Restoration
Commentary
All three of the lessons for this day conclude cycles that have been developing for the last four weeks. There is a sense of resolution in each of them, and, if there is a common theme here, perhaps it is captured best by a word like "completion" or "restoration." The most explicit link is found in the word, "see," prominent in the first (Job 42:5) and last (Mark 10:51) readings. The connection is more than just a catchword.
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
I watched a woman and child in a department store. The little boy was whining, pointing to various objects and insisting, "I want this; I want that." The mother ignored him for what seemed to some of us an annoyingly long time and, then, without a word, she simply bent down and picked him up. Immediately, he was quiet. I thought, he didn't want this or that; he wanted her.
Despite his famed patience, Job has been stammering for quite some time now, demanding not things but truth, knowledge, understanding, answers. When God comes to him at last, God grants none of these things, but neither does God rebuke him for desiring them (see last week's text, and 42:7).
Job's response is to quit complaining. Why? Because God has come to him, and that, really, is what he wanted. At the heart of his complaints was the sense that God was hidden (23:8-9); now, Job sees God. He experiences God in the midst of his suffering and knows that God is there.
The final verses (10-17) may seem artificial, like the "feel-good endings" Hollywood sometimes sticks on realistically poignant films that don't fare well with test audiences. For most of us, life is never this tidy. Theologically, however, the ending of Job may be read as a testimony to our ultimate eschatological hope. Someday, everything will be put right.
Hebrews 7:23-28
This lesson continues the theme of presenting Jesus as a high priest after the order of Melchizedek. Last week, we saw how he is similar to other high priests. Now, we hear three ways that he is unique: 1) he never needs to be replaced, because he lives forever; 2) he need not offer sacrifices for his own sin, for he has none; 3) he offered himself as a sacrifice for us.
The last point is the most significant and introduces the theme of "completion" or "restoration." Because Jesus' offering of himself was a perfect sacrifice, it need never be repeated. It was once, forever, an atonement for our sins, for all sins. This is at least one of the points symbolized dramatically elsewhere in the story of the Temple curtain rending at the moment of Jesus' death (see Mark 15:38). The perfect sacrifice has been made; no other need ever be made again.
This perfect sacrifice did not usher in the sort of eschatological restoration of fortune portrayed in the last verses of Job, but it did bring restoration of another sort -- reconciliation with God that breaks into our lives here and now and makes eternal salvation a present reality. That salvation is realized day by day as we continue to approach God "through him" (v. 25). So our salvation is complete, but also ongoing. If this seems a paradox, so too is the notion of Christ as both priest and victim. He has saved us by his death and yet "always lives" to make intercession for us. At heart here is theology of atonement that grants saving significance to the resurrection and ascension, not just the crucifixion. The paradox comes through the doctrine that resurrection and ascension do not cancel crucifixion or even repair it. The risen, exalted Lord remains the crucified one. Mark 10:46-52
Commentaries will indicate that these verses conclude an important section of Mark's gospel (8:22--10:46). The section begins and ends with stories of Jesus healing the blind. Sandwiched between these tales are all of the passion predictions, in which Jesus struggles to teach his disciples about the cross.
Some Markan scholars regard Bartimaeus as the most faithful associate of Jesus in this Gospel. In fact, in a book where most disciples are notorious for their failings, he is often lifted up as a paradigm of faithfulness. Of course, we do not hear much of him, but there is something paradigmatic in the concluding clause, "he regained his sight and followed him on the way."
In Mark, "the way" is a metaphor for the way of the cross. This is what people, including his disciples, want to avoid (8:31-33). Mark introduces Bartimaeus by saying he is sitting "by the way" (hodos, NRSV says "roadside"). After the encounter with Jesus, he follows "on the way." "Sight" is also a metaphor in Mark. It is what the disciples (8:18) as well as the Pharisees (4:12) lack. When one is able to see the world as Jesus does, then one can follow him in the way of the cross. For Bartimaeus, as for Job, "seeing" means acceptance of suffering in the company of the divine.
Reformation Sunday
Churches that observe a Reformation Sunday on this day follow completely different lessons. Connections with the Reformation theme are fairly obvious. Jeremiah 31:31-34 speaks of the new covenant which, interpreted christologically, became central to Reformed theology. Martin Luther and other leaders of the Reformation believed the heart of the Gospel was found in Romans 3:19-28: All people have sinned, but God offers forgiveness of sins through Christ Jesus. We are justified or put right with God through faith in Jesus. John 8:31-36 was chosen because verse 32 became the motto of the Reformation in some quarters. Preachers must be careful with this text to avoid implications of anti-Semitism. The point of contrasting "knowing the truth" with "being descendants of Abraham" is not to undermine Jewish lineage (which Jesus, his disciples, and the author of the Gospel all shared) but to emphasize that true freedom is not related to ethnic distinctions or social class. Only Jesus can free us from slavery to sin and he does this through the truth of the Gospel.
FIRST LESSON FOCUSBy James A. Nestingen
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Well, all's well that ends well. After the dramatic encounters of the Book of Job -- Job's defiance, God's thunders, and the in-your-face exchanges -- the epilogue gets a little anticlimactic. It sounds like the prophets of balance have taken over once more. But hope will have its way.
Did Job repent in dust and ashes, as described? In some ways, it's more attractive to think of him standing and shaking his fist at the heavens. In fact, there's a long tradition of such anger with God, in both the Old Testament and the New: Abraham, Jeremiah, and Jesus himself are some good examples. Faith holds God to the promise, not letting God get away with anything less. God can handle anger.
In fact, not every story ends like Job's. For some, suffering remains the rule, not the exception. Whether personal or corporate, occasional on constant, the pain of loss remains an unrelenting companion. If the good Lord is worthy of the name, such disasters have to be called to attention, and forcibly. Jesus, after all, commended that poor woman who stood knocking until the judge got out of bed.
Just the same, sometimes God's closeness can be a lot harder to bear than distance. As God moves in, the contrasts get to be more pronounced: power and weakness, glory and shame, grace and hostility. If faith can encompass anger, biblically considered it is always joined with repentance. Job gave as good as he got. He had his confessions to make.
And what about the restoration of Job's fortunes? That, too, sounds a little hokey. It might not be so bad if you were one of the later sons and daughters who could revel in your father's restored wealth. But what if you were part of the earlier family, a child, say for instance, of one of Job's first set of children, who all died? Then the happy shouts of restoration would be a continuing reminder of loss. No, things don't always turn out as hoped. The happy-go-lucky, for every-cloudy-day-a-sunny-one school of balance can look awfully illusory.
Yet God does have a way of evening things up. People who have been through deep suffering in personal life, economically or socially, will often describe such a restoration. The losses don't lose their reality, but neither do the gifts. In the end, faith can describe both -- lamenting what's lost, rejoicing in what's been received.
Such faith, such hope, having survived October, can even live with November. Lost or restored, imbalanced or self-possessed, hope lives beyond itself, in Christ. The resurrection of the dead, after all, doesn't fit into any equation.
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
I watched a woman and child in a department store. The little boy was whining, pointing to various objects and insisting, "I want this; I want that." The mother ignored him for what seemed to some of us an annoyingly long time and, then, without a word, she simply bent down and picked him up. Immediately, he was quiet. I thought, he didn't want this or that; he wanted her.
Despite his famed patience, Job has been stammering for quite some time now, demanding not things but truth, knowledge, understanding, answers. When God comes to him at last, God grants none of these things, but neither does God rebuke him for desiring them (see last week's text, and 42:7).
Job's response is to quit complaining. Why? Because God has come to him, and that, really, is what he wanted. At the heart of his complaints was the sense that God was hidden (23:8-9); now, Job sees God. He experiences God in the midst of his suffering and knows that God is there.
The final verses (10-17) may seem artificial, like the "feel-good endings" Hollywood sometimes sticks on realistically poignant films that don't fare well with test audiences. For most of us, life is never this tidy. Theologically, however, the ending of Job may be read as a testimony to our ultimate eschatological hope. Someday, everything will be put right.
Hebrews 7:23-28
This lesson continues the theme of presenting Jesus as a high priest after the order of Melchizedek. Last week, we saw how he is similar to other high priests. Now, we hear three ways that he is unique: 1) he never needs to be replaced, because he lives forever; 2) he need not offer sacrifices for his own sin, for he has none; 3) he offered himself as a sacrifice for us.
The last point is the most significant and introduces the theme of "completion" or "restoration." Because Jesus' offering of himself was a perfect sacrifice, it need never be repeated. It was once, forever, an atonement for our sins, for all sins. This is at least one of the points symbolized dramatically elsewhere in the story of the Temple curtain rending at the moment of Jesus' death (see Mark 15:38). The perfect sacrifice has been made; no other need ever be made again.
This perfect sacrifice did not usher in the sort of eschatological restoration of fortune portrayed in the last verses of Job, but it did bring restoration of another sort -- reconciliation with God that breaks into our lives here and now and makes eternal salvation a present reality. That salvation is realized day by day as we continue to approach God "through him" (v. 25). So our salvation is complete, but also ongoing. If this seems a paradox, so too is the notion of Christ as both priest and victim. He has saved us by his death and yet "always lives" to make intercession for us. At heart here is theology of atonement that grants saving significance to the resurrection and ascension, not just the crucifixion. The paradox comes through the doctrine that resurrection and ascension do not cancel crucifixion or even repair it. The risen, exalted Lord remains the crucified one. Mark 10:46-52
Commentaries will indicate that these verses conclude an important section of Mark's gospel (8:22--10:46). The section begins and ends with stories of Jesus healing the blind. Sandwiched between these tales are all of the passion predictions, in which Jesus struggles to teach his disciples about the cross.
Some Markan scholars regard Bartimaeus as the most faithful associate of Jesus in this Gospel. In fact, in a book where most disciples are notorious for their failings, he is often lifted up as a paradigm of faithfulness. Of course, we do not hear much of him, but there is something paradigmatic in the concluding clause, "he regained his sight and followed him on the way."
In Mark, "the way" is a metaphor for the way of the cross. This is what people, including his disciples, want to avoid (8:31-33). Mark introduces Bartimaeus by saying he is sitting "by the way" (hodos, NRSV says "roadside"). After the encounter with Jesus, he follows "on the way." "Sight" is also a metaphor in Mark. It is what the disciples (8:18) as well as the Pharisees (4:12) lack. When one is able to see the world as Jesus does, then one can follow him in the way of the cross. For Bartimaeus, as for Job, "seeing" means acceptance of suffering in the company of the divine.
Reformation Sunday
Churches that observe a Reformation Sunday on this day follow completely different lessons. Connections with the Reformation theme are fairly obvious. Jeremiah 31:31-34 speaks of the new covenant which, interpreted christologically, became central to Reformed theology. Martin Luther and other leaders of the Reformation believed the heart of the Gospel was found in Romans 3:19-28: All people have sinned, but God offers forgiveness of sins through Christ Jesus. We are justified or put right with God through faith in Jesus. John 8:31-36 was chosen because verse 32 became the motto of the Reformation in some quarters. Preachers must be careful with this text to avoid implications of anti-Semitism. The point of contrasting "knowing the truth" with "being descendants of Abraham" is not to undermine Jewish lineage (which Jesus, his disciples, and the author of the Gospel all shared) but to emphasize that true freedom is not related to ethnic distinctions or social class. Only Jesus can free us from slavery to sin and he does this through the truth of the Gospel.
FIRST LESSON FOCUSBy James A. Nestingen
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Well, all's well that ends well. After the dramatic encounters of the Book of Job -- Job's defiance, God's thunders, and the in-your-face exchanges -- the epilogue gets a little anticlimactic. It sounds like the prophets of balance have taken over once more. But hope will have its way.
Did Job repent in dust and ashes, as described? In some ways, it's more attractive to think of him standing and shaking his fist at the heavens. In fact, there's a long tradition of such anger with God, in both the Old Testament and the New: Abraham, Jeremiah, and Jesus himself are some good examples. Faith holds God to the promise, not letting God get away with anything less. God can handle anger.
In fact, not every story ends like Job's. For some, suffering remains the rule, not the exception. Whether personal or corporate, occasional on constant, the pain of loss remains an unrelenting companion. If the good Lord is worthy of the name, such disasters have to be called to attention, and forcibly. Jesus, after all, commended that poor woman who stood knocking until the judge got out of bed.
Just the same, sometimes God's closeness can be a lot harder to bear than distance. As God moves in, the contrasts get to be more pronounced: power and weakness, glory and shame, grace and hostility. If faith can encompass anger, biblically considered it is always joined with repentance. Job gave as good as he got. He had his confessions to make.
And what about the restoration of Job's fortunes? That, too, sounds a little hokey. It might not be so bad if you were one of the later sons and daughters who could revel in your father's restored wealth. But what if you were part of the earlier family, a child, say for instance, of one of Job's first set of children, who all died? Then the happy shouts of restoration would be a continuing reminder of loss. No, things don't always turn out as hoped. The happy-go-lucky, for every-cloudy-day-a-sunny-one school of balance can look awfully illusory.
Yet God does have a way of evening things up. People who have been through deep suffering in personal life, economically or socially, will often describe such a restoration. The losses don't lose their reality, but neither do the gifts. In the end, faith can describe both -- lamenting what's lost, rejoicing in what's been received.
Such faith, such hope, having survived October, can even live with November. Lost or restored, imbalanced or self-possessed, hope lives beyond itself, in Christ. The resurrection of the dead, after all, doesn't fit into any equation.
