Living Upside Down
Commentary
An ancient legend tells of a remote mountain village where people used to send their senior citizens out into the woods to die. The villagers had an eye to the future; they felt that those beyond a certain age would only slow down progress or use up valuable resources to no economically profitable end. Those who reached a certain age weren’t “put out to pasture” or “put out of their misery”; they were simply put out of other people’s way.
The legend has a wonderful ending, though. At one point the villagers decided to build a huge meeting hall. Only the tallest and straightest of trees could be used to construct its main supports. There was a problem, though: the logs were so long and straight that it was virtually impossible to tell top from bottom once they were cut. And if the posts were installed upside down, the building would be in danger of collapse.
One young man claimed to have the solution. He struck a bargain with the community: he would tell them how to solve their problem if they would agree to stop sending the older folks of the village off to die.
Their immediate needs forced the villagers to give in to his terms. But instead of giving them the needed information, the young man led his grandfather from a secret hiding place. The elderly gentleman had been a woodsman all his life, and now he provided the wisdom and insight that can only be gained through years of experience. In that moment, the villagers realized how foolish they had been. And from that day on, the elderly were given an honored place in the village.
“Yes,” we say, “that’s the way it should be. Senior citizens have so much to contribute, so much to offer, so much to tell us. Our society would be poorer without them.”
But is that really the way we live? And even more important, what about others who might be marginalized in our communities: those who do not look like me; those who have lifestyles different from my family; those who are not “my kind”?
Each of today’s lectionary reading addresses the twisted distortions that live in biblical communities. You and I are not immune to social conventions that always make us come out on top in evaluations of others. As usual, we need another appointment with Dr. Jesus to learn the truth about ourselves. Maybe then we will begin to respect others and treat them as God’s children too.
Amos 7:7-17
Israel’s earliest prophets had several things in common. First, they were closely attached to the royal dynasties and functioned significantly as political, moral, and religious advisers. Second, few of their words are written down for posterity. Third, they seem to have close connections vocationally with either the extended royal household or the priestly families who cared for the tabernacle and later the temple. Samuel was the archetype of these prophets, according to 1 Samuel 3, and appears to have given name and status to the role of prophecy in the nation as a whole (see 1 Samuel 9).
Others in this group included Nathan, who had direct and easy access to King David (2 Samuel 7, 12); Ahijah, who seems to have been significantly responsible for the partition of the nation of Israel after the death of King Solomon (1 Kings 11:29–39), and later spoke a strong word of judgment against the king he had ensconced (1 Kings 14); and the nameless prophets of 1 Kings 13, who talked with the kings and advise them. Each played a direct role in the political life of the nation, but did so as an acknowledged representative for Israel’s true King, Yahweh. For each of these prophets, there was no distinction between the religious and political dimensions of society.
Things appear to have changed significantly for prophets in the eighth century. While Isaiah was expressing the passion and purposes of Yahweh with lyric eloquence in the south, prophecy took on a decidedly angry character in the north. The powerful team of Elijah and Elisha railed against the royal pair of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 17–2 Kings 9) for their anti-Yahweh religious stance and their anti–Sinai Covenant betrayal of people like Naboth (1 Kings 21). Micaiah joined their entourage for one brief incident (1 Kings 22), lending credence to their pronouncements of judgment, even while having direct access to the royal council room.
The most enduring voice from this era belonged, however, to one of the members of “the twelve” minor prophets, whose words were recorded in blunt detail. Amos left his large estate near Tekoa in Judah to travel northward into the territory of its sibling rival, Israel, around the year 760 B.C. Jeroboam had received Yahweh’s blessing to rule a large portion of Solomon’s kingdom after Solomon died. Unfortunately, Jeroboam took the opportunity to begin a steady walk away from Yahweh and the Sinai Covenant. One of Jeroboam’s first leadership initiatives was to create worship sites within the borders of his new realm, so that his subjects would not go to Jerusalem and Solomon’s Temple, both now in “enemy” territory. The main new shrine nearest Judah was just across the old tribal division into the inheritance granted to Manasseh. More significant, Jeroboam located the new worship center at “Bethel,” the place where Israel’s patriarch ancestor Jacob had a dream of looking into heaven (Genesis 28:10-22). Because of this, Amos, who remained under the rule of Solomon’s son Rehoboam in Judah, made a deliberate trek north into now enemy territory, and explored the expansive prevalence of social sins in that realm which. Declaring the prophetic message of Yahweh at Bethel (note the references in 4:4, 5:5, 7:10, 7:13), Amos made it clear that the true ruler of all Israel would soon bring divine judgment upon these people.
Amos had a unique manner of public address. In his early announcements of judgment and doom, he repeats a standard phrase, emphasizing the multiplicity of sins openly evident in the nations surrounding Israel: “For three sins of…, even for four…” (1:3,6,9,11,13, 2:1,4,6). Coupled with this pattern of speech, Amos also betrays his agricultural setting, couching many prophetic utterances in herding and cultivating images.
The many brief messages of Amos are grouped into four sections, each with a particular tone and focus:
Colossians 1:1-14
Four of Paul’s letters mention that he is a prisoner at the time of their writing: Ephesians (3:1; 4:1; 6:20), Philippians (1:13–17), Colossians (4:10; 4:18), and Philemon (1; 23). According to the book of Acts (and a brief reference in 2 Corinthians 12:23), Paul was imprisoned a number of times. On most of these occasions, however, his incarceration was very brief (e.g., in Philippi; Acts 16:16–40). Two imprisonments, though, were of significant duration: Paul’s two-year stint in Caesarean confinement (Acts 24) and the doublet of years he spent in Rome while waiting for Caesar to hear his appeal (Acts 28:30). Paul’s prison letters could have been written from either of these, though there are good reasons to opt for Roman origins.
For one thing, it is clear that Paul’s letters to the Colossians, Ephesians, and Philemon were written at the same time. They were sent by way of the same human carriers, Tychicus (Ephesians 6:21; Colossians 4:7) and Onesimus (Colossians 4:9; Philemon 8–19). They refer to the same people surrounding Paul in prison (Timothy, Aristarchus, Mark, Epaphras). And they deal with identical theological and pastoral issues in almost verbatim repetition of words (cf. Ephesians 5:21–6:9 and Colossians 3:18–4:1; Colossians 1:3–6, Philemon 4–6 and Ephesians 3:14–19). Such hints not only confirm the connections among these letters, but they also contain clues as to where Paul was when he wrote them. It is highly unlikely that Philemon’s slave, Onesimus, would run away from the Lycus and Maeander river valleys in Phrygia (southwest Asia Minor) toward Palestine. Conversely, with trade and communications moving between that region and the capital of the empire, it is very likely that Onesimus would end up in Rome. So it is very reasonable to believe that Paul wrote his letters to the Colossians, Ephesians, and Philemon from Rome.
Sometime after the letter to the Philippians was sent, and Epaphroditus had made the journey home, accompanied by Timothy (probably near the end of 58 A.D.), another visitor arrived in Rome. His coming would eventually elicit a whole new spate of letters from Paul:
The irreconcilability of these views eventually split Christian denominations in the United States into “northern” and “southern” factions over slavery. What seems to be a short, kind, innocuous letter, has, unfortunately, produced a maelstrom of whirling controversy that continues to engender debate. Fortunately, Paul and Philemon did not seem to come to blows about the matter. At the close of that letter, Paul told Philemon to get the guest room ready, for Paul was sure he would be traveling soon to visit both Philemon and Onesimus.
Paul’s letter to the Colossians is quite short, but it packs a big punch of theology and perspective. First, Paul celebrated the faithfulness of these disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they served (Colossians 1:1–23). After a short declaration of Paul’s immense care for the Colossian congregation (Colossians 1:24–2:5), he addressed the problem that was beginning to divide the congregation (Colossians 2:6–23). Although it is difficult for us to know exactly what were the specific elements of the false teaching that some were embracing, it appears to have included the worship of angels, certain forms of asceticism, and possibly a unique version of how the commands given through Moses were to be kept. These slim details suggest to some that an early form of Gnosticism was taking root. Others find a Jewish connection, with certain leaders pushing for a Palestinian ritualistic legalism of the kind that Paul had reacted against so strongly in his letter to the Galatians. Whatever the case, Paul’s response was to urge the congregation to focus on the superlative transformation brought by Jesus, which did not need to be supported with secondary rules and regulations.
In an almost counterintuitive move, Paul then went on to give what might be termed “rules” for Christian living. But these commands about marriage, family, and work relationships are more a projection of the social outcomes that should emerge when everyone’s focus remains on Jesus (Colossians 3:1–4:1), rather than a new set of legalistic instructions. It is interesting that after brief statements about the responsibilities of wives (Colossians 3:18), husbands (Colossians 3:19), children (Colossians 3:20), and fathers (Colossians 3:21), Paul’s advice to “slaves” is rather extended (Colossians 3:22–25). Philemon’s slave, Onesimus, might well be carrying this packet of letters, and would certainly know many of the slaves who were part of this nearby congregation! Paul does include a brief challenge to “masters” as well (Colossians 4:1), exactly in line with the contents of his letter to Onesimus’s master, Philemon. A few personal notes and many personnel reports bring Paul’s letter to a conclusion (Colossians 4:2–18).
Paul’s letters from prison address a couple of specific issues—the nature of the relationship between master and slave, for instance, when both are Christians, and a proper response to the false teaching that was being promulgated at Colossae. But mostly, these writings paint, in vibrant colors, the character of moral choices in a world that is compromised and broken. Darkness and light are the key metaphors. Evil has wrapped a blanket of pain and harm around all that takes place in the human arena. Jesus is the brilliant light of God, penetrating earth’s atmosphere with grace and reconciliation. Because of Jesus’ physical departure at the ascension, his followers now must step in and become a thousand million points of light, restoring relationships and renewing meaning. Jesus is great, and because of our connection with him, we can be great too. Not for our own sakes, of course, but as witnesses of the eschatological hope that tomorrow’s amazing future of God is something we already participate today. That is why Christianity is the religion of the dawn.
Luke 10:25-37
If we note the first-person testimony as it dips in and out of the narrative of the book of Acts, we find that Luke was with Paul when Paul made his final visit to Jerusalem (Acts 21:17), around mid-54 A.D. Then, when Paul finally set sail from Palestine to Rome, two years later, Luke again identified himself as a member of the traveling group (Acts 27:1). It is likely that during these years, when Paul was in Palestine under arrest, Luke was able to interview those who knew Jesus personally. Among the many things Luke learned about Jesus during these interviews, one was what a wonderful teacher and story-teller Jesus was. Many of the parables, stories and teachings we have come to love from our Master are recorded only by Doctor Luke, including his memorable tale of “The Good Samaritan.”
The road between Jerusalem and Jericho was only eighteen miles long. Today we might zip along in our cars and cover that distance in 15-20 minutes. Not so in Jesus’ day. For one thing, Jerusalem was at about 3000 feet above sea level, while Jericho lay in the Jordan River valley just above the Dead Sea, at 100 feet below sea level. Rising from Jericho to Jerusalem, travel required a 2-day climb up a 5% grade. Downhill, from Jerusalem to Jericho, one could accomplish the trek in a single day, if one managed to remain clear of the thieves hiding in the many caves and crevasses punctuating the towering cliffs. Since there were no other passes between these important cities, this road was pounded by constant foot and hoof traffic, and gathered endless robbers to hide and wait in its shadowy haunts.
This is where Jesus begins his engaging story. A devout man sought Jesus’ advice about obtaining divine affirmation upon his future death. Jesus reiterated the great commands to love God above all, and to love one’s neighbor in a manner similar to loving oneself. That prompted a further question: “Who is my neighbor?” Rather than list persons or proximities, Jesus narrates a case study. Unable to escape marauders, a traveler down the treacherous route has been robbed, beaten, and stripped. Jesus uses the term ἡμιθανῆ, half-dead, meaning that the man could not move or talk. From a distance, he might easily be perceived as dead.
This is why a priest, the next traveler in Jesus’ tale, passes him by while navigating the same treacherous path. Since the official was traveling away from Jerusalem, he likely had completed his two-week service in the temple and was headed home to his family in Jericho. Priests were wealthy, and Jericho was considered a great place to live, if one had the money. Although his heart was likely gripped by the fallen man’s plight, the priest was under legal restraint not to defile himself by touching a dead person’s body. To do so would have necessitated a return to Jerusalem for a week of ritual cleansing before he could serve again as worship leader (see Numbers 19). In fact, he would also have to forfeit his pay (much of which he was carrying as meat portions from the sacrifices at which he officiated), lose a week with his family, and be subjected to shameful curses and taunts from the temple faithful, who were supposed to yell at him and spit upon him at one point in the rehabilitation ceremonies.
Although we might question the priest’s vocation and devotion, colored in our eyes by callous insensitivity, the crowds around Jesus would not see it the same way. They would likely applaud the priest’s wisdom in the matter. He had shown compassion by stopping to consider the man and his own options, but his devout commitment to God and the law kept him moving along. There were several layers of regulated behaviors to consider, and the priest took the high road of loving God above all, and maintaining ritual purity.
The Levite who followed the priest had a life shaped by similar commands and demands. His social status, however, was below that of the priest, allowing him greater latitude in minor behavior choices. Again, the crowds listening to Jesus would cheer the Levite as he expressed deep concern, while retaining ritual proprieties. Nothing to fault here.
At this point, Jesus’ engaged hearers knew what was coming next. Jesus would tell of a common Jewish man, devout but not as restricted by the same corpse codes, who would actually attend to the man’s predicament, whether he was dead or still barely living.
But Jesus makes a plot move no one saw coming, and everyone recoils from. “But a Samaritan…” A collective gasp would rise from the crowd. There was no such thing as a “Good Samaritan”! Everything about every Samaritan was compromised (2 Kings 17), oppositional (Ezra 4), and threatening (Nehemiah 13). The antagonism ramped up in 171 B.C. when Antiochus IV (“Ephiphanes”) meddled in Jewish religious affairs, taking a bribe from Menelaus so that legitimately installed high priest Jason would be removed by this foreign king, and Menelaus would be inappropriately raised to power. Things worsened several years later after Antiochus battled and won Egypt from the Ptolomies, only to be forced out by his political idols, the Romans. Antiochus learned of a rumor in Judea that he, Antiochus, had died in the Egyptian campaign. Incensed by the shame he was experiencing on various fronts, Antiochus stormed into Palestine, horribly wasted Jerusalem (killing 40,000 and selling 40,000 more into slavery), desecrated the temple, and began forcing Jews to eat swine. While the Jews would eventually win the ensuing war, the Samaritans sided with Antiochus, killing many Jews during the next several years. In retaliation, Judas Maccabeus would lead Jewish forces up Mount Gerezim and destroy the abominable false temple built there by the Samaritans. Seething resentment erupted again about the time of Jesus’ birth, when a band of Samaritans disguised themselves as devout Jews, and secreted bones of dead humans into the Jerusalem temple, scattering them and defiling the entire sacred space. Jews may have been divided about many things, but on this one thing all agreed: Samaritans were awful, terrible, horrible, no-good sub-humans, worthy only of revulsion, contempt and condemnation (see Ecclesiasticus 47:23-24).
So Jesus’s listeners, who had tracked well with Jesus in the first moves of his story, were suddenly aghast. No one spoke well of Samaritans! No one said nice things about them! No one commended any of these horrible sub-human creatures!
Except for Jesus. “But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him.” A Samaritan cared about the man, probably a Jew, and then cared for him. Again and again. And again.
By the time Jesus finished his little story, the crowds were stunned to silence. The good Jewish fellow who had started this conversation could not even speak the name “Samaritan”. When Jesus queried, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”, the pious man could only choke out: “The one who had mercy on him.”
There are so many implications to this moral tale. Of course, the major impact is to remind us to be good neighbors, and to help those who are in need. But beyond this is a challenging judgment against our pre-conceived notions of personal or communal “righteousness” over against the “obvious” moral decrepitude of those we do not like, or those who are different from us, or those whom our kind deems inherently wrong and bad. “Neighboring” is not just a matter of privileged “haves” looking after poor “have-nots”; it is an eye exam that reveals first how warped our sense of social proprieties has become. We cannot even see straight, and therefore do not act appropriately in our world.
Application
During the Middle Ages, parts of Europe had a wonderfully unusual annual celebration called the Feast of Fools. It did not occur, as we might expect, on April 1; most often it was celebrated at the turn of the year, the same time as our modern New Year’s Eve parties.
At the Feast of Fools, everyone put on masks, sang outrageous songs, and made as much noise as possible. Society was turned upside down: those of low social position put on the clothing of rulers; they were in charge of church and state for a few brief hours. Every “normal” convention of serious life was mocked and lampooned.
While such shaking of the foundations of society could well go wrong in its excesses, each of our readings for today emphasizes our need to step outside of our typical social blinders to see one another in new ways. Perhaps, if we are shaken sufficiently, in some kind of modern “Feast of Fools,” our eyesight and heartsight will improve dramatically.
Alternative Application (Luke 10:25-37)
“The Philosophers’ Stone.” That’s the title Christoph Wieland gave to his 1789 short story on the upside-down values of many in his society. The story tells how King Mark of Great Britain came to his throne at a very young age, and how he wasted the kingdom in the mad and rash pursuit of lavish extravagance. As his realm staggered under taxes, he realized his cash flow was limited. In desperation he dug up half the countryside looking for gold ore. But all he found was tin and copper.
Along came a strange man named Misfragmutosiris. With enchanting stories about magical secrets, he bewitched the king into a foolish conspiracy. Misfragmutosiris claimed he knew a spell for creating a “philosophers’ stone.” If the king would supply him with all the precious gems from his royal jewelry, Misfragmutosiris could use them to make a philosophers’ stone that would then transform the tin and copper ore into gold.
Of course, Misfragmutosiris was a charlatan, and his promises a charade. Wieland spins a delightful yarn about the manner in which King Mark regains his senses. The story ends with Mark and his queen Mabille reunited after some supernatural experiences. Two “divine beings” offer them a different treasure, the “philosophers’ stone” from heaven.
What could that be? Interestingly, Christoph Wieland began his career as a student of theology. And in “The Philosophers’ Stone,” Wieland brings Mark and Mabille full circle to the love that first established their relationship, to the virtues of simplicity and freedom that marked their childhood, and to the devotion of divine benevolence that puts them in harmony with all creation. This is the true “philosophers’ stone,” they are told. They rejected it for a time in their sophisticated madness, but these angels of mercy have led them home.
As does Jesus…
The legend has a wonderful ending, though. At one point the villagers decided to build a huge meeting hall. Only the tallest and straightest of trees could be used to construct its main supports. There was a problem, though: the logs were so long and straight that it was virtually impossible to tell top from bottom once they were cut. And if the posts were installed upside down, the building would be in danger of collapse.
One young man claimed to have the solution. He struck a bargain with the community: he would tell them how to solve their problem if they would agree to stop sending the older folks of the village off to die.
Their immediate needs forced the villagers to give in to his terms. But instead of giving them the needed information, the young man led his grandfather from a secret hiding place. The elderly gentleman had been a woodsman all his life, and now he provided the wisdom and insight that can only be gained through years of experience. In that moment, the villagers realized how foolish they had been. And from that day on, the elderly were given an honored place in the village.
“Yes,” we say, “that’s the way it should be. Senior citizens have so much to contribute, so much to offer, so much to tell us. Our society would be poorer without them.”
But is that really the way we live? And even more important, what about others who might be marginalized in our communities: those who do not look like me; those who have lifestyles different from my family; those who are not “my kind”?
Each of today’s lectionary reading addresses the twisted distortions that live in biblical communities. You and I are not immune to social conventions that always make us come out on top in evaluations of others. As usual, we need another appointment with Dr. Jesus to learn the truth about ourselves. Maybe then we will begin to respect others and treat them as God’s children too.
Amos 7:7-17
Israel’s earliest prophets had several things in common. First, they were closely attached to the royal dynasties and functioned significantly as political, moral, and religious advisers. Second, few of their words are written down for posterity. Third, they seem to have close connections vocationally with either the extended royal household or the priestly families who cared for the tabernacle and later the temple. Samuel was the archetype of these prophets, according to 1 Samuel 3, and appears to have given name and status to the role of prophecy in the nation as a whole (see 1 Samuel 9).
Others in this group included Nathan, who had direct and easy access to King David (2 Samuel 7, 12); Ahijah, who seems to have been significantly responsible for the partition of the nation of Israel after the death of King Solomon (1 Kings 11:29–39), and later spoke a strong word of judgment against the king he had ensconced (1 Kings 14); and the nameless prophets of 1 Kings 13, who talked with the kings and advise them. Each played a direct role in the political life of the nation, but did so as an acknowledged representative for Israel’s true King, Yahweh. For each of these prophets, there was no distinction between the religious and political dimensions of society.
Things appear to have changed significantly for prophets in the eighth century. While Isaiah was expressing the passion and purposes of Yahweh with lyric eloquence in the south, prophecy took on a decidedly angry character in the north. The powerful team of Elijah and Elisha railed against the royal pair of Ahab and Jezebel (1 Kings 17–2 Kings 9) for their anti-Yahweh religious stance and their anti–Sinai Covenant betrayal of people like Naboth (1 Kings 21). Micaiah joined their entourage for one brief incident (1 Kings 22), lending credence to their pronouncements of judgment, even while having direct access to the royal council room.
The most enduring voice from this era belonged, however, to one of the members of “the twelve” minor prophets, whose words were recorded in blunt detail. Amos left his large estate near Tekoa in Judah to travel northward into the territory of its sibling rival, Israel, around the year 760 B.C. Jeroboam had received Yahweh’s blessing to rule a large portion of Solomon’s kingdom after Solomon died. Unfortunately, Jeroboam took the opportunity to begin a steady walk away from Yahweh and the Sinai Covenant. One of Jeroboam’s first leadership initiatives was to create worship sites within the borders of his new realm, so that his subjects would not go to Jerusalem and Solomon’s Temple, both now in “enemy” territory. The main new shrine nearest Judah was just across the old tribal division into the inheritance granted to Manasseh. More significant, Jeroboam located the new worship center at “Bethel,” the place where Israel’s patriarch ancestor Jacob had a dream of looking into heaven (Genesis 28:10-22). Because of this, Amos, who remained under the rule of Solomon’s son Rehoboam in Judah, made a deliberate trek north into now enemy territory, and explored the expansive prevalence of social sins in that realm which. Declaring the prophetic message of Yahweh at Bethel (note the references in 4:4, 5:5, 7:10, 7:13), Amos made it clear that the true ruler of all Israel would soon bring divine judgment upon these people.
Amos had a unique manner of public address. In his early announcements of judgment and doom, he repeats a standard phrase, emphasizing the multiplicity of sins openly evident in the nations surrounding Israel: “For three sins of…, even for four…” (1:3,6,9,11,13, 2:1,4,6). Coupled with this pattern of speech, Amos also betrays his agricultural setting, couching many prophetic utterances in herding and cultivating images.
The many brief messages of Amos are grouped into four sections, each with a particular tone and focus:
- 8 “Dooms” (1:3-2:16):
- Against Damascus (Syria) (1:3-5)
- Against Gaza (Philistia) (1:6-8)
- Against Tyre (1:9-11)
- Against Edom (1:11-12)
- Against Ammon (1:12-15)
- Against Moab (2:1-3)
- Against Judah (2:4-5)
- Against Israel (2:6-16)
- 5 “Sermons” (3:1-6:14):
- Covenant Blessings and Curses (3:1-15)
- Early Warnings (4:1-13)
- Coming Judgment (5:1-17)
- The Terrible “Day of the Lord” (5:18-27)
- Rehearsal of Sins (6:1-14)
- 5 “Visions” (7:1-9:6):
- Locusts (7:1-3)
- Fire (7:4-6)
- Plumbline (7:7-9)
- Ripe Fruit (8:1-14)
- The Glory of Yahweh (9:1-6)
- 3 “Promises” (9:7-15):
- “I will destroy the sinful kingdom” (9:7-10)
- “I will raise David’s fallen house” (9:11-12)
- “I will restore and bless Israel” (9:13-15)
- There was a growing economic gap between very rich and very poor, accentuated by the callousness of the wealthy (6:4–6).
- Public worship had become repetitions of superficial liturgical acts (4:4–5; 5:21–23).
- The rich were stealing the lands of the poor through criminal lending practices, coupled with repossessions when impossible borrowing terms caused inevitable loan repayment defaults (2:6; 8:4, 6).
- Law courts were routinely denying justice to the helpless, simply because they could not pay bribes and had no social standing (2:7; 5:10, 12).
- In the marketplace, the poor were constantly cheated (8:5).
- Throughout the nation, there was overt conspicuous consumption (4:1).
- Added to these were blatant debauchery and other forms of an immoral lifestyle (6:5–6).
Colossians 1:1-14
Four of Paul’s letters mention that he is a prisoner at the time of their writing: Ephesians (3:1; 4:1; 6:20), Philippians (1:13–17), Colossians (4:10; 4:18), and Philemon (1; 23). According to the book of Acts (and a brief reference in 2 Corinthians 12:23), Paul was imprisoned a number of times. On most of these occasions, however, his incarceration was very brief (e.g., in Philippi; Acts 16:16–40). Two imprisonments, though, were of significant duration: Paul’s two-year stint in Caesarean confinement (Acts 24) and the doublet of years he spent in Rome while waiting for Caesar to hear his appeal (Acts 28:30). Paul’s prison letters could have been written from either of these, though there are good reasons to opt for Roman origins.
For one thing, it is clear that Paul’s letters to the Colossians, Ephesians, and Philemon were written at the same time. They were sent by way of the same human carriers, Tychicus (Ephesians 6:21; Colossians 4:7) and Onesimus (Colossians 4:9; Philemon 8–19). They refer to the same people surrounding Paul in prison (Timothy, Aristarchus, Mark, Epaphras). And they deal with identical theological and pastoral issues in almost verbatim repetition of words (cf. Ephesians 5:21–6:9 and Colossians 3:18–4:1; Colossians 1:3–6, Philemon 4–6 and Ephesians 3:14–19). Such hints not only confirm the connections among these letters, but they also contain clues as to where Paul was when he wrote them. It is highly unlikely that Philemon’s slave, Onesimus, would run away from the Lycus and Maeander river valleys in Phrygia (southwest Asia Minor) toward Palestine. Conversely, with trade and communications moving between that region and the capital of the empire, it is very likely that Onesimus would end up in Rome. So it is very reasonable to believe that Paul wrote his letters to the Colossians, Ephesians, and Philemon from Rome.
Sometime after the letter to the Philippians was sent, and Epaphroditus had made the journey home, accompanied by Timothy (probably near the end of 58 A.D.), another visitor arrived in Rome. His coming would eventually elicit a whole new spate of letters from Paul:
- Onesimus, a runaway slave from Paul’s friend Philemon, came to Rome and found Paul. Perhaps Onesimus was overwhelmed by the alien environment of the big city, and heard that Paul, someone he had met a few years earlier, was in town. Or maybe Onesimus came to Rome specifically because he knew Paul was there, remembering how kindly Paul had treated him while the itinerant evangelist was staying at Philemon’s home. In any case, Onesimus and Paul had a joyful reunion, and for a time Onesimus lived with Paul, acting out the true meaning of his name: “useful.”
- After a while, however, Paul began to have qualms about ignoring the property rights that bound Onesimus to Philemon. Paul was sure that sometime soon he would run into his old friend again, and this secret of Onesimus spending time with him would not come to light without great damage to their relationship. In fact, Paul was beginning to make plans for his next travels, since he expected to be released from prison very shortly. Evidently, Paul had received word that his case was soon to be on Caesar’s docket, and knew from Herod Agrippa’s testimony (Acts 26:32) that royal judgment would clearly be in his favor. When freedom did come, Paul wanted to spend time with Philemon, as one stop on the next journey.
- So, probably in early 59 A.D., Paul made plans to send Onesimus back to Philemon, accompanied by a trusted friend named Tychicus. Paul penned a short note to Philemon, explaining Onesimus’s circumstances of both frustration and faith, and pleading with his friend to treat the young man well.
- About the same time, news came to Paul regarding a doctrinal controversy that was threatening the church in Colossae. This congregation had been established under the ministry of Epaphras (Colossians 1:7–8), a local believer who had originally come to faith through Paul’s ministry in nearby Ephesus (Colossians 4:12–13), just down the Lycus and Maeander river valleys.
- Since Colossae was very close to Philemon’s home, Paul decided to send a letter to that congregation, addressing these threats to the church’s faithfulness and stability. Tychicus was asked to deliver this letter at the same time as he brought Paul’s personal note to Philemon (Colossians 4:7–9).
- While he was in the writing mood, Paul also dictated a third letter, to be sent in the same direction at the same time. It was less personal and more general in the themes that it expressed than either of the others, and may well have been intended as a more generic epistle of encouragement to be circulated around the area churches. This letter seems to have arrived first in Laodicea (Colossians 4:16), and began a circuit around the regional congregations. Because Ephesus had been the launching pad for mission efforts throughout the region, the Christian congregation in Ephesus soon became recognized as the “mother church” of the rest, and probably came to be the official caretaker and repository of important documents. For that reason, this circular letter from Paul eventually ended up in Ephesus, and became known as Paul’s letter to the “Ephesians.”
The irreconcilability of these views eventually split Christian denominations in the United States into “northern” and “southern” factions over slavery. What seems to be a short, kind, innocuous letter, has, unfortunately, produced a maelstrom of whirling controversy that continues to engender debate. Fortunately, Paul and Philemon did not seem to come to blows about the matter. At the close of that letter, Paul told Philemon to get the guest room ready, for Paul was sure he would be traveling soon to visit both Philemon and Onesimus.
Paul’s letter to the Colossians is quite short, but it packs a big punch of theology and perspective. First, Paul celebrated the faithfulness of these disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they served (Colossians 1:1–23). After a short declaration of Paul’s immense care for the Colossian congregation (Colossians 1:24–2:5), he addressed the problem that was beginning to divide the congregation (Colossians 2:6–23). Although it is difficult for us to know exactly what were the specific elements of the false teaching that some were embracing, it appears to have included the worship of angels, certain forms of asceticism, and possibly a unique version of how the commands given through Moses were to be kept. These slim details suggest to some that an early form of Gnosticism was taking root. Others find a Jewish connection, with certain leaders pushing for a Palestinian ritualistic legalism of the kind that Paul had reacted against so strongly in his letter to the Galatians. Whatever the case, Paul’s response was to urge the congregation to focus on the superlative transformation brought by Jesus, which did not need to be supported with secondary rules and regulations.
In an almost counterintuitive move, Paul then went on to give what might be termed “rules” for Christian living. But these commands about marriage, family, and work relationships are more a projection of the social outcomes that should emerge when everyone’s focus remains on Jesus (Colossians 3:1–4:1), rather than a new set of legalistic instructions. It is interesting that after brief statements about the responsibilities of wives (Colossians 3:18), husbands (Colossians 3:19), children (Colossians 3:20), and fathers (Colossians 3:21), Paul’s advice to “slaves” is rather extended (Colossians 3:22–25). Philemon’s slave, Onesimus, might well be carrying this packet of letters, and would certainly know many of the slaves who were part of this nearby congregation! Paul does include a brief challenge to “masters” as well (Colossians 4:1), exactly in line with the contents of his letter to Onesimus’s master, Philemon. A few personal notes and many personnel reports bring Paul’s letter to a conclusion (Colossians 4:2–18).
Paul’s letters from prison address a couple of specific issues—the nature of the relationship between master and slave, for instance, when both are Christians, and a proper response to the false teaching that was being promulgated at Colossae. But mostly, these writings paint, in vibrant colors, the character of moral choices in a world that is compromised and broken. Darkness and light are the key metaphors. Evil has wrapped a blanket of pain and harm around all that takes place in the human arena. Jesus is the brilliant light of God, penetrating earth’s atmosphere with grace and reconciliation. Because of Jesus’ physical departure at the ascension, his followers now must step in and become a thousand million points of light, restoring relationships and renewing meaning. Jesus is great, and because of our connection with him, we can be great too. Not for our own sakes, of course, but as witnesses of the eschatological hope that tomorrow’s amazing future of God is something we already participate today. That is why Christianity is the religion of the dawn.
Luke 10:25-37
If we note the first-person testimony as it dips in and out of the narrative of the book of Acts, we find that Luke was with Paul when Paul made his final visit to Jerusalem (Acts 21:17), around mid-54 A.D. Then, when Paul finally set sail from Palestine to Rome, two years later, Luke again identified himself as a member of the traveling group (Acts 27:1). It is likely that during these years, when Paul was in Palestine under arrest, Luke was able to interview those who knew Jesus personally. Among the many things Luke learned about Jesus during these interviews, one was what a wonderful teacher and story-teller Jesus was. Many of the parables, stories and teachings we have come to love from our Master are recorded only by Doctor Luke, including his memorable tale of “The Good Samaritan.”
The road between Jerusalem and Jericho was only eighteen miles long. Today we might zip along in our cars and cover that distance in 15-20 minutes. Not so in Jesus’ day. For one thing, Jerusalem was at about 3000 feet above sea level, while Jericho lay in the Jordan River valley just above the Dead Sea, at 100 feet below sea level. Rising from Jericho to Jerusalem, travel required a 2-day climb up a 5% grade. Downhill, from Jerusalem to Jericho, one could accomplish the trek in a single day, if one managed to remain clear of the thieves hiding in the many caves and crevasses punctuating the towering cliffs. Since there were no other passes between these important cities, this road was pounded by constant foot and hoof traffic, and gathered endless robbers to hide and wait in its shadowy haunts.
This is where Jesus begins his engaging story. A devout man sought Jesus’ advice about obtaining divine affirmation upon his future death. Jesus reiterated the great commands to love God above all, and to love one’s neighbor in a manner similar to loving oneself. That prompted a further question: “Who is my neighbor?” Rather than list persons or proximities, Jesus narrates a case study. Unable to escape marauders, a traveler down the treacherous route has been robbed, beaten, and stripped. Jesus uses the term ἡμιθανῆ, half-dead, meaning that the man could not move or talk. From a distance, he might easily be perceived as dead.
This is why a priest, the next traveler in Jesus’ tale, passes him by while navigating the same treacherous path. Since the official was traveling away from Jerusalem, he likely had completed his two-week service in the temple and was headed home to his family in Jericho. Priests were wealthy, and Jericho was considered a great place to live, if one had the money. Although his heart was likely gripped by the fallen man’s plight, the priest was under legal restraint not to defile himself by touching a dead person’s body. To do so would have necessitated a return to Jerusalem for a week of ritual cleansing before he could serve again as worship leader (see Numbers 19). In fact, he would also have to forfeit his pay (much of which he was carrying as meat portions from the sacrifices at which he officiated), lose a week with his family, and be subjected to shameful curses and taunts from the temple faithful, who were supposed to yell at him and spit upon him at one point in the rehabilitation ceremonies.
Although we might question the priest’s vocation and devotion, colored in our eyes by callous insensitivity, the crowds around Jesus would not see it the same way. They would likely applaud the priest’s wisdom in the matter. He had shown compassion by stopping to consider the man and his own options, but his devout commitment to God and the law kept him moving along. There were several layers of regulated behaviors to consider, and the priest took the high road of loving God above all, and maintaining ritual purity.
The Levite who followed the priest had a life shaped by similar commands and demands. His social status, however, was below that of the priest, allowing him greater latitude in minor behavior choices. Again, the crowds listening to Jesus would cheer the Levite as he expressed deep concern, while retaining ritual proprieties. Nothing to fault here.
At this point, Jesus’ engaged hearers knew what was coming next. Jesus would tell of a common Jewish man, devout but not as restricted by the same corpse codes, who would actually attend to the man’s predicament, whether he was dead or still barely living.
But Jesus makes a plot move no one saw coming, and everyone recoils from. “But a Samaritan…” A collective gasp would rise from the crowd. There was no such thing as a “Good Samaritan”! Everything about every Samaritan was compromised (2 Kings 17), oppositional (Ezra 4), and threatening (Nehemiah 13). The antagonism ramped up in 171 B.C. when Antiochus IV (“Ephiphanes”) meddled in Jewish religious affairs, taking a bribe from Menelaus so that legitimately installed high priest Jason would be removed by this foreign king, and Menelaus would be inappropriately raised to power. Things worsened several years later after Antiochus battled and won Egypt from the Ptolomies, only to be forced out by his political idols, the Romans. Antiochus learned of a rumor in Judea that he, Antiochus, had died in the Egyptian campaign. Incensed by the shame he was experiencing on various fronts, Antiochus stormed into Palestine, horribly wasted Jerusalem (killing 40,000 and selling 40,000 more into slavery), desecrated the temple, and began forcing Jews to eat swine. While the Jews would eventually win the ensuing war, the Samaritans sided with Antiochus, killing many Jews during the next several years. In retaliation, Judas Maccabeus would lead Jewish forces up Mount Gerezim and destroy the abominable false temple built there by the Samaritans. Seething resentment erupted again about the time of Jesus’ birth, when a band of Samaritans disguised themselves as devout Jews, and secreted bones of dead humans into the Jerusalem temple, scattering them and defiling the entire sacred space. Jews may have been divided about many things, but on this one thing all agreed: Samaritans were awful, terrible, horrible, no-good sub-humans, worthy only of revulsion, contempt and condemnation (see Ecclesiasticus 47:23-24).
So Jesus’s listeners, who had tracked well with Jesus in the first moves of his story, were suddenly aghast. No one spoke well of Samaritans! No one said nice things about them! No one commended any of these horrible sub-human creatures!
Except for Jesus. “But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him.” A Samaritan cared about the man, probably a Jew, and then cared for him. Again and again. And again.
By the time Jesus finished his little story, the crowds were stunned to silence. The good Jewish fellow who had started this conversation could not even speak the name “Samaritan”. When Jesus queried, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”, the pious man could only choke out: “The one who had mercy on him.”
There are so many implications to this moral tale. Of course, the major impact is to remind us to be good neighbors, and to help those who are in need. But beyond this is a challenging judgment against our pre-conceived notions of personal or communal “righteousness” over against the “obvious” moral decrepitude of those we do not like, or those who are different from us, or those whom our kind deems inherently wrong and bad. “Neighboring” is not just a matter of privileged “haves” looking after poor “have-nots”; it is an eye exam that reveals first how warped our sense of social proprieties has become. We cannot even see straight, and therefore do not act appropriately in our world.
Application
During the Middle Ages, parts of Europe had a wonderfully unusual annual celebration called the Feast of Fools. It did not occur, as we might expect, on April 1; most often it was celebrated at the turn of the year, the same time as our modern New Year’s Eve parties.
At the Feast of Fools, everyone put on masks, sang outrageous songs, and made as much noise as possible. Society was turned upside down: those of low social position put on the clothing of rulers; they were in charge of church and state for a few brief hours. Every “normal” convention of serious life was mocked and lampooned.
While such shaking of the foundations of society could well go wrong in its excesses, each of our readings for today emphasizes our need to step outside of our typical social blinders to see one another in new ways. Perhaps, if we are shaken sufficiently, in some kind of modern “Feast of Fools,” our eyesight and heartsight will improve dramatically.
Alternative Application (Luke 10:25-37)
“The Philosophers’ Stone.” That’s the title Christoph Wieland gave to his 1789 short story on the upside-down values of many in his society. The story tells how King Mark of Great Britain came to his throne at a very young age, and how he wasted the kingdom in the mad and rash pursuit of lavish extravagance. As his realm staggered under taxes, he realized his cash flow was limited. In desperation he dug up half the countryside looking for gold ore. But all he found was tin and copper.
Along came a strange man named Misfragmutosiris. With enchanting stories about magical secrets, he bewitched the king into a foolish conspiracy. Misfragmutosiris claimed he knew a spell for creating a “philosophers’ stone.” If the king would supply him with all the precious gems from his royal jewelry, Misfragmutosiris could use them to make a philosophers’ stone that would then transform the tin and copper ore into gold.
Of course, Misfragmutosiris was a charlatan, and his promises a charade. Wieland spins a delightful yarn about the manner in which King Mark regains his senses. The story ends with Mark and his queen Mabille reunited after some supernatural experiences. Two “divine beings” offer them a different treasure, the “philosophers’ stone” from heaven.
What could that be? Interestingly, Christoph Wieland began his career as a student of theology. And in “The Philosophers’ Stone,” Wieland brings Mark and Mabille full circle to the love that first established their relationship, to the virtues of simplicity and freedom that marked their childhood, and to the devotion of divine benevolence that puts them in harmony with all creation. This is the true “philosophers’ stone,” they are told. They rejected it for a time in their sophisticated madness, but these angels of mercy have led them home.
As does Jesus…
