Sez who?
Commentary
"Sez who?"
"Sez me, that's who!"
"Yeah, well, how do you know?"
It's a standard playground or backyard exchange, one I imagine most of us have experienced at one time in our lives. The scenario usually begins when one child makes a tremendously authoritative statement about something. To make matters worse, it may be an outrageous statement, and it may go against conventional childhood wisdom. The other children gathered around can't simply believe it as delivered. No, you can't simply accept these things too readily. You have to challenge it. And so the exchange above ensues.
The topic could vary. In my experience it was mostly about one of our friends or sports, or maybe sex, which we had trouble believing anyway. But regardless of topic, the dynamic of the argument was the same. The conflict was about authority, about the basis for saying something that might sound surprising, about the basis, as a matter of fact, for any assertion at all.
There were times when the argument ended simply because we got interested in something else, by the fire engine that passed by or by a mother's summons home to dinner. But most often, it seemed that the one who won the argument was the one who had the loudest voice, or who had the most commanding presence in the group, or who had got really good grades in school, or who had some other claim to the truth, or maybe the one who could simply hold out the longest.
Controversies about authority and power start early, and they are with us for the rest of our lives.
But somehow, these all-too-human shows of power and arrogance aren't what God has in mind for human society or for the kingdom. The religious authorities in Jerusalem said the same thing to Jesus, "Sez who?" And Jesus refused to show his credentials; he wouldn't buy into their game. And it may just be that there is a different basis for authority in God's kingdom. Perhaps there is a silent authority that has a far stronger claim to true authority than any loud, brassy bluster that we can produce.
Exodus 17:1-7
The reader is referred to the installment for March 3, 2002, the Third Sunday in Lent, for another take on this passage. This is one among a number of stories of Israel in the desert, and it falls in the category of the "murmuring" stories, episodes in which Israel complains about the difficulties of being in the wilderness. The account has a parallel in Numbers 20:2-13.
First, let's consider geography. The Sinai is etched by countless wadis that were formed in earlier geological periods. "The wilderness of Sin" is in the central region of the Sinai Peninsula, and is one of several named wildernesses within the Sinai, including the wilderness of Shur and the wilderness of Paran. It is not the same as the wilderness of Zin, which is in the area of the Negev, south of Palestine. Instead, the word Sin is most likely related to "Sinai." Some have offered suggestions about the location of Rephidim, but it remains unknown. It is, as can be imagined, an arid, desolate region, in which food and water would be scarce. In other words, geography plays a major role in what happened to Israel and in her understanding of God's presence and absence.
It doesn't seem odd that the people would go to Moses asking for water, nor that they would complain. After all, he was their leader. The question of verse 3, about why they had left Egypt if it was only to face further troubles, is familiar. The people asked it in 14:11 when the Egyptians pursued them as they left Egypt and in 16:3 when they were without bread. In each of the three instances, Moses interceded to God on behalf of the people, and Israel received miraculous help from the hand of God, in the parting of the Red Sea, in the gift of the manna, and now, in this reading, in the water from the rock.
Beneath the complaint about why they had bothered to leave Egypt lies the same phenomenon described in the Declaration of Independence: "All Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed." Israel had become accustomed to the evils of Egypt, and so in the midst of the hardships of the wilderness, Egypt, despite the slavery, looked good and familiar.
And even deeper beneath the complaint is the question posed in verse 7, a question that comes from every person of faith during times of hardship: Is God really with us?
But the point to be made here is that it was precisely at the moment of most need, and precisely at the moment when Israel wondered most about God's presence, as in verse 7, that God was most present to them. In fact, later generations of Israel would look back on the wilderness years as a time of a unique closeness between Israel and Yahweh.
The wilderness experience was for Israel the embodiment of that strange theological issue, the simultaneous presence and absence of God. God was both far away and closer than Israel could possibly imagine.
Philippians 2:1-13
Despite the urgings of the New Testament, there is no greater hallmark of the church -- either now or in A.D. 60 -- than conflict and dissension. And that is the occasion for Paul's letter to the church at Philippi, along with some unnamed, external threat to the church. Leading up to this reading, Paul has been exhorting the Philippians to be one in the face of the threats, to strive for unity of spirit and faith in the midst of the struggles.
The "if" clause of verse 1 is not, of course, a true question about whether any of the series of statements that follow are true. It is a rhetorical device, in which Paul means to assure the Philippians of all of those things in the series, and also to plead for them to partake of those things. "Make my joy complete," says Paul, "by having those same things in you: be encouraged in Christ, be consoled by love, share in the Spirit, and be compassionate and sympathetic." That's point number one of the reading: Paul wants the Philippians to be of one mind, to be unified in having those characteristics in their common life.
Point number two is about another characteristic that they should have corporately: humility. Look to others' interest, he says, and regard them as better than yourselves. But this point far overshadows the first point, because of Paul's inclusion of the hymn of Christ in verses 6-11. This is one of the most soaring, lofty readings in the New Testament, certainly the centerpiece of the letter to the Philippians. It touches and moves, yet it expresses solid, and surprising, theology. Most commentators agree that Paul is quoting a hymn that was current in the church, but this is the only historical reference to it.
The hymn speaks of what has been called a V-shaped theology. Verses 6-8 describe of the descent of Christ, and verses 9-11 speak of his ascent, together forming a V. The surprise in the hymn is the doctrine of a pre-existent Christ, who existed before Jesus was born, and presumably from the beginning. It is a belief that finds its fullest description in the prologue to John's gospel, and it has been seen as a relatively late doctrine. But this hymn puts it as early as, say, A.D. 50. In other words, it was established early in Christian thought.
It is also important to speak of the idea of "kenosis," which is a term derived from verse 7: "but emptied (ekenosen) himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness" (NRSV). Kenosis means self-emptying, setting aside the glory and power -- in fact, the equality with God -- that were rightfully Christ's. It is God's act of willfully becoming a slave (RSV: servant), which is the ultimate act of humility. And that humility, says Paul, should be the model for the Philippians. It is certainly not a theology unique to Philippians, but echoes many of Jesus' teachings in the Gospels.
The passage ends with Paul's exhortation and reassurance to the Philippians. The exhortation is to "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling," which means with humility and a reliance on God, which are, in fact, the same thing. The reassurance (v. 13) is that "it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure." Not only is God calling us to be all of the things that Paul urges on the Philippians, but it is God who enables us to choose those things out of our will and to work for them.
Matthew 21:23-32
Jesus was clearly a thorn in the side of the religious authorities of his day. His mere presence in the temple constituted a challenge, not only to them, but also to their way of religious life and the edifice of religious tradition that had been built over the centuries. So it is that with 21:23 we come to an important exchange between Jesus and the chief priests and elders. It is, in many ways, the crux of the matter, since the issue was about their religious authority, which he took rather lightly.
The encounter takes place after Jesus had cleared the temple of merchants and turned over the tables of moneychangers, so that the religious leaders were certainly not well disposed to him, even if they had been before. Their question to Jesus, therefore, was a natural one, given the circumstances and the threat that he posed to their authority.
Jesus' response to them seems strange; why not simply answer the question and get it over with? For one thing, it was a trap Jesus set that they fell into -- either answer they gave would get them in trouble. But if we look closer, we see that his question in return was itself about the issue of authority: Where did John get his authority? And from that, what is the source of any authority to do anything? Implied, but not stated in the exchange is that Jesus' authority comes from God, who is ultimately the source of all authority, and that therefore human beings are limited in the authority they can confer. So it was that the religious leaders chose to stay mute, and Jesus did the same.
From there we move on to the parable of verses 28-32, which at first glance seems to be completely unrelated to the foregoing encounter. It has a distinct connection, however, because now, through the parable, Jesus is making a strong accusation against the chief priests and elders. The question of the parable is this: Who is really doing God's will? The one who professes to do it and doesn't or the one who claims nothing at all yet does God's will? The parallel is between the religious leaders, who claim righteousness and authority and who challenge Jesus, on one side, and the sinful tax collectors and prostitutes who are roundly condemned by the religious leaders, on the other side. And there are two points here. One, God wants more than simply righteous speech; God wants righteous actions. And two, it is never too late for someone to turn around, for no one is ever completely cut off from God's grace.
Application
Questions of authority are certainly not limited to childhood and the playground, except, perhaps, only in a metaphorical sense. We see it everyday in countless settings.
Washington, D.C., is a place that runs on authority. The things that go on there -- political maneuvering, lobbying, getting your bill before Congress and then getting it passed, negotiating and compromising -- are all the product of the use of authority. And there are various sources for the authority that speaks so loudly in Washington. It could be political, the authority conferred on someone who is elected by the people, be it a landslide election victory for a senator or a squeaker for president of the United States. It could be the authority that comes with being appointed to a high job, as, say, secretary of labor. It could be that you get your authority in Washington from having money -- it still speaks volumes. Knowledge is a source of power in Washington, so whoever knows the secrets -- the CIA Director for example -- has enormous authority. Proximity to power brings a great deal of authority to people. If you have the ear of the president, you are way up there in the hierarchy of power and authority.
And what does authority mean in both the childhood, playground scenario and in Washington, D.C.? Well, let's look it up. One dictionary says, "Power to require and receive submission; the right to expect obedience; superiority derived from a status that carries with it the right to command and give final decisions. Jurisdiction; dominion ... power to influence thought or opinion...." In practice, it means working your will on somebody else, it means having official sanction, it means having people believe you, and being able to get what you want, it means having people obey you and do your bidding.
And even though Washington might be a microcosm, or a laboratory-pure form, of authority and power issues, nothing happens there that doesn't happen anyplace else. Government is not the only repository of authority and power. We see it in business, notably in the recent past, Enron. We see it in education, we see it in the church, and we see it in interpersonal relationships.
And the one unifying thing that runs through all of these is that in our world, questions of authority always come down to power, whether it is the power of office, or the power of the purse, or the power of one set of lungs to shout down another.
But there is another realm with another kind of authority that is based on powerlessness.
The religious leaders in Jerusalem challenged Jesus' authority in the things he did. But he wouldn't defend or justify himself. He simply continued doing what he was doing: teaching and preaching and healing. They seemed to be threatened by his use of an authority that didn't flow from the proper human channels. He wasn't ordained as a priest, he wasn't of the house of Levi. So where did he get off doing these things?
Again let's go to the dictionary. The word "authority" comes, by way of French, from the Latin word auctor, i.e., originator, author. In other words, authority comes from the originator, from the author, and Jesus' authority to do what he did came from the author of all, God.
And the authority that comes from God is certainly different from the authority displayed and used in human society. Philippians contains the description without equal of the strange heavenly authority that empties itself and doesn't insist on exercising itself. Christ gave up the power and the authority that were by all rights and righteousness his. He gave it up and proclaimed, in his life and his teaching, a new sort of authority, the silent authority that comes with utter reliance on God.
Who knows what kind of authority we would have if we stop insisting on our own, admittedly meager, authority, give it up, and let God's authority, the silent authority, come through us? Who knows? But maybe we should give it a try.
Alternative Applications
1) Exodus: Presence and Absence. Israel's experience of God was marked by times of intense activity on God's part, and other times of the apparent absence of God from among them. The time of the Exodus and in particular the wilderness experience fits that description. It is ironic that Israel would later look back on the time in the wilderness as one of intense closeness with God. Perhaps God's presence is most acutely felt in our response to what feels like God's complete absence
2) Matthew: The Rebel who Finally Comes. The second part of the Gospel Lesson deals with those who turn away initially and then finally come along (tax collectors and prostitutes), as opposed to those who say they're coming along and don't (chief priests and elders). The proof of the pudding is in the final result: Everybody has a chance to turn around, and they will, presumably, be given lots of chances. God always embraces the rebel who finally shows us.
First Lesson Focus
Exodus 17:1-7
Before they reached Mount Sinai in the southern portion of the Sinai peninsula, the Israelites, whom God delivered from bondage in Egypt, had to travel through a long stretch of dry and dangerous desert. Day by day they were fed by God's gift of manna from heaven. But they also had to have water, especially in the desert heat, and they counted on the springs found at various oases along the way to supply their need. When they encamped at Rephidim, not too far away from Mount Sinai/Horeb, however, there was no refreshing stream, and our text for the morning tells of the consequences of that lack.
As was their continual wont, the people turn in anger against Moses. (The Hebrew word for "found fault" in v. 2 is rib, comparing the people's attack against Moses to a trial.) They accuse Moses of leading them out of Egypt to kill them and their children and cattle with thirst (v. 3). Moses is at his wit's end. "What shall I do with this people?" he cries out to the Lord. "They are ready to stone me!" In other words, both the people and Moses doubt that God, who has accompanied them all the way, will supply their need.
But this God of the Bible, who is ever patient, ever slow to anger, graciously helps out his servant Moses and his thirsty people. He instructs Moses to take his rod and, accompanied by some of the elders, to journey on beyond the company to a rock at the foot of Mount Sinai/Horeb. There the Lord will stand. And Moses is to strike the rock, whereupon water will flow from it to satisfy the people's need. Moses does so, and water flows forth. But Moses names the site Massah (meaning "proof") and Meribah (meaning "contention"), because there the people have contended with God and demanded proof of his sustaining power.
Strangely, this story is an important one in the Old Testament, although in other passages, the site is named Meribah only, and it is connected with Kadesh. A longer version of the story is found in Numbers 20:1-13, with Moses and Aaron both named, and its events are mentioned in Deuteronomy 32:51; 33:8; Psalm 81:7 and 106:32. Most important, Deuteronomy 32:51 and Psalm 106:32 say that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land because of what he did at Meribah. Much speculation has accompanied that prohibition. What was Moses' fault? Was it that he struck the rock twice instead of once, according to Numbers 20:11? No. In Numbers 20:12, the Lord says that Moses "did not believe" in the Lord, "to sanctify" him "in the eyes of the people of Israel." That is, Moses was just like his complaining people. He did not trust the Lord to provide for the people's needs. He thought God had deserted him and left him all alone to deal with the accusing crowd. Like a fearful Elijah on Mount Horeb, he thought, "I, even I only, am left" (1 Kings 19:10, 14) to deal with the difficulties of this world. For his lack of trust in the holy and almighty Redeemer of Israel, Moses therefore was forbidden to enter the Promised Land. (We should note, however, that a far more profound reason for the prohibition to enter the land is given in Deuteronomy 1:37; 3:26; and 4:21. In that tradition, as the suffering mediator for his people, Moses takes the sins of the people upon himself in order that Israel may enter in.)
The word that comes to us from our text, therefore, is that we are never alone and never without God in dealing with the demands and necessities of this world. Indeed, our Lord Jesus taught us that we are not to be anxious about our life. Our heavenly Father, who promised in his Son to be with us always, knows all our needs (Matthew 6:32) and he will supply them according to his loving will. More, in his Son Jesus Christ, God gave us living water, with which we will never thirst, but which will become in us a spring of water welling up to eternal life (John 4:14).
Lutheran Option -- Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32
Chapter 18 in the prophecies of Ezekiel is a long chapter dealing with the justice of God. In 597 B.C., the davidic king, the leaders, and the most important people in Judah were carried into Babylonian exile. Among them was the prophet Ezekiel, who received his prophetic call in 593 B.C., and who carried on his ministry among the exiles until at least 571 B.C.
As he lived and worked among the exiles, Ezekiel heard them repeating a familiar proverb: "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." That is, the exiles in the land of Babylon thought they were being punished for the sins of their forbears, a view found previously in 2 Kings 21:1-15, where Judah's punishment is attributed to the evil deeds of King Manasseh.
Ezekiel is given a correcting word from God, however. God wants above all to forgive his sinful people, and therefore he commands that the proverb no more be used. No one will be punished or die for the sins of their predecessors. Only "the soul that sins shall die." In verses 5-24, the prophet gives three illustrations of that truth.
As our text picks up then, in verses 25-32, the Lord answers the people's accusation that his ways are not just in that he is punishing the children for the sins of the parents by sending them into exile. But not so, says the Lord. The Israelites are languishing in exile for their own sinful ways. But, declares the Lord of mercy, if the people repent and turn away from their transgressions, they will live. God holds them responsible only for what they themselves have done. Then follows the statement of God's character: "I have no pleasure in the death of any one," says the Lord God. God does not want any of his beloved children to die for their sins, even though "the wages of sin is death" (Romans 6:23). God wants only good for his children, and he grieves over their death-bringing ways (cf. Genesis 6:6; Deuteronomy 5:29). God wants it to go well with us. But he is also the Lord who cannot simply overlook the challenges to his lordship. So he pleads with his errant people, "Turn, and live!" Surely it is the same plea that he makes to you and me.
But what is the way of turning? How do we turn and live? By getting ourselves a new heart and a new spirit, says verse 31 of our Ezekiel text, and that we can't do by ourselves, can we? No, it is only as God takes our hearts of stone out of us, preaches Ezekiel, and gives us a heart of flesh, and it is only as he puts his spirit within us (Ezekiel 37:26-27) that we are changed. But surely that is what our God has done for us in Jesus Christ. God has poured into our hearts his Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16; 6:19; 2 Corinthians 1:22; Galatians 4:6), so that we can turn and walk according to his ways and live. And in that, says Ezekiel, God takes pleasure.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16
This is one of the "Wisdom Psalms," and part of the wisdom it extols is the importance of telling our children about our faith (v. 4), including telling them of the glorious deeds of God in the past (as, for example, vv. 12-16) as evidence for what God continues to do in the present.
We hear a lot these days about how rebellious many teens are, and how many seem to abandon the values of their parents. But studies have shown that most teens, despite their rebelliousness and the agony they put their parents through, when grown up, eventually adopt the values of their parents.
What better reason than that is there for us to speak of the meaning and importance of our faith in our homes and in front of the children growing up around us? If they are going to eventually embrace at least some of the things we hold important, then hadn't we better let them know how much our God means to us personally?
Speaking of our faith may seem more difficult and awkward with our youth than with adults but it's actually not that hard. At our church, during the confirmation classes, we assign each young person in the class an adult mentor. Week after week, I give the kids some questions to ask of their mentors. The kids phone the adults and then report back to the class the next Sunday the results of those conversations.
Those adults have no problem explaining their faith to young people. In each case, all that is required was for the kids to ask. In our homes, in our classes at church, at family gatherings and other places, what we need to do is talk that freely about our faith without waiting for the questions to be asked. We may think the kids aren't listening, but we are often surprised by how much they have soaked up.
"Sez me, that's who!"
"Yeah, well, how do you know?"
It's a standard playground or backyard exchange, one I imagine most of us have experienced at one time in our lives. The scenario usually begins when one child makes a tremendously authoritative statement about something. To make matters worse, it may be an outrageous statement, and it may go against conventional childhood wisdom. The other children gathered around can't simply believe it as delivered. No, you can't simply accept these things too readily. You have to challenge it. And so the exchange above ensues.
The topic could vary. In my experience it was mostly about one of our friends or sports, or maybe sex, which we had trouble believing anyway. But regardless of topic, the dynamic of the argument was the same. The conflict was about authority, about the basis for saying something that might sound surprising, about the basis, as a matter of fact, for any assertion at all.
There were times when the argument ended simply because we got interested in something else, by the fire engine that passed by or by a mother's summons home to dinner. But most often, it seemed that the one who won the argument was the one who had the loudest voice, or who had the most commanding presence in the group, or who had got really good grades in school, or who had some other claim to the truth, or maybe the one who could simply hold out the longest.
Controversies about authority and power start early, and they are with us for the rest of our lives.
But somehow, these all-too-human shows of power and arrogance aren't what God has in mind for human society or for the kingdom. The religious authorities in Jerusalem said the same thing to Jesus, "Sez who?" And Jesus refused to show his credentials; he wouldn't buy into their game. And it may just be that there is a different basis for authority in God's kingdom. Perhaps there is a silent authority that has a far stronger claim to true authority than any loud, brassy bluster that we can produce.
Exodus 17:1-7
The reader is referred to the installment for March 3, 2002, the Third Sunday in Lent, for another take on this passage. This is one among a number of stories of Israel in the desert, and it falls in the category of the "murmuring" stories, episodes in which Israel complains about the difficulties of being in the wilderness. The account has a parallel in Numbers 20:2-13.
First, let's consider geography. The Sinai is etched by countless wadis that were formed in earlier geological periods. "The wilderness of Sin" is in the central region of the Sinai Peninsula, and is one of several named wildernesses within the Sinai, including the wilderness of Shur and the wilderness of Paran. It is not the same as the wilderness of Zin, which is in the area of the Negev, south of Palestine. Instead, the word Sin is most likely related to "Sinai." Some have offered suggestions about the location of Rephidim, but it remains unknown. It is, as can be imagined, an arid, desolate region, in which food and water would be scarce. In other words, geography plays a major role in what happened to Israel and in her understanding of God's presence and absence.
It doesn't seem odd that the people would go to Moses asking for water, nor that they would complain. After all, he was their leader. The question of verse 3, about why they had left Egypt if it was only to face further troubles, is familiar. The people asked it in 14:11 when the Egyptians pursued them as they left Egypt and in 16:3 when they were without bread. In each of the three instances, Moses interceded to God on behalf of the people, and Israel received miraculous help from the hand of God, in the parting of the Red Sea, in the gift of the manna, and now, in this reading, in the water from the rock.
Beneath the complaint about why they had bothered to leave Egypt lies the same phenomenon described in the Declaration of Independence: "All Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed." Israel had become accustomed to the evils of Egypt, and so in the midst of the hardships of the wilderness, Egypt, despite the slavery, looked good and familiar.
And even deeper beneath the complaint is the question posed in verse 7, a question that comes from every person of faith during times of hardship: Is God really with us?
But the point to be made here is that it was precisely at the moment of most need, and precisely at the moment when Israel wondered most about God's presence, as in verse 7, that God was most present to them. In fact, later generations of Israel would look back on the wilderness years as a time of a unique closeness between Israel and Yahweh.
The wilderness experience was for Israel the embodiment of that strange theological issue, the simultaneous presence and absence of God. God was both far away and closer than Israel could possibly imagine.
Philippians 2:1-13
Despite the urgings of the New Testament, there is no greater hallmark of the church -- either now or in A.D. 60 -- than conflict and dissension. And that is the occasion for Paul's letter to the church at Philippi, along with some unnamed, external threat to the church. Leading up to this reading, Paul has been exhorting the Philippians to be one in the face of the threats, to strive for unity of spirit and faith in the midst of the struggles.
The "if" clause of verse 1 is not, of course, a true question about whether any of the series of statements that follow are true. It is a rhetorical device, in which Paul means to assure the Philippians of all of those things in the series, and also to plead for them to partake of those things. "Make my joy complete," says Paul, "by having those same things in you: be encouraged in Christ, be consoled by love, share in the Spirit, and be compassionate and sympathetic." That's point number one of the reading: Paul wants the Philippians to be of one mind, to be unified in having those characteristics in their common life.
Point number two is about another characteristic that they should have corporately: humility. Look to others' interest, he says, and regard them as better than yourselves. But this point far overshadows the first point, because of Paul's inclusion of the hymn of Christ in verses 6-11. This is one of the most soaring, lofty readings in the New Testament, certainly the centerpiece of the letter to the Philippians. It touches and moves, yet it expresses solid, and surprising, theology. Most commentators agree that Paul is quoting a hymn that was current in the church, but this is the only historical reference to it.
The hymn speaks of what has been called a V-shaped theology. Verses 6-8 describe of the descent of Christ, and verses 9-11 speak of his ascent, together forming a V. The surprise in the hymn is the doctrine of a pre-existent Christ, who existed before Jesus was born, and presumably from the beginning. It is a belief that finds its fullest description in the prologue to John's gospel, and it has been seen as a relatively late doctrine. But this hymn puts it as early as, say, A.D. 50. In other words, it was established early in Christian thought.
It is also important to speak of the idea of "kenosis," which is a term derived from verse 7: "but emptied (ekenosen) himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness" (NRSV). Kenosis means self-emptying, setting aside the glory and power -- in fact, the equality with God -- that were rightfully Christ's. It is God's act of willfully becoming a slave (RSV: servant), which is the ultimate act of humility. And that humility, says Paul, should be the model for the Philippians. It is certainly not a theology unique to Philippians, but echoes many of Jesus' teachings in the Gospels.
The passage ends with Paul's exhortation and reassurance to the Philippians. The exhortation is to "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling," which means with humility and a reliance on God, which are, in fact, the same thing. The reassurance (v. 13) is that "it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure." Not only is God calling us to be all of the things that Paul urges on the Philippians, but it is God who enables us to choose those things out of our will and to work for them.
Matthew 21:23-32
Jesus was clearly a thorn in the side of the religious authorities of his day. His mere presence in the temple constituted a challenge, not only to them, but also to their way of religious life and the edifice of religious tradition that had been built over the centuries. So it is that with 21:23 we come to an important exchange between Jesus and the chief priests and elders. It is, in many ways, the crux of the matter, since the issue was about their religious authority, which he took rather lightly.
The encounter takes place after Jesus had cleared the temple of merchants and turned over the tables of moneychangers, so that the religious leaders were certainly not well disposed to him, even if they had been before. Their question to Jesus, therefore, was a natural one, given the circumstances and the threat that he posed to their authority.
Jesus' response to them seems strange; why not simply answer the question and get it over with? For one thing, it was a trap Jesus set that they fell into -- either answer they gave would get them in trouble. But if we look closer, we see that his question in return was itself about the issue of authority: Where did John get his authority? And from that, what is the source of any authority to do anything? Implied, but not stated in the exchange is that Jesus' authority comes from God, who is ultimately the source of all authority, and that therefore human beings are limited in the authority they can confer. So it was that the religious leaders chose to stay mute, and Jesus did the same.
From there we move on to the parable of verses 28-32, which at first glance seems to be completely unrelated to the foregoing encounter. It has a distinct connection, however, because now, through the parable, Jesus is making a strong accusation against the chief priests and elders. The question of the parable is this: Who is really doing God's will? The one who professes to do it and doesn't or the one who claims nothing at all yet does God's will? The parallel is between the religious leaders, who claim righteousness and authority and who challenge Jesus, on one side, and the sinful tax collectors and prostitutes who are roundly condemned by the religious leaders, on the other side. And there are two points here. One, God wants more than simply righteous speech; God wants righteous actions. And two, it is never too late for someone to turn around, for no one is ever completely cut off from God's grace.
Application
Questions of authority are certainly not limited to childhood and the playground, except, perhaps, only in a metaphorical sense. We see it everyday in countless settings.
Washington, D.C., is a place that runs on authority. The things that go on there -- political maneuvering, lobbying, getting your bill before Congress and then getting it passed, negotiating and compromising -- are all the product of the use of authority. And there are various sources for the authority that speaks so loudly in Washington. It could be political, the authority conferred on someone who is elected by the people, be it a landslide election victory for a senator or a squeaker for president of the United States. It could be the authority that comes with being appointed to a high job, as, say, secretary of labor. It could be that you get your authority in Washington from having money -- it still speaks volumes. Knowledge is a source of power in Washington, so whoever knows the secrets -- the CIA Director for example -- has enormous authority. Proximity to power brings a great deal of authority to people. If you have the ear of the president, you are way up there in the hierarchy of power and authority.
And what does authority mean in both the childhood, playground scenario and in Washington, D.C.? Well, let's look it up. One dictionary says, "Power to require and receive submission; the right to expect obedience; superiority derived from a status that carries with it the right to command and give final decisions. Jurisdiction; dominion ... power to influence thought or opinion...." In practice, it means working your will on somebody else, it means having official sanction, it means having people believe you, and being able to get what you want, it means having people obey you and do your bidding.
And even though Washington might be a microcosm, or a laboratory-pure form, of authority and power issues, nothing happens there that doesn't happen anyplace else. Government is not the only repository of authority and power. We see it in business, notably in the recent past, Enron. We see it in education, we see it in the church, and we see it in interpersonal relationships.
And the one unifying thing that runs through all of these is that in our world, questions of authority always come down to power, whether it is the power of office, or the power of the purse, or the power of one set of lungs to shout down another.
But there is another realm with another kind of authority that is based on powerlessness.
The religious leaders in Jerusalem challenged Jesus' authority in the things he did. But he wouldn't defend or justify himself. He simply continued doing what he was doing: teaching and preaching and healing. They seemed to be threatened by his use of an authority that didn't flow from the proper human channels. He wasn't ordained as a priest, he wasn't of the house of Levi. So where did he get off doing these things?
Again let's go to the dictionary. The word "authority" comes, by way of French, from the Latin word auctor, i.e., originator, author. In other words, authority comes from the originator, from the author, and Jesus' authority to do what he did came from the author of all, God.
And the authority that comes from God is certainly different from the authority displayed and used in human society. Philippians contains the description without equal of the strange heavenly authority that empties itself and doesn't insist on exercising itself. Christ gave up the power and the authority that were by all rights and righteousness his. He gave it up and proclaimed, in his life and his teaching, a new sort of authority, the silent authority that comes with utter reliance on God.
Who knows what kind of authority we would have if we stop insisting on our own, admittedly meager, authority, give it up, and let God's authority, the silent authority, come through us? Who knows? But maybe we should give it a try.
Alternative Applications
1) Exodus: Presence and Absence. Israel's experience of God was marked by times of intense activity on God's part, and other times of the apparent absence of God from among them. The time of the Exodus and in particular the wilderness experience fits that description. It is ironic that Israel would later look back on the time in the wilderness as one of intense closeness with God. Perhaps God's presence is most acutely felt in our response to what feels like God's complete absence
2) Matthew: The Rebel who Finally Comes. The second part of the Gospel Lesson deals with those who turn away initially and then finally come along (tax collectors and prostitutes), as opposed to those who say they're coming along and don't (chief priests and elders). The proof of the pudding is in the final result: Everybody has a chance to turn around, and they will, presumably, be given lots of chances. God always embraces the rebel who finally shows us.
First Lesson Focus
Exodus 17:1-7
Before they reached Mount Sinai in the southern portion of the Sinai peninsula, the Israelites, whom God delivered from bondage in Egypt, had to travel through a long stretch of dry and dangerous desert. Day by day they were fed by God's gift of manna from heaven. But they also had to have water, especially in the desert heat, and they counted on the springs found at various oases along the way to supply their need. When they encamped at Rephidim, not too far away from Mount Sinai/Horeb, however, there was no refreshing stream, and our text for the morning tells of the consequences of that lack.
As was their continual wont, the people turn in anger against Moses. (The Hebrew word for "found fault" in v. 2 is rib, comparing the people's attack against Moses to a trial.) They accuse Moses of leading them out of Egypt to kill them and their children and cattle with thirst (v. 3). Moses is at his wit's end. "What shall I do with this people?" he cries out to the Lord. "They are ready to stone me!" In other words, both the people and Moses doubt that God, who has accompanied them all the way, will supply their need.
But this God of the Bible, who is ever patient, ever slow to anger, graciously helps out his servant Moses and his thirsty people. He instructs Moses to take his rod and, accompanied by some of the elders, to journey on beyond the company to a rock at the foot of Mount Sinai/Horeb. There the Lord will stand. And Moses is to strike the rock, whereupon water will flow from it to satisfy the people's need. Moses does so, and water flows forth. But Moses names the site Massah (meaning "proof") and Meribah (meaning "contention"), because there the people have contended with God and demanded proof of his sustaining power.
Strangely, this story is an important one in the Old Testament, although in other passages, the site is named Meribah only, and it is connected with Kadesh. A longer version of the story is found in Numbers 20:1-13, with Moses and Aaron both named, and its events are mentioned in Deuteronomy 32:51; 33:8; Psalm 81:7 and 106:32. Most important, Deuteronomy 32:51 and Psalm 106:32 say that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land because of what he did at Meribah. Much speculation has accompanied that prohibition. What was Moses' fault? Was it that he struck the rock twice instead of once, according to Numbers 20:11? No. In Numbers 20:12, the Lord says that Moses "did not believe" in the Lord, "to sanctify" him "in the eyes of the people of Israel." That is, Moses was just like his complaining people. He did not trust the Lord to provide for the people's needs. He thought God had deserted him and left him all alone to deal with the accusing crowd. Like a fearful Elijah on Mount Horeb, he thought, "I, even I only, am left" (1 Kings 19:10, 14) to deal with the difficulties of this world. For his lack of trust in the holy and almighty Redeemer of Israel, Moses therefore was forbidden to enter the Promised Land. (We should note, however, that a far more profound reason for the prohibition to enter the land is given in Deuteronomy 1:37; 3:26; and 4:21. In that tradition, as the suffering mediator for his people, Moses takes the sins of the people upon himself in order that Israel may enter in.)
The word that comes to us from our text, therefore, is that we are never alone and never without God in dealing with the demands and necessities of this world. Indeed, our Lord Jesus taught us that we are not to be anxious about our life. Our heavenly Father, who promised in his Son to be with us always, knows all our needs (Matthew 6:32) and he will supply them according to his loving will. More, in his Son Jesus Christ, God gave us living water, with which we will never thirst, but which will become in us a spring of water welling up to eternal life (John 4:14).
Lutheran Option -- Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32
Chapter 18 in the prophecies of Ezekiel is a long chapter dealing with the justice of God. In 597 B.C., the davidic king, the leaders, and the most important people in Judah were carried into Babylonian exile. Among them was the prophet Ezekiel, who received his prophetic call in 593 B.C., and who carried on his ministry among the exiles until at least 571 B.C.
As he lived and worked among the exiles, Ezekiel heard them repeating a familiar proverb: "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." That is, the exiles in the land of Babylon thought they were being punished for the sins of their forbears, a view found previously in 2 Kings 21:1-15, where Judah's punishment is attributed to the evil deeds of King Manasseh.
Ezekiel is given a correcting word from God, however. God wants above all to forgive his sinful people, and therefore he commands that the proverb no more be used. No one will be punished or die for the sins of their predecessors. Only "the soul that sins shall die." In verses 5-24, the prophet gives three illustrations of that truth.
As our text picks up then, in verses 25-32, the Lord answers the people's accusation that his ways are not just in that he is punishing the children for the sins of the parents by sending them into exile. But not so, says the Lord. The Israelites are languishing in exile for their own sinful ways. But, declares the Lord of mercy, if the people repent and turn away from their transgressions, they will live. God holds them responsible only for what they themselves have done. Then follows the statement of God's character: "I have no pleasure in the death of any one," says the Lord God. God does not want any of his beloved children to die for their sins, even though "the wages of sin is death" (Romans 6:23). God wants only good for his children, and he grieves over their death-bringing ways (cf. Genesis 6:6; Deuteronomy 5:29). God wants it to go well with us. But he is also the Lord who cannot simply overlook the challenges to his lordship. So he pleads with his errant people, "Turn, and live!" Surely it is the same plea that he makes to you and me.
But what is the way of turning? How do we turn and live? By getting ourselves a new heart and a new spirit, says verse 31 of our Ezekiel text, and that we can't do by ourselves, can we? No, it is only as God takes our hearts of stone out of us, preaches Ezekiel, and gives us a heart of flesh, and it is only as he puts his spirit within us (Ezekiel 37:26-27) that we are changed. But surely that is what our God has done for us in Jesus Christ. God has poured into our hearts his Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16; 6:19; 2 Corinthians 1:22; Galatians 4:6), so that we can turn and walk according to his ways and live. And in that, says Ezekiel, God takes pleasure.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16
This is one of the "Wisdom Psalms," and part of the wisdom it extols is the importance of telling our children about our faith (v. 4), including telling them of the glorious deeds of God in the past (as, for example, vv. 12-16) as evidence for what God continues to do in the present.
We hear a lot these days about how rebellious many teens are, and how many seem to abandon the values of their parents. But studies have shown that most teens, despite their rebelliousness and the agony they put their parents through, when grown up, eventually adopt the values of their parents.
What better reason than that is there for us to speak of the meaning and importance of our faith in our homes and in front of the children growing up around us? If they are going to eventually embrace at least some of the things we hold important, then hadn't we better let them know how much our God means to us personally?
Speaking of our faith may seem more difficult and awkward with our youth than with adults but it's actually not that hard. At our church, during the confirmation classes, we assign each young person in the class an adult mentor. Week after week, I give the kids some questions to ask of their mentors. The kids phone the adults and then report back to the class the next Sunday the results of those conversations.
Those adults have no problem explaining their faith to young people. In each case, all that is required was for the kids to ask. In our homes, in our classes at church, at family gatherings and other places, what we need to do is talk that freely about our faith without waiting for the questions to be asked. We may think the kids aren't listening, but we are often surprised by how much they have soaked up.
