God brought laughter
Commentary
A few years back, the religious media was filled with reports of "holy laughter." Some charismatic churches saw what proponents called a new manifestation of the Holy Spirit, as their members were seized by fits of uncontrollable laughing. Advocates insisted that this was an indication that God was doing a new thing among believers. Critics countered that this new thing was a manifestation of the wrong sort of spirit, and brought about by New Age doctrine and mind control techniques. Outsiders looked at the whole controversy as yet another dumb thing fundamentalists do.
Whatever it was, it was nothing knew. "God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me," said Sarah (Genesis 21:6). Laughter is a gift from God, and comes naturally when there is something to laugh about. Yet as the case of Sarah shows, laughter can also be an expression of doubt and unbelief. How can we know the difference?
Genesis 18:1-15 (21:1-7)
Abraham has had quite a trip. He has left his home in Ur of the Chaldees and moved to Haran, where he was called to a journey even further west to a place he would be shown -- a place that would belong to him and his descendants, as far as the eye could see. He has had his named changed; he has been introduced to the rite of circumcision. He is about to deliberate with God on the problem of Sodom and Gomorrah.
In the midst of all this, God brings laughter. The laughter is double-edged. It springs from doubt, and yet turns into faith. It is denied before it is embraced. It is shamed before the Lord, then recognized as the Lord's doing. Laughter becomes a paradigm of skepticism and belief, sin and repentance, doubt and faith.
The ancient character of the story is indicated by the nature of the theophany, which is manifested by "three men" as well as "the Lord" (Genesis 18:1-2). In Canaanite polytheism, a major deity was often accompanied by two companions; here the Lord is apparently accompanied by two angelic servants (the Christian doctrine of the Trinity would not rear its head for many centuries). There is a bit of narrative irony here, since we, the readers, know that this is a theophany from the first verse, whereas it is not clear that Abraham knows who these visitors really are. He speaks to "My Lord" (the Hebrew text in v. 3 is vocalized to imply that Abraham is speaking to the deity), but these words would have been appropriate for any passing stranger.
Not that Abraham would have treated them any differently had he known exactly who they were. Elaborate hospitality was a part of his culture. It was a major virtue in a time and a place where inns were scarce and restaurants were non-existent. Food itself was comparatively scarce; it was no small thing for Abraham to offer a stranger sustenance. In fact, this is often said to be the true problem at Sodom and Gomorrah: their willingness to abuse visitors was an indication that they lacked the most basic form of virtue, the willingness to shelter the least among them, and thus totally deserved their punishment. As John Calvin once noted, "The great number of inns are evidence of our depravity."
The visitors ask the focal question: "Where is your wife Sarah?" (v. 9). Here again is narrative irony, since the question is ambiguous, and can refer not just to physical location but spiritual status. Where is Sarah, when it comes to God? Where does she stand in faith? Does she believe in the covenant promise of land and children, or not? The promise is now embraced specifically and concretely in Sarah, as the birth announcement provides the high point of the narrative (v. 10). However, Sarah is menopausal; the birth announcement comes as an impossible and unlikely word at the end of a long life of disappointment and deferral (v. 11).
The question of verse 9 is answered in two ways. Where is Sarah? She is listening at the tent entrance (v. 10). And she is laughing (v. 12). Her laughter is cynical; she does not believe the promise. She expresses her doubt openly: "After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure (either in sexual enjoyment or child rearing)?" (v. 12). The promise is too much to ask to believe. It would contradict everything she "knew." She thought of her barrenness as normal. She could not see anything else.
God's response is to call her on her doubt (vv. 13-15). The pathos of the interchange between God and Sarah on the subject of her laughter (v. 15) allows the story to come to a stopping point with the main question suspended: Where is Sarah? God says she stands unbelieving, in cynical laughter. Sarah herself denies it in fear. The "unlaughing" Lord asks a new question: "Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?" (v. 14). It becomes simply a question of whether Sarah can believe that God is God.
The answer has to wait for chapter 21, which begins with a bald statement of the fulfillment of God's promise, along with a reminder of just how wonderful this thing is -- Abraham is 100 years old! (21:4). Now we learn where Sarah is, or rather where she has been brought: somewhere more wonderful than she could have believed (vv. 6-7). In her old age, she would bear and nurse a child. The prospect calls out of her a genuine holy laughter, given by God and meant to be spread to all who hear it. The laughter is enshrined in the name of the son, Isaac (the name is based on the letters of the Hebrew word for "laugh," v. 3). Though at one point her laughter signified doubt, the withered despair of an ancient body, now that same body has brought forth the laughter of faith, as it becomes the embodiment of a promise too wonderful to be true.
Romans 5:1-8
Romans 5 is the center of Paul's argument about the nature of a covenant where God's righteousness makes human beings righteous. He has already drawn on the story of Abraham, showing him to be the father of faith. He now sums up the argument of his first four chapters, and pushes it on to indicate exactly what justification by faith means for us. Paul uses all the rhetorical tools of the ancient diatribal style to make his case; in this section, we will see his use of "climax" (linked series, vv. 3-5), and "amplification" (v. 7).
He begins with an indicative: "We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (v. 1; the textual variant "let us have" is possible, but does not fit the sense of the passage). The foundation of this peace (which is an objective state of being before God, not a feeling or emotion) is the justification or "making right" that is accomplished by the faithful action of Jesus Christ, accompanied by our response of faith in him. Our new state is called a "gift" (NRSV "grace," v. 2) which is "accessed" (a cultic term) in Jesus, resulting in hope, that view of the present which allows us to move into the future (as Sarah discovered in Genesis 21). Through the gift of being made right with God we actually share in that of which human beings by themselves fall short: the glory of God (cf. 3:23).
The climax structure of verses 3-5 roots our hope by step-links to suffering, which is given an optimistic spin: suffering produces endurance. Endurance in turn moves toward proven character, like the refinement of a precious metal (v. 4). Character, in turn, circles back to hope, which does not shame us (v. 5; the notions of "honor" and "shame" were crucial in Paul's society). The foundation of this hope is God's love (v. 5; not our "love for God," but God's favorable behavior toward us). This love is extravagantly and lavishly poured out -- almost wastefully! -- into our hearts via the Holy Spirit (here Paul anticipates ch. 8).
This summary of his argument so far leads Paul to reiterate his thesis (vv. 6-8). Human weakness is a fact; the one thing we can't do is save ourselves. Fortunately, Christ's self-donation on behalf of the weak comes at just the right moment for us. The gift springs from God's own nature, not from any worthiness to be found in any of us; indeed, we are all "ungodly" (v. 6; cf. 3:23). The exact meaning of the amplifying parenthesis in verse 7 is disputed, but the basic meaning is clear enough -- Jesus' vicarious sacrifice is a very rare event! It is proof of God's love (v. 8). Paul reiterates our weakness by calling us sinners (all of us, without exception, cf. 3:23). The proof of God's love for us sinners is that Christ died "for us," meaning "for our sakes" or "for our benefit, " not "in our place." There is no greater evidence of love than this, that one man gave up his life for the weak, the sinner, and the ungodly.
It is no accident that Paul has built this argument on the example of Abraham. Here we have the underlying story behind the relationship of Abraham and God, which turns out to be the underlying story for all of us: the weak are chosen, despite their weakness. They are given the unmerited grace of the promise fulfilled. Whether we believe in the promise or not, it ought to make us laugh.
Matthew 9:35--10:8 (9-23)
What Paul says, Matthew depicts. Jesus stands before the crowd and sees them as sheep without a shepherd, harassed and helpless. The Old Testament image of Israel as "sheep" reflects Jesus' mission "to the lost sheep of the house of Israel," which does not refer to a special group within Israel, but the entire "house" (10:6; 15:24).
The summary of Jesus' ministry (9:35-38) provides a transition from the story of Jesus' works (chs. 8-9) to the parallel ministry of his disciples. What he did, they will now do. It was a common picture in Greco-Roman society: the wandering missionaries (it was the only sure way for news to travel!), complete with a list of the best students. Yet even as Matthew tells the story of those first disciples, he cannot help but reflect his own situation of conflict with the synagogue (note he distances Jesus and the disciples from their fellow Jews by speaking of "them" and "their synagogues").
In some ways, this is a story about neither Jesus' time nor Matthew's time, but the end of time. Matthew uses eschatological imagery throughout the story. It is the time of "the harvest" (cf. 10:15; 13:39), in which even prayer is a missionary activity, since we must pray for more missionaries (9:38). This mission is so urgent that there must be no worldly encumbrances (10:9-10). There is a hint of fire and brimstone, in the allusion to Sodom and Gomorrah (vv. 14-15; note yet another reference to the Abraham story). The prediction of persecution and betrayal is drawn from the eschatological discourse in Mark 13 (vv. 17-18). As in many biblical traditions about the last days, the Holy Spirit plays an important role (vv. 19-20). Matthew finally makes outright mention of "the end" (v. 22), and concludes with a mysterious saying that probably refers to Jesus' return, which Matthew may have expected in short order (v. 23; other scholars speculate that the reference is to Jesus' resurrection appearances, the coming of the Spirit to the disciples, or the destruction of Jerusalem).
Into this life-or-death situation Jesus sends his disciples empowered to do as he did and give the message he gave (10:1, 7-8). That they are numbered twelve shows that this is a mission of restoration to Israel, and the lands of the Gentiles and Samaritans are strictly forbidden (vv. 5-6). They represent the twelve tribes of "lost sheep" (v. 6; cf. 19:28). They are sent in pairs (cf. 18:20, "two or three together") specifically as "apostles" (v. 2; this is the only time Matthew uses this word). They are to work entirely off the kind of hospitality enshrined in the Abraham tradition (vv. 8-15); they are not even to take a staff to ward off thieves or wild animals, nor a second pair of sandals (v. 10), nor are they to seek more comfortable lodgings if they meet with success (v. 11; later Christian regulations for traveling prophets would limit their stays to two or three days, cf. Didache 12). If they were not successful, they were to do what Jews did when returning to Israel from trips to pagan lands: shake the dust off their feet (v. 14).
The difficulty of this mission was in no way minimized. They were sheep among wolves in this mission to lost sheep. They were to be wise and innocent all at once (v. 16). Matthew projects onto them the issues of his own day, but also anticipates the story of Jesus he is about to tell, complete with visits to councils and kings (vv. 17-18). Yet even in the midst of these difficulties, they are to spread the gospel through the Spirit (vv. 18-20). They should expect opposition, even from their own families; this is the nature of the gospel (vv. 21-23). In the end, they will go through all the towns of Israel, but it is not clear whether Matthew means that this will be a result of their missionary work, or simply because they are fleeing persecution. But, if preaching the gospel is to incur opposition, what's the difference?
Application
When the priest sat down on the bus, he noticed the woman across the aisle looking at him rather strangely. Nothing new, he thought -- people stare at the black shirt and collar. At the next stop, the woman rose and headed for the door. But before she stepped off, she turned and said, "Maybe more people would come to church if you priests would smile more often!"
Maybe so. Although the black shirt is a reminder of the sin of the world, not joy. The priest is a priest, not a clown.
Nevertheless, there is plenty to be happy about. The promise to Abraham and Sarah was fulfilled, so that they could become father and mother to all who believe. The gift of Jesus was given to us who were without merit but deeply helpless and in need. In the work of spreading the good news, we have been given the very work of Jesus, to do what he does. It ought to make us laugh, at least once in a while.
In the days when my faith was new, it showed on my face. My friends would ask me why I couldn't stop smiling, what I was so happy about. It was a missionary opportunity, if there ever was one. I guess I couldn't help but laugh.
Alternative Applications
1) Romans 5:1-8. God shows unmerited love toward us. In trying to describe their pastor's sermons, someone said to me, "I always had the feeling I had been doing something wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was." My teacher, Fred Craddock, used to say that too many sermons amounted to nothing more than the preacher fussing at folk. This is hardly the announcement of "good news." The proclamation of the gospel is just that, the announcement of God's free gift of unmerited favor. Never is that so clear as in the Letter to the Romans. Paul portrays humanity as helpful, alienated from God, and without recourse. Nevertheless, God chooses us in Jesus Christ. It is a matter of "grace" in the fullest sense of the word "gift." It is not about what we have or have not done. It is all about what God has done in Christ. Think about that, O Preacher, the next time you are tempted to fuss at your people. Instead of telling them what they are supposed to do, try telling them what God has done for them.
2) Matthew 9:35--10:8 (9-23). Matthew's historical perspective can be problematic for contemporary congregations. Matthew's Jewish-Christian community was in conflict with the Jewish leadership of his own day, and the conflict is reflected in Matthew's telling of Jesus' story. These Jewish Christians had been tossed out of the synagogues and thus forced out of the community. There had been sporadic local opposition to the Jewish believers in Jesus, and perhaps even violence (cf. 10:17). The wider Christian community was rapidly becoming Gentile. Thus Matthew speaks of "their synagogues," as if Jesus and the twelve were not Jewish. Unfortunately, those who lack a historical perspective (most people) may not readily perceive that Matthew would have seen both Jesus and himself as part of the loyal opposition within Judaism, rather than an outside critic. The sad tale of anti-Semitism through the years is in part due to the failure to realize this fact of history: the nastiest fights are often within families. The preacher needs to stress how deeply both Jesus and Matthew were embedded in their Jewish heritage. Matthew represents a renewal movement within Judaism that tries to call it to its highest principles, as it affirms that these principles are embodied in Jesus. Christianity does not degrade or demean Judaism, but looks to it as a foundation and forebear.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 100
(This is the alternative psalm for Proper 6)
This brief psalm is among the most familiar in the Psalter, but that's primarily because its verses have been excerpted in so many hymns and liturgical texts. There is something to be gained from looking at Psalm 100 in its entirety, and trying to recover its ancient liturgical context.
Psalm 100 is a hymn of approach. Very likely pilgrims sang it on their way to Jerusalem, both as they drew near to the holy city and as they actually entered the temple precincts. We can easily imagine those ancient worshipers coming into the Lord's presence "with singing," entering first the "gates" and then each of the temple "courts" in succession. As they do so, songs of praise and thanksgiving like this one are on their lips.
There is something about the act of worship that puts these pilgrims' lives in proper perspective. They know who God is: eternal and self-evident -- "Know that the Lord is God." This is an exclusive claim: Yahweh is the one, true God. It is a very different sort of declaration than the one that many Christians are inclined to make today. According to James Luther Mays, "In Israel's day the question was not, 'Is there a god?' but 'Who is god?' In a profound though culturally different way, that is still the real question. Human beings are intrinsically polytheistic." (Psalms, in the Interpretation series [Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994], p. 319) Human beings today are polytheistic not in the traditional sense of worshiping a pantheon of deities, but rather in adoring all sorts of lesser idols: money, fame, power, and all the rest.
Psalm 100 overflows with exuberant joy. Perhaps more than any other of the 150 psalms, this one captures the joyous spirit of worship. Perhaps we can use it as a sort of standard, to see how our worship measures up.
Joy surprises. It's unexpected. Joy steals upon us when we are not seeking it, when we're going about other business. "Our brightest blazes of gladness," writes Samuel Johnson, "are sometimes kindled by unexpected sparks." Joy is also different from the pleasure that our culture seeks with such desperate, plodding intensity. In the words of C. S. Lewis, "Joy is never within our power, but pleasure often is." Art historian Sister Wendy Becket, in one of her popular BBC television documentaries on great paintings, observed that "joy is not a constant condition. Most people manage a settled cheerfulness, but this -- no matter how admirable -- has nothing to do with joy, which flashes suddenly on our darkness. Like the light in an El Greco painting, joy does not merely illuminate the landscape. It transforms it."
The worshipers on their way to the temple in Jerusalem sing as though they were people being transformed -- which, in a very real sense, they are.
Whatever it was, it was nothing knew. "God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me," said Sarah (Genesis 21:6). Laughter is a gift from God, and comes naturally when there is something to laugh about. Yet as the case of Sarah shows, laughter can also be an expression of doubt and unbelief. How can we know the difference?
Genesis 18:1-15 (21:1-7)
Abraham has had quite a trip. He has left his home in Ur of the Chaldees and moved to Haran, where he was called to a journey even further west to a place he would be shown -- a place that would belong to him and his descendants, as far as the eye could see. He has had his named changed; he has been introduced to the rite of circumcision. He is about to deliberate with God on the problem of Sodom and Gomorrah.
In the midst of all this, God brings laughter. The laughter is double-edged. It springs from doubt, and yet turns into faith. It is denied before it is embraced. It is shamed before the Lord, then recognized as the Lord's doing. Laughter becomes a paradigm of skepticism and belief, sin and repentance, doubt and faith.
The ancient character of the story is indicated by the nature of the theophany, which is manifested by "three men" as well as "the Lord" (Genesis 18:1-2). In Canaanite polytheism, a major deity was often accompanied by two companions; here the Lord is apparently accompanied by two angelic servants (the Christian doctrine of the Trinity would not rear its head for many centuries). There is a bit of narrative irony here, since we, the readers, know that this is a theophany from the first verse, whereas it is not clear that Abraham knows who these visitors really are. He speaks to "My Lord" (the Hebrew text in v. 3 is vocalized to imply that Abraham is speaking to the deity), but these words would have been appropriate for any passing stranger.
Not that Abraham would have treated them any differently had he known exactly who they were. Elaborate hospitality was a part of his culture. It was a major virtue in a time and a place where inns were scarce and restaurants were non-existent. Food itself was comparatively scarce; it was no small thing for Abraham to offer a stranger sustenance. In fact, this is often said to be the true problem at Sodom and Gomorrah: their willingness to abuse visitors was an indication that they lacked the most basic form of virtue, the willingness to shelter the least among them, and thus totally deserved their punishment. As John Calvin once noted, "The great number of inns are evidence of our depravity."
The visitors ask the focal question: "Where is your wife Sarah?" (v. 9). Here again is narrative irony, since the question is ambiguous, and can refer not just to physical location but spiritual status. Where is Sarah, when it comes to God? Where does she stand in faith? Does she believe in the covenant promise of land and children, or not? The promise is now embraced specifically and concretely in Sarah, as the birth announcement provides the high point of the narrative (v. 10). However, Sarah is menopausal; the birth announcement comes as an impossible and unlikely word at the end of a long life of disappointment and deferral (v. 11).
The question of verse 9 is answered in two ways. Where is Sarah? She is listening at the tent entrance (v. 10). And she is laughing (v. 12). Her laughter is cynical; she does not believe the promise. She expresses her doubt openly: "After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure (either in sexual enjoyment or child rearing)?" (v. 12). The promise is too much to ask to believe. It would contradict everything she "knew." She thought of her barrenness as normal. She could not see anything else.
God's response is to call her on her doubt (vv. 13-15). The pathos of the interchange between God and Sarah on the subject of her laughter (v. 15) allows the story to come to a stopping point with the main question suspended: Where is Sarah? God says she stands unbelieving, in cynical laughter. Sarah herself denies it in fear. The "unlaughing" Lord asks a new question: "Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?" (v. 14). It becomes simply a question of whether Sarah can believe that God is God.
The answer has to wait for chapter 21, which begins with a bald statement of the fulfillment of God's promise, along with a reminder of just how wonderful this thing is -- Abraham is 100 years old! (21:4). Now we learn where Sarah is, or rather where she has been brought: somewhere more wonderful than she could have believed (vv. 6-7). In her old age, she would bear and nurse a child. The prospect calls out of her a genuine holy laughter, given by God and meant to be spread to all who hear it. The laughter is enshrined in the name of the son, Isaac (the name is based on the letters of the Hebrew word for "laugh," v. 3). Though at one point her laughter signified doubt, the withered despair of an ancient body, now that same body has brought forth the laughter of faith, as it becomes the embodiment of a promise too wonderful to be true.
Romans 5:1-8
Romans 5 is the center of Paul's argument about the nature of a covenant where God's righteousness makes human beings righteous. He has already drawn on the story of Abraham, showing him to be the father of faith. He now sums up the argument of his first four chapters, and pushes it on to indicate exactly what justification by faith means for us. Paul uses all the rhetorical tools of the ancient diatribal style to make his case; in this section, we will see his use of "climax" (linked series, vv. 3-5), and "amplification" (v. 7).
He begins with an indicative: "We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (v. 1; the textual variant "let us have" is possible, but does not fit the sense of the passage). The foundation of this peace (which is an objective state of being before God, not a feeling or emotion) is the justification or "making right" that is accomplished by the faithful action of Jesus Christ, accompanied by our response of faith in him. Our new state is called a "gift" (NRSV "grace," v. 2) which is "accessed" (a cultic term) in Jesus, resulting in hope, that view of the present which allows us to move into the future (as Sarah discovered in Genesis 21). Through the gift of being made right with God we actually share in that of which human beings by themselves fall short: the glory of God (cf. 3:23).
The climax structure of verses 3-5 roots our hope by step-links to suffering, which is given an optimistic spin: suffering produces endurance. Endurance in turn moves toward proven character, like the refinement of a precious metal (v. 4). Character, in turn, circles back to hope, which does not shame us (v. 5; the notions of "honor" and "shame" were crucial in Paul's society). The foundation of this hope is God's love (v. 5; not our "love for God," but God's favorable behavior toward us). This love is extravagantly and lavishly poured out -- almost wastefully! -- into our hearts via the Holy Spirit (here Paul anticipates ch. 8).
This summary of his argument so far leads Paul to reiterate his thesis (vv. 6-8). Human weakness is a fact; the one thing we can't do is save ourselves. Fortunately, Christ's self-donation on behalf of the weak comes at just the right moment for us. The gift springs from God's own nature, not from any worthiness to be found in any of us; indeed, we are all "ungodly" (v. 6; cf. 3:23). The exact meaning of the amplifying parenthesis in verse 7 is disputed, but the basic meaning is clear enough -- Jesus' vicarious sacrifice is a very rare event! It is proof of God's love (v. 8). Paul reiterates our weakness by calling us sinners (all of us, without exception, cf. 3:23). The proof of God's love for us sinners is that Christ died "for us," meaning "for our sakes" or "for our benefit, " not "in our place." There is no greater evidence of love than this, that one man gave up his life for the weak, the sinner, and the ungodly.
It is no accident that Paul has built this argument on the example of Abraham. Here we have the underlying story behind the relationship of Abraham and God, which turns out to be the underlying story for all of us: the weak are chosen, despite their weakness. They are given the unmerited grace of the promise fulfilled. Whether we believe in the promise or not, it ought to make us laugh.
Matthew 9:35--10:8 (9-23)
What Paul says, Matthew depicts. Jesus stands before the crowd and sees them as sheep without a shepherd, harassed and helpless. The Old Testament image of Israel as "sheep" reflects Jesus' mission "to the lost sheep of the house of Israel," which does not refer to a special group within Israel, but the entire "house" (10:6; 15:24).
The summary of Jesus' ministry (9:35-38) provides a transition from the story of Jesus' works (chs. 8-9) to the parallel ministry of his disciples. What he did, they will now do. It was a common picture in Greco-Roman society: the wandering missionaries (it was the only sure way for news to travel!), complete with a list of the best students. Yet even as Matthew tells the story of those first disciples, he cannot help but reflect his own situation of conflict with the synagogue (note he distances Jesus and the disciples from their fellow Jews by speaking of "them" and "their synagogues").
In some ways, this is a story about neither Jesus' time nor Matthew's time, but the end of time. Matthew uses eschatological imagery throughout the story. It is the time of "the harvest" (cf. 10:15; 13:39), in which even prayer is a missionary activity, since we must pray for more missionaries (9:38). This mission is so urgent that there must be no worldly encumbrances (10:9-10). There is a hint of fire and brimstone, in the allusion to Sodom and Gomorrah (vv. 14-15; note yet another reference to the Abraham story). The prediction of persecution and betrayal is drawn from the eschatological discourse in Mark 13 (vv. 17-18). As in many biblical traditions about the last days, the Holy Spirit plays an important role (vv. 19-20). Matthew finally makes outright mention of "the end" (v. 22), and concludes with a mysterious saying that probably refers to Jesus' return, which Matthew may have expected in short order (v. 23; other scholars speculate that the reference is to Jesus' resurrection appearances, the coming of the Spirit to the disciples, or the destruction of Jerusalem).
Into this life-or-death situation Jesus sends his disciples empowered to do as he did and give the message he gave (10:1, 7-8). That they are numbered twelve shows that this is a mission of restoration to Israel, and the lands of the Gentiles and Samaritans are strictly forbidden (vv. 5-6). They represent the twelve tribes of "lost sheep" (v. 6; cf. 19:28). They are sent in pairs (cf. 18:20, "two or three together") specifically as "apostles" (v. 2; this is the only time Matthew uses this word). They are to work entirely off the kind of hospitality enshrined in the Abraham tradition (vv. 8-15); they are not even to take a staff to ward off thieves or wild animals, nor a second pair of sandals (v. 10), nor are they to seek more comfortable lodgings if they meet with success (v. 11; later Christian regulations for traveling prophets would limit their stays to two or three days, cf. Didache 12). If they were not successful, they were to do what Jews did when returning to Israel from trips to pagan lands: shake the dust off their feet (v. 14).
The difficulty of this mission was in no way minimized. They were sheep among wolves in this mission to lost sheep. They were to be wise and innocent all at once (v. 16). Matthew projects onto them the issues of his own day, but also anticipates the story of Jesus he is about to tell, complete with visits to councils and kings (vv. 17-18). Yet even in the midst of these difficulties, they are to spread the gospel through the Spirit (vv. 18-20). They should expect opposition, even from their own families; this is the nature of the gospel (vv. 21-23). In the end, they will go through all the towns of Israel, but it is not clear whether Matthew means that this will be a result of their missionary work, or simply because they are fleeing persecution. But, if preaching the gospel is to incur opposition, what's the difference?
Application
When the priest sat down on the bus, he noticed the woman across the aisle looking at him rather strangely. Nothing new, he thought -- people stare at the black shirt and collar. At the next stop, the woman rose and headed for the door. But before she stepped off, she turned and said, "Maybe more people would come to church if you priests would smile more often!"
Maybe so. Although the black shirt is a reminder of the sin of the world, not joy. The priest is a priest, not a clown.
Nevertheless, there is plenty to be happy about. The promise to Abraham and Sarah was fulfilled, so that they could become father and mother to all who believe. The gift of Jesus was given to us who were without merit but deeply helpless and in need. In the work of spreading the good news, we have been given the very work of Jesus, to do what he does. It ought to make us laugh, at least once in a while.
In the days when my faith was new, it showed on my face. My friends would ask me why I couldn't stop smiling, what I was so happy about. It was a missionary opportunity, if there ever was one. I guess I couldn't help but laugh.
Alternative Applications
1) Romans 5:1-8. God shows unmerited love toward us. In trying to describe their pastor's sermons, someone said to me, "I always had the feeling I had been doing something wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was." My teacher, Fred Craddock, used to say that too many sermons amounted to nothing more than the preacher fussing at folk. This is hardly the announcement of "good news." The proclamation of the gospel is just that, the announcement of God's free gift of unmerited favor. Never is that so clear as in the Letter to the Romans. Paul portrays humanity as helpful, alienated from God, and without recourse. Nevertheless, God chooses us in Jesus Christ. It is a matter of "grace" in the fullest sense of the word "gift." It is not about what we have or have not done. It is all about what God has done in Christ. Think about that, O Preacher, the next time you are tempted to fuss at your people. Instead of telling them what they are supposed to do, try telling them what God has done for them.
2) Matthew 9:35--10:8 (9-23). Matthew's historical perspective can be problematic for contemporary congregations. Matthew's Jewish-Christian community was in conflict with the Jewish leadership of his own day, and the conflict is reflected in Matthew's telling of Jesus' story. These Jewish Christians had been tossed out of the synagogues and thus forced out of the community. There had been sporadic local opposition to the Jewish believers in Jesus, and perhaps even violence (cf. 10:17). The wider Christian community was rapidly becoming Gentile. Thus Matthew speaks of "their synagogues," as if Jesus and the twelve were not Jewish. Unfortunately, those who lack a historical perspective (most people) may not readily perceive that Matthew would have seen both Jesus and himself as part of the loyal opposition within Judaism, rather than an outside critic. The sad tale of anti-Semitism through the years is in part due to the failure to realize this fact of history: the nastiest fights are often within families. The preacher needs to stress how deeply both Jesus and Matthew were embedded in their Jewish heritage. Matthew represents a renewal movement within Judaism that tries to call it to its highest principles, as it affirms that these principles are embodied in Jesus. Christianity does not degrade or demean Judaism, but looks to it as a foundation and forebear.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 100
(This is the alternative psalm for Proper 6)
This brief psalm is among the most familiar in the Psalter, but that's primarily because its verses have been excerpted in so many hymns and liturgical texts. There is something to be gained from looking at Psalm 100 in its entirety, and trying to recover its ancient liturgical context.
Psalm 100 is a hymn of approach. Very likely pilgrims sang it on their way to Jerusalem, both as they drew near to the holy city and as they actually entered the temple precincts. We can easily imagine those ancient worshipers coming into the Lord's presence "with singing," entering first the "gates" and then each of the temple "courts" in succession. As they do so, songs of praise and thanksgiving like this one are on their lips.
There is something about the act of worship that puts these pilgrims' lives in proper perspective. They know who God is: eternal and self-evident -- "Know that the Lord is God." This is an exclusive claim: Yahweh is the one, true God. It is a very different sort of declaration than the one that many Christians are inclined to make today. According to James Luther Mays, "In Israel's day the question was not, 'Is there a god?' but 'Who is god?' In a profound though culturally different way, that is still the real question. Human beings are intrinsically polytheistic." (Psalms, in the Interpretation series [Louisville: John Knox Press, 1994], p. 319) Human beings today are polytheistic not in the traditional sense of worshiping a pantheon of deities, but rather in adoring all sorts of lesser idols: money, fame, power, and all the rest.
Psalm 100 overflows with exuberant joy. Perhaps more than any other of the 150 psalms, this one captures the joyous spirit of worship. Perhaps we can use it as a sort of standard, to see how our worship measures up.
Joy surprises. It's unexpected. Joy steals upon us when we are not seeking it, when we're going about other business. "Our brightest blazes of gladness," writes Samuel Johnson, "are sometimes kindled by unexpected sparks." Joy is also different from the pleasure that our culture seeks with such desperate, plodding intensity. In the words of C. S. Lewis, "Joy is never within our power, but pleasure often is." Art historian Sister Wendy Becket, in one of her popular BBC television documentaries on great paintings, observed that "joy is not a constant condition. Most people manage a settled cheerfulness, but this -- no matter how admirable -- has nothing to do with joy, which flashes suddenly on our darkness. Like the light in an El Greco painting, joy does not merely illuminate the landscape. It transforms it."
The worshipers on their way to the temple in Jerusalem sing as though they were people being transformed -- which, in a very real sense, they are.
