settlement (or conquest) of the land under Joshua.
This basic recital of salvation history provides the liturgical basis for the offering, and the one making that offering ties into the formula directly by saying, "So now I bring in the first fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me" (v. 10). Once that offering is set down in the temple, the worshiper joins the Levite priests and the sojourners in their midst for a party of some magnitude.
Throughout the confessional recital the worshiper speaks of the exodus and land traditions as though they were his own experience, even though this same creed about what the Lord did for "me" and "us" echoed in the temple halls for centuries afterward. The identification of the present worshiper with the ancestors who actually experienced those events provides a clue about the extension of community to include both the past and the future. That ongoing experience of salvation and of the gift of the land led Israelites of all generations to bring their offering of thanks to the Lord.
And the Lord never said, "Don't mention it." Not even once!
Philippians 4:4-9
Paul's Letter to the Philippians is a particularly personal message that is directed to people who love him. The feeling was obviously mutual, and with good reason. The congregation in Philippi held a place in Paul's heart as near and dear as a first love. In fact, the congregation in that city was the first one established by Paul on the European continent, and contact between founder and congregation continued over the years. Often this connection was maintained through personal visits, often by Epaphroditus, and through gifts of money that supported Paul's ministry here and there.
Paul's initial visit to Philippi must have occurred about A.D. 49. The record of that visit in Acts 16:6-40 cites the call through Paul's vision of the Macedonian, the meeting of Lydia, the trouble Paul and Silas caused when they exorcized a demon from a young girl, causing her owners to lose money in their fortune-telling trade and causing Paul and Silas to get beaten and thrown into prison. Having brought the jailer to faith, the two were released by the magistrates and asked to leave the city. Certainly personal connections were made, and specific individuals are cited as particularly meaningful to Paul and Silas.
None of that experience recorded in the Book of Acts connects to anything in the letter, although even thoughts about the people there caused Paul to "thank my God" (1:3). Paul is grateful that the Christians there "hold me in your heart" (1:7), and so he longs "for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus" (1:8). With words like that confronting us, we readers might get the impression we are reading someone else's love letter.
At least that is the tone of 1:1--2:30 and 4:10-23. The material between those blocks is of such a different tone that scholars have proposed that two letters have been merged here. The love letter was written to express Paul's gratitude for their partnership in the gospel; the other, 3:1--4:9, was occasioned by the invasion of other Christian teachers, indelicately called "dogs," "evil workers," and "those who mutilate the flesh" (2:3). These people were undermining the gospel Paul had taught the Philippians, and so, fearful for their fidelity and jealous for their partnership, Paul wrote the second letter.
Our pericope concludes that second letter. It is filled with exhortations that are intended to help the Philippian Christians keep the faith.
Verse 4 commands the people to rejoice in the Lord, and as though the readers would miss the instruction, Paul adds, "Again I will say, Rejoice!" From one point of view, the verse sounds comical. How can he order people to be happy? Is joy something that can be ordered? On the other hand, rejoicing in the Lord is not simply a matter of emotion. It is a conviction that in spite of what is happening in the world, the people can await in confidence the Savior who will come from heaven to transform their bodies to be like his (3:20-21).
One can indeed rejoice in the Lord with a disciplined joy. Every preacher knows what that is like. Every week comes that time to prepare the sermon for Sunday morning. Perhaps you set aside a specific day or part of a day for sermon preparation. You do not have the luxury of waiting to become inspired. You simply get to the task, and in the process the Holy Spirit works so that the word of God can be proclaimed. In the same way Paul ordered his readers to rejoice in the Lord, knowing that in their rejoicing they would find joy.
Throughout the combined letter, Paul speaks often of joy. He himself is filled with joy as he prays for them (1:4) and continues to rejoice (1:18), and in that process he is confident that as he rejoices with them, they will rejoice with him (2:17-18). They will also rejoice at the return of Epaphroditus following his illness (2:28), and Paul rejoices in the revival of their concern for him (4:10). Strikingly, all this rejoicing occurs even as Paul writes this letter from a prison cell (1:12-14), for even there he recognizes that others have been encouraged through his imprisonment to speak the word of God more boldly.
Such joy in the face of personal tragedy is possible for Paul because "the Lord is near" (4:5). This nearness of the Lord is not spatial proximity but temporal imminence, just as Jesus' announcement that the kingdom has come near (Mark 1:15) finishes his thought that "the time is fulfilled." The soon-to-be event of Christ coming from heaven (3:20-21) resounded through several of Paul's letters, because he expected Christ to come again even in his own lifetime (1 Corinthians 15:51-57; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). That expectation put everything else in perspective for Paul, and he encourages his readers to follow suit.
For that reason they can set aside anxiety about everything (v. 6). Paul's instruction here sounds like the teaching of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount. "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about what your body, what you will wear ... But strive for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given as well" (Matthew 6:25-33). Paul finds the remedy for anxiety in the privilege God gives us in prayer: "In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God." Praying for what they need is to occur in the context of thanksgiving for what they had already received. What God had done in the cross of Jesus Christ and what God has continued to do for us out of parental grace and love causes us to raise our hearts in thanksgiving and enables us to ask continuously for what we need in this life. On the basis of that exhortation we can be confident that God will not respond to our expressions of thanksgiving by saying, "Nichts zu danken."
Paul concludes the paragraph and the thought about anxiety by promising that God's peace, as unfathomable as it is (see Romans 11:33), will guard their "hearts and minds in Christ Jesus" (v. 7). In an older liturgy the words of this verse were often used to conclude a sermon. Personally I appreciated the opportunity to remind myself and the congregation that indeed God's peace does surpass all our comprehension, all our rationality, all our imagination. The gospel of Jesus Christ is so contrary to human reason that it is absurd from a human point of view. Martin Luther drove that point home when he offered his catechetical explanation to the Third Article of the Apostles' Creed. "I believe that by my own reason or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ or come to him." Luther went on to explain that the only way to partake in this theater of the absurd called the church was through the inspiring work of the Holy Spirit.
The apostle concludes this section of the letter (probably the end of letter two) with the instruction to employ all the principles known in that ancient Greek and Roman world to be virtuous: "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise." The word translated by NRSV as "excellence" is the Greek word arete, better translated "virtue." That was the most comprehensive word for ethics in the Greek world, the highest good in Stoicism. Paul's inclusion of that term at the conclusion of his list of pagan ethical principles demonstrates that Christians can appropriate such sound virtues as responsible ways to live in this world. Even though they are not distinctively Christian, imagine the negative impact on the world if Christians did not adhere to such basic expectations of society. While according to NRSV Paul's readers were to "think about these things," the Greek word encourages (as NRSV's footnote allows) "taking them into account" in their decision-making and behavior.
By continuing to follow Paul's example (see 3:17), the Philippian Christians can count on not merely the peace of God (v. 7) but the God of peace in their midst, as they await the coming of Christ.
John 6:25-35
By the time we arrive at this point in the sixth chapter of John's Gospel, Jesus had already fed the 5,000 with five barley loaves and two fish and had walked on the sea. The first miracle was experienced by the crowds, some of whom wanted to make him a king; the second known only by the disciples in a boat. It is to the first that our pericope draws our attention once more.
Having returned to the west side of the sea where Capernaum is located, Jesus was found by the crowd who could not figure out where he had gone. They asked him -- not as a king but as a rabbi -- "when did you come here?" On one level, Jesus did not answer their question at all. He did not indicate the time of day when he crossed from the one side of the sea to the other. But his response does seem to lead in a different direction, a higher one, namely to an allusion to his real origin. The author of John's Gospel, of course, focuses on that question repeatedly. He opened his Gospel with his profound understanding that the word that became flesh existed from the beginning with God and as God. At 7:28, in response to where he comes from, Jesus announced to the shocked crowd that God had sent him. Here in our pericope Jesus indicates that "on him God the Father has set his seal" (v. 27). He will continue to speak of his origin in heaven.
Yet the searching and the questioning by the crowds gave Jesus the opportunity to distinguish between the food we eat now, the food that perishes, and the food that endures for eternal life. The latter, Jesus told them, is the food for which they should work. The issue arose here because the crowds had seen with their eyes the miracle of the loaves and the fish, but they were not able to grasp the meaning behind it. We might caricature their experience as seeing but not envisioning, for "faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1). They had seen a sign on the road to the kingdom, but while they could read the words, they did not grasp its significance.
To Jesus' teaching that the work they must do is "believe in him whom he has sent," the crowds -- not even realizing they had already seen the sign -- asked for one. They cited the experience of their ancestors in the wilderness, namely, that "he gave them bread to eat" (v. 31). Upon reading their plea and the example they gave, we readers must wonder if these people were the same ones who experienced the miracle on the other side of the sea! But Jesus, like a typical rabbi, jumped at the opportunity to teach them that "he" in their own statement does not refer to Moses but to God, no, even more specifically, to "my Father."
As Jesus sets them up for the coming "I am" saying, he tells them "the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to this world" (v. 34). By now the crowds are salivating. "Sir, give us this bread always."
What follows is astonishing! Jesus claims to be "the bread of life," and then promises: "Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." In terms of the thirsty, the words have a familiar ring. In chapter 4, as Jesus spoke with the woman at the well in Sychar (Shechem, modern-day Nablus), he said that, in contrast to the water from the well, "those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty" (4:14).
Why is all that astonishing? The Gospel of John alone reports that the very same Jesus who promised people they will never be hungry or thirsty uttered from the cross, "I thirst" (19:28). It is perhaps an even more dramatic way of saying what occurs in Matthew 25, namely, that Jesus identified himself with the sick, the imprisoned, the naked, the hungry, and the thirsty. It is the sacrifice of his life on that cross that enables the rest of humankind to feed on the enduring bread and to drink the enduring cup.
On one level, Jesus' nourishing the hungry crowds with bread and fish was a visual expression of the petition he taught in the prayer: "Give us this day our daily bread." The utterance of those words acknowledges that God is the provider of our daily sustenance. Beyond the "fruited plains" and "amber waves of grain" is the God who makes the soil productive and the seeds grow and the sun shine and the rain fall. Everything that we eat is God's gift, and as we eat, we acknowledge with thanksgiving the Divine Provider.
On another level, Jesus' explanation of the feeding miracle to the crowds who pursued him raised their vision beyond the sight of nutritional food. He pointed them to himself as the meal that nourishes people for life eternal.
The latter point focuses our attention on our present-day health food craze. It's a rare day when we don't receive news about food. Either there's a shipment of ground beef that contains the E coli bacteria that could kill us, or there's another report about foods that are believed to prevent this or that disease or malfunctioning in our bodies.
Recent studies make striking connections between food and heart disease. It appears that the real demon in heart problems might not be cholesterol but homocystine, which can damage the walls of our arteries. The way to prevent the buildup of that nasty stuff is to eat plenty of cooked beans, spinach, and orange juice. As for cholesterol itself, avoid saturated fat. Blood pressure can be helped by bananas, potatoes, and more spinach.
Over the past couple of years some people have taken to Vitamin E as a means to prevent oxidation in our cells. It's kind of like rusting away with age. And so we tend to prevent the aging process from doing us in by what we eat for breakfast and swallow with our orange juice.
It's not a modern phenomenon.
Almost 5,000 years ago there was first composed in Mesopotamia a story about a man named Gilgamesh -- a prince who had everything life had to offer -- riches, physical strength, a good friend named En-kidu. Then one day, En-kidu died, and so the question of life and death occurred to Gilgamesh for the first time. He remembered that his uncle Uta-napishtim had survived the proverbial flood and had been granted by the gods life that lasted forever. Gilgamesh went off to find his uncle and learned from him not only the story of the flood but the location of a plant of life that would help Gilgamesh live forever. The young king went off on a long journey, found the plant at the bottom of the sea, and headed for home. But the hot sun of the Mesopotamian desert forced the king to set down the plant and go for a refreshing swim. When he pulled himself out of the pool, he discovered that a snake had eaten his plant. And so, of course, in due time Gilgamesh died. He had for a moment the plant of life, but the food of immortality slipped down the wrong throat.
We do not need to go any further than the Bible to see just about the same thing. In the Garden of Eden God placed two special trees -- one was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and the other was the tree of life by which humanity could live forever. Unfortunately, Adam and Even chose to eat of the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and so they were expelled from the garden before they could eat of the tree of life. To make certain they could never sneak back in to eat of that tree, too, God placed quite a barrier in the way. "And at the east of the Garden of Eden God placed the cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life."
The barrier to the food of life was lifted when Jesus said of himself, "I am the ultimate health food. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
Imagine that! All this searching for the way to life forever! And in the church it's offered as a free gift on a silver platter. It's the sacrament we call the Lord's Supper. And every time we eat of this true health food we are already beginning life eternal. According to John's Gospel, eternal life is not simply out there somewhere to be experienced as "future shock." It's right here, beginning now for all who eat the food that "gives life to the world."
As we give our thanks for the gift of daily food and for the food of eternal life, do not imagine for a minute that God will respond to our thanks by saying, "It was nothing." The gift, after all, cost God a Son.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Thanksgiving is a response to what God has done. It is not centered primarily in how we feel, so that there can be times when we do not feel thankful. And it is not an expression of gratitude for what we have been able to accomplish, so that we remain the subject of the action. No. Thanksgiving, according to the scriptures, has as its motivation, center, and subject the actions of the Lord. And because that is true, we can always give thanks.
Thanksgiving is, moreover, in the scriptures a public witness to the actions of God. The Israelites of the Old Testament never felt that God had been properly thanked for his deeds unless they told others about what God had done and thus glorified God's name in the eyes of others. So it is that we find in the Psalms of Thanksgiving public testimonies to what God has performed, and the necessity of telling others about those acts.
"Come and hear, all you who fear God, and I will tell what he has done for me." (Psalm 66:16; cf. Psalm 116:14, 18-19).
The case is similar here with regard to our text for the morning. There is no doubt in this passage as to who is the subject of thanks. It is "the Lord your God" -- a phrase repeated eight times, and the whole passage centers on God's deeds. In fulfillment of his promise to the patriarchs (v. 3), God has given the worshiper the land (v. 1) and all its produce (v. 11). He has chosen the place where thanks is to be rendered, namely in Jerusalem (v. 2). He has multiplied the descendants of Israel, and delivered them from bondage in Egypt, leading them through the terrors of the wilderness, and bringing them into the promised land, flowing with milk and honey (vv. 5-9). And so God is to be thanked and praised in joy (v. 11) for all his saving acts.
That thanks takes the form of the offering of the first fruits of produce from the land which the Lord God has given the worshiper. In recognition of the fact that the land belongs not to Israel, but to the Lord (Leviticus 25:23; Exodus 20:8-11), the law of Israel stipulates that all first fruits of the ground are to be offered to the Lord (Exodus 23:19; 34:26). And that offering, here in our text, takes the form of a public ceremony in the temple, in which the worshiper brings his gifts and makes the public confession of faith that is found in vv. 5-9.
The confession that we find in these latter verses is probably one of the oldest confessions to be found in the Old Testament. It follows the narrative of Israel's history that we find in the Hexateuch, or first six books, of the Bible. And by the events that are mentioned, it shows us what Israel considered to be the absolutely decisive acts of God in her past history: the wanderings of the patriarch Jacob, who went down to Egypt; the multiplication of the population in Egypt; the attention of God to his enslaved people's cries for deliverance; the Lord's redemption of them out of slavery, "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror, with signs and wonders"; and his gift of the promised land to them in the time of Joshua.
Those are the principal acts of God that formed Israel's faith in the beginning and that sustained her through all of the following years. None of them were acts on Israel's behalf that she deserved. And, as Deuteronomy 7:6-8 states, all were done by God for two reasons. First, he heeded Israel's cries for redemption from slavery simply because he chose Israel to be his special people and he loved them. Second, he redeemed Israel and led her to the promised land in order to fulfill the promise that he first gave to Abraham. At the core here of Israel's faith is a confession that testifies that her God is a faithful God, keeping his promise, and a loving God, bestowing his grace on a people who has done nothing to deserve it.
Are we not also able to make such a confession, that God has chosen us to be his people simply out of love, apart from any deserving on our part, and then has redeemed us also from our slavery -- not our slavery in Egypt, but our slavery to sin and death by the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ? We Christians too have a past full of the saving acts of God, to which we can make grateful response on this Thanksgiving Day. We confess all of those acts every time we recite the Apostles' Creed together: "his only Son our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried. He descended into hell. The third day he rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father. From thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead." Oh yes, we too have a confession of faith that tells publicly of all the deeds that God has done on our behalf.
Some of you also have a private confession that you can make, do you not -- an account of the acts of love that God has worked in your own particular life? How he has granted you gifts and good running over, preserved your spirit through trouble and suffering, guided you away from temptation, or given you the certain hope, when you have lost a loved one, that death never marks a final good-bye? I think we all could at this moment make a public acknowledgement of the mercies that God has shown to us. I hope you tell other people about those deeds of the Lord your God, and thus bring glory to his name.
But above all else, we Christians have those basic facts about God's acts in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ that form the very center, motivation, and content of our faith. And that brings us to the most startling aspect of our text for the morning.
If you will listen carefully to this text, you will notice that the pronouns suddenly change, as the confession is recited. The worshiper starts off talking about the past. "A wandering Aramean was my father; and he went down into Egypt ... and there he became a nation...." But then suddenly, the account becomes personal; the pronouns change: "And the Egyptians treated us harshly, and ... we cried to the Lord ... and the Lord heard our voice...." Suddenly the past is no longer past for this Israelite worshiper. It has become his present. He is there in Egypt; the Lord has delivered him from slavery, and brought him into the promised land.
And that is the way the story of our salvation in the Bible also works for us. When we read the New Testament accounts of the Last Supper, for example, that is not a meal taking place in the past. Suddenly we are there, eating and drinking with our Lord, receiving his new covenant in his blood, but also hearing that one of us will betray him. Or when we hear the story of the crucifixion, are we not also there at the foot of the cross, hearing Jesus' final prayer, "Father, forgive them..."? And do we not find ourselves also forgiven by that sacrifice? The Negro spiritual has it right, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" Yes, indeed, we were there. And "sometimes it causes me to tremble."
God's merciful acts of salvation, recorded for us in the scriptures, are not just past events. They are also deeds done for us right now, "this day," as our text says (v. 3). We now are chosen by God to be his special people. Our cries to him for deliverance are now, this day, heard by him. And we now, undeserving though we may be, are delivered from our slavery to all of our sins, and from our final slavery to the power of death.
So give thanks to God on this Thanksgiving Day, good Christians. For he has delivered us "with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm." Praise his name, and glorify him forever!
