Sharing in Christ's suffering
Commentary
As we move to the end of this year's Lenten journey, the New Testament texts speak of Christ's suffering as something in which we are invited to share and to which we are invited to be conformed. The theology gets a little heady here, as Paul and John reflect, each in their own manner, on what Christ's death means for the community shaped by the cross. Ironically, Isaiah would say it all more clearly, if only the lectionary would let him.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Verse 18 of this lesson presents a surprise, one that reverses expectations built by the preceding material. In 43:16-17, the prophet makes clear that the God who addresses the Babylonian exiles is indeed the Lord of the exodus, the one who "makes a way in the sea," destroying chariots and horses. We would expect the oracle to continue with an exhortation to remember this great act of deliverance in the past and to persist in the present with faith grounded in the tradition of salvation history. Instead, Isaiah says, "Do not remember the former things ..." (v. 18). A corner has been turned. God is about to do something new (v. 19).
The new thing that God does will be like the old, but different. If God can make a way in the sea (v. 16), then God can also make a way in the desert (v. 18; NRSV, "wilderness"). The deliverance from the exile will be like an "inverse exodus." Before, God provided dry land in the midst of the waters; now, God will supply waters in the midst of the dry land (desert). In a sense, then, the new work of God recalls the old so that the tradition can never literally be forgotten, but the recognition that God is going to act now requires dynamic faith that goes beyond commemoration of what God has done in the past. In effect, the prophet shifts the basis for hope from the historical to the eschat-ological. History and tradition are important, but faith looks forward, not backward.
It's too bad that the text stops where it does -- for it never really reveals what is new about what God is going to do. As it reads, the return from exile seems parallel to the exodus. God will deliver the people once more. How is that "new"? To get the point -- the main point of the pericope -- we must read on to verse 25, where God says, "I will blot out your transgressions; I will not remember your sins." If I were preaching on this text, I would ignore the illogic of the lectionary and read the whole passage.
In context, verse 25 is as surprising as verse 18. It follows a traditional list of complaints God has against Israel. The people have been negligent in holding up their end of the covenant. They have not called on God, brought offerings or sacrifices, burnt incense, and so forth. Instead, they have become weary of God and burdened God with their sins and iniquities. All this prepares us for a prophetic exhortation to repentance followed by either promises or threats concerning what will happen if the exhortation is or is not heeded. But suddenly, God simply declares, "I will not remember your sins." The forgiveness appears unmotivated, the pardon undeserved. The absolution comes for God's own sake, because of who God is, and not as a result of who the people are or of what they have done. God will keep the covenant even though God's people have not kept it. The people may have abandoned God, but God has not abandoned them.
Philippians 3:4b-14
In an extremely rich passage, Paul reflects upon his past, present, and future. Pauline scholars treasure the first few verses (4b-6) because they are one of the few places in which Paul provides explicit autobiographical data. Even here, he does so reluctantly, for he does not want people to focus on him but on Christ. He offers his resume only as a list of what he gladly gives up for the surpassing value of knowing Christ.
As for the future, Paul sees a prize and a goal (v. 14). The prize is the heavenly call, and it will be his whether he reaches his goal or not. The goal is to be conformed to Christ's death and resurrection, a common theme for Paul (see Romans 6:4-8; Galatians 2:19-20). What does he mean by this?
We catch something of what this means in his response to his present situation, which is one of suffering. He is in prison, awaiting probable execution. In such straits, he wants to know (that is, experience) two things: the power of Christ's resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings (v. 10). To know the power of his resurrection even while suffering would mean to be confident of ultimate victory and glory. To know "the sharing (koinonia) of Christ's sufferings" is profound but hard to grasp. Paul is not referring to Christ's redemptive suffering on the cross -- this was a once-for-all act, and we do not share in it. Rather, he thinks of the birth-pangs of the new age, the messianic woes that accompany the coming of God's kingdom. Paul believes Christ is suffering still, like a woman in labor, to bring in God's kingdom. Furthermore, he believes the church is the body of Christ on earth. He wants to be able to view his own suffering in that light, to see that he is part of that body and that what is happening to him is truly happening to the Lord Jesus.
He admits that he does not always obtain this clarity. Even for Paul, the Christian life was a life of continual growth.
John 12:1-8
The shift to John's Gospel in the midst of the Series C Lenten season is abrupt. We will, of course, sample lessons from John during Easter, but why now? The lectionary likes to provide a story concerning the proleptic anointing of Jesus for burial, and Luke curiously omits this narrative from his passion account, perhaps because he has a similar story about a different anointing in 7:37-50. Otherwise, this is one of the very few events from Jesus' life reported in both the Synoptic Gospels and John. The principal difference is that John knows the woman's name. Mark (and Matthew) end with the embarrassing recollection that Jesus told us never to forget ... you know, that woman, whatever her name was. John remembers: it was Mary of Bethany, the same Mary who had a sister named Martha (see Luke 10:38-42) and a brother named Lazarus (John 11). The church, however, has done little better than Matthew or Mark at preserving this memory. Most Christians, and practically all films of the biblical story, wrongly attribute this anointing to Mary Magdalene.
Everything in John is symbolic. This story seems to present an image of Christian worship and to cast it specifically as devotion to Jesus and sharing in his death. The latter idea obviously coheres nicely with the theme from our second lesson for today. We are not told how Mary knew that Jesus was going to die, and this would be superfluous information. She does know, and she responds with loving worship that prepares him (and herself) for his burial. Such participation is not counter to resurrection faith, as Paul makes clear. We can indeed seek to share in the sufferings of Christ and also in the power of his resurrection. We not only can; we must.
Jesus' words regarding the poor often attract undue attention. He certainly does not mean to prioritize worship over social action. The point is the priority of the cross, which establishes the context for worship, social action, and everything else.
Mary's action becomes the model for Jesus' own behavior when he, at the last supper, washes his disciples' feet as she did his. Was he inspired by her to choose this symbol of loving service? In any case, he then commends those disciples also to "wash each other's feet," so that eventually Mary's act becomes the model for Christian discipleship and community building throughout the whole church.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Isaiah 43:16-21
Endings can be sad. Your son calls you unexpectedly from college and wants nothing more than to tell you about his studies and his new girlfriend, and you're sad when the call has to end. Or you attend the symphony and are swept up by the glorious music and are very sorry when the finale comes. But, of course, those are temporary endings.
Other endings are much more permanent. I just retired from seminary teaching after forty years of classroom work. While the newfound freedom and release from duty are pleasant, I am a little sad not to be able any more to watch students grow in their faith and learning, in all of their eagerness and questioning. I'm sure you must have similar sad feelings when you retire, too -- not to have the challenge and satisfaction of accomplishment, and not to have the daily association with your colleagues.
But saddest of all are those times when a loved relationship comes to an end. One July I visited a friend who was slowly dying of kidney disease from diabetes. She looked healthy enough, but as I prepared to leave, she told me, "I won't see you again, and I want you to know that I love you very much." She died that September. Endings can be very sad indeed.
Of course endings can also sometimes be joyful. We have a friend in Africa who told us, "Where there's death, there's hope" -- hope for release from an oppressive government, hope for a remedy from poverty and tyranny. The endings of injustice, suffering, oppression, prejudice are devoutly to be desired.
Israel, in our Isaiah text, had no such joyful feelings about endings, however. Her life as a nation was at an end. The troops of the Babylonians had swept through her land, burned her temple and houses, broken down the walls of Jerusalem, and carried all but her poorest peasants into exile in Babylonia. Gone were her land, her davidic king, her priests, her temple, her ark of the covenant. She had become "no people" -- as Psalm 44 says, a "laughingstock" among the nations, an object of taunts and of derision and scorn (vv. 13-14).
What made it worse, according to Psalm 44, was that Israel had a memory. She remembered the days when God had given her victories, when he had pushed down her enemies and saved her from her foes. The previous generations had told her all about those glory days. But now the glory was gone and the Israelites lamented:
Yet thou hast cast us off and abased us,
and hast not gone out with our armies...
Thou hast made us like sheep for the slaughter,
and hast scattered us among the nations.
Thou hast sold thy people for a trifle,
demanding no high price for them. (vv. 9-10, 12)
Israel's life as a people was at an end, because God had deserted her, she was sure. "My way is hid from the Lord," she mourned, "and my right is disregarded by my God" (Isaiah 40:27). The end of a loving human relationship is bad enough, but the end of our relationship with God is worst of all.
The glad news of our text for the morning is that, for God, there are no sorrowful endings. Rather, there is always a future. "Remember not the former things," God tells the exiled Israelites (v. 18). Never mind the glory days of the past. And take no heed of your past sins that led you to your present sorry situation. "Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (v. 19). God has a future for his exiled folk beyond their wildest imagination. According to our text, he will lead them once more out of slavery in a new exodus event. Waters will flow forth in the desert and even the wild beasts will praise his act (vv. 19-20). God will return to his people and lead them into a new life, defending them by his mighty right arm, but also feeding them like a shepherd, carrying them tenderly in his everlasting love, and gently leading those who are with young (40:9-11). The central message of the Second Isaiah, then, is that Israel is to wait for that new act, wait patiently for the God who will save her and renew her life once again (40:28-31).
We should note what kind of God can make such a promise, however. In verses 15-17 of our text, he is the Lord, the Holy One unlike any other, the Creator of Israel, her King. And as that Holy Lord and King, God is the one who defeated the mighty Egyptian Empire and delivered Israel out of Egyptian slavery in the first place. God is the one who has the power to defeat the might of nations, but God is also the one who has the love that can redeem and save his own. And that God, that God alone, is the one who can always give us a future.
God does not deal in permanent endings. And so you are at the end of a loving relationship, but God still has a future for you. You have reached the age of retirement, but God still has you in his plans. You are in a situation where you think you cannot go on, but God can strengthen and guide you on. You are at the end of your rope, but God holds you by a cord of love.
Indeed, some loved one of yours has died and you have been left behind, with nothing but emptiness to fill your days and the feeling that life is over. Christians, however, are those who never have to say goodbye. Beyond the grave, beyond the emptiness, beyond the sorrowful goodbye, there is God's eternal life, and God's joyful reunion of all those who love him, and yes, still the strength and the comfort that can give peace in the midst of loneliness. The resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ put an end to permanent endings. For the God who redeemed Israel out of slavery had the power and the love to overcome even death.
God has a future for us all, no matter what our situation. "Behold, I am doing a new thing," he tells us. Wait for it and expect it, trusting that he will never forget or forsake you.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Verse 18 of this lesson presents a surprise, one that reverses expectations built by the preceding material. In 43:16-17, the prophet makes clear that the God who addresses the Babylonian exiles is indeed the Lord of the exodus, the one who "makes a way in the sea," destroying chariots and horses. We would expect the oracle to continue with an exhortation to remember this great act of deliverance in the past and to persist in the present with faith grounded in the tradition of salvation history. Instead, Isaiah says, "Do not remember the former things ..." (v. 18). A corner has been turned. God is about to do something new (v. 19).
The new thing that God does will be like the old, but different. If God can make a way in the sea (v. 16), then God can also make a way in the desert (v. 18; NRSV, "wilderness"). The deliverance from the exile will be like an "inverse exodus." Before, God provided dry land in the midst of the waters; now, God will supply waters in the midst of the dry land (desert). In a sense, then, the new work of God recalls the old so that the tradition can never literally be forgotten, but the recognition that God is going to act now requires dynamic faith that goes beyond commemoration of what God has done in the past. In effect, the prophet shifts the basis for hope from the historical to the eschat-ological. History and tradition are important, but faith looks forward, not backward.
It's too bad that the text stops where it does -- for it never really reveals what is new about what God is going to do. As it reads, the return from exile seems parallel to the exodus. God will deliver the people once more. How is that "new"? To get the point -- the main point of the pericope -- we must read on to verse 25, where God says, "I will blot out your transgressions; I will not remember your sins." If I were preaching on this text, I would ignore the illogic of the lectionary and read the whole passage.
In context, verse 25 is as surprising as verse 18. It follows a traditional list of complaints God has against Israel. The people have been negligent in holding up their end of the covenant. They have not called on God, brought offerings or sacrifices, burnt incense, and so forth. Instead, they have become weary of God and burdened God with their sins and iniquities. All this prepares us for a prophetic exhortation to repentance followed by either promises or threats concerning what will happen if the exhortation is or is not heeded. But suddenly, God simply declares, "I will not remember your sins." The forgiveness appears unmotivated, the pardon undeserved. The absolution comes for God's own sake, because of who God is, and not as a result of who the people are or of what they have done. God will keep the covenant even though God's people have not kept it. The people may have abandoned God, but God has not abandoned them.
Philippians 3:4b-14
In an extremely rich passage, Paul reflects upon his past, present, and future. Pauline scholars treasure the first few verses (4b-6) because they are one of the few places in which Paul provides explicit autobiographical data. Even here, he does so reluctantly, for he does not want people to focus on him but on Christ. He offers his resume only as a list of what he gladly gives up for the surpassing value of knowing Christ.
As for the future, Paul sees a prize and a goal (v. 14). The prize is the heavenly call, and it will be his whether he reaches his goal or not. The goal is to be conformed to Christ's death and resurrection, a common theme for Paul (see Romans 6:4-8; Galatians 2:19-20). What does he mean by this?
We catch something of what this means in his response to his present situation, which is one of suffering. He is in prison, awaiting probable execution. In such straits, he wants to know (that is, experience) two things: the power of Christ's resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings (v. 10). To know the power of his resurrection even while suffering would mean to be confident of ultimate victory and glory. To know "the sharing (koinonia) of Christ's sufferings" is profound but hard to grasp. Paul is not referring to Christ's redemptive suffering on the cross -- this was a once-for-all act, and we do not share in it. Rather, he thinks of the birth-pangs of the new age, the messianic woes that accompany the coming of God's kingdom. Paul believes Christ is suffering still, like a woman in labor, to bring in God's kingdom. Furthermore, he believes the church is the body of Christ on earth. He wants to be able to view his own suffering in that light, to see that he is part of that body and that what is happening to him is truly happening to the Lord Jesus.
He admits that he does not always obtain this clarity. Even for Paul, the Christian life was a life of continual growth.
John 12:1-8
The shift to John's Gospel in the midst of the Series C Lenten season is abrupt. We will, of course, sample lessons from John during Easter, but why now? The lectionary likes to provide a story concerning the proleptic anointing of Jesus for burial, and Luke curiously omits this narrative from his passion account, perhaps because he has a similar story about a different anointing in 7:37-50. Otherwise, this is one of the very few events from Jesus' life reported in both the Synoptic Gospels and John. The principal difference is that John knows the woman's name. Mark (and Matthew) end with the embarrassing recollection that Jesus told us never to forget ... you know, that woman, whatever her name was. John remembers: it was Mary of Bethany, the same Mary who had a sister named Martha (see Luke 10:38-42) and a brother named Lazarus (John 11). The church, however, has done little better than Matthew or Mark at preserving this memory. Most Christians, and practically all films of the biblical story, wrongly attribute this anointing to Mary Magdalene.
Everything in John is symbolic. This story seems to present an image of Christian worship and to cast it specifically as devotion to Jesus and sharing in his death. The latter idea obviously coheres nicely with the theme from our second lesson for today. We are not told how Mary knew that Jesus was going to die, and this would be superfluous information. She does know, and she responds with loving worship that prepares him (and herself) for his burial. Such participation is not counter to resurrection faith, as Paul makes clear. We can indeed seek to share in the sufferings of Christ and also in the power of his resurrection. We not only can; we must.
Jesus' words regarding the poor often attract undue attention. He certainly does not mean to prioritize worship over social action. The point is the priority of the cross, which establishes the context for worship, social action, and everything else.
Mary's action becomes the model for Jesus' own behavior when he, at the last supper, washes his disciples' feet as she did his. Was he inspired by her to choose this symbol of loving service? In any case, he then commends those disciples also to "wash each other's feet," so that eventually Mary's act becomes the model for Christian discipleship and community building throughout the whole church.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Isaiah 43:16-21
Endings can be sad. Your son calls you unexpectedly from college and wants nothing more than to tell you about his studies and his new girlfriend, and you're sad when the call has to end. Or you attend the symphony and are swept up by the glorious music and are very sorry when the finale comes. But, of course, those are temporary endings.
Other endings are much more permanent. I just retired from seminary teaching after forty years of classroom work. While the newfound freedom and release from duty are pleasant, I am a little sad not to be able any more to watch students grow in their faith and learning, in all of their eagerness and questioning. I'm sure you must have similar sad feelings when you retire, too -- not to have the challenge and satisfaction of accomplishment, and not to have the daily association with your colleagues.
But saddest of all are those times when a loved relationship comes to an end. One July I visited a friend who was slowly dying of kidney disease from diabetes. She looked healthy enough, but as I prepared to leave, she told me, "I won't see you again, and I want you to know that I love you very much." She died that September. Endings can be very sad indeed.
Of course endings can also sometimes be joyful. We have a friend in Africa who told us, "Where there's death, there's hope" -- hope for release from an oppressive government, hope for a remedy from poverty and tyranny. The endings of injustice, suffering, oppression, prejudice are devoutly to be desired.
Israel, in our Isaiah text, had no such joyful feelings about endings, however. Her life as a nation was at an end. The troops of the Babylonians had swept through her land, burned her temple and houses, broken down the walls of Jerusalem, and carried all but her poorest peasants into exile in Babylonia. Gone were her land, her davidic king, her priests, her temple, her ark of the covenant. She had become "no people" -- as Psalm 44 says, a "laughingstock" among the nations, an object of taunts and of derision and scorn (vv. 13-14).
What made it worse, according to Psalm 44, was that Israel had a memory. She remembered the days when God had given her victories, when he had pushed down her enemies and saved her from her foes. The previous generations had told her all about those glory days. But now the glory was gone and the Israelites lamented:
Yet thou hast cast us off and abased us,
and hast not gone out with our armies...
Thou hast made us like sheep for the slaughter,
and hast scattered us among the nations.
Thou hast sold thy people for a trifle,
demanding no high price for them. (vv. 9-10, 12)
Israel's life as a people was at an end, because God had deserted her, she was sure. "My way is hid from the Lord," she mourned, "and my right is disregarded by my God" (Isaiah 40:27). The end of a loving human relationship is bad enough, but the end of our relationship with God is worst of all.
The glad news of our text for the morning is that, for God, there are no sorrowful endings. Rather, there is always a future. "Remember not the former things," God tells the exiled Israelites (v. 18). Never mind the glory days of the past. And take no heed of your past sins that led you to your present sorry situation. "Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (v. 19). God has a future for his exiled folk beyond their wildest imagination. According to our text, he will lead them once more out of slavery in a new exodus event. Waters will flow forth in the desert and even the wild beasts will praise his act (vv. 19-20). God will return to his people and lead them into a new life, defending them by his mighty right arm, but also feeding them like a shepherd, carrying them tenderly in his everlasting love, and gently leading those who are with young (40:9-11). The central message of the Second Isaiah, then, is that Israel is to wait for that new act, wait patiently for the God who will save her and renew her life once again (40:28-31).
We should note what kind of God can make such a promise, however. In verses 15-17 of our text, he is the Lord, the Holy One unlike any other, the Creator of Israel, her King. And as that Holy Lord and King, God is the one who defeated the mighty Egyptian Empire and delivered Israel out of Egyptian slavery in the first place. God is the one who has the power to defeat the might of nations, but God is also the one who has the love that can redeem and save his own. And that God, that God alone, is the one who can always give us a future.
God does not deal in permanent endings. And so you are at the end of a loving relationship, but God still has a future for you. You have reached the age of retirement, but God still has you in his plans. You are in a situation where you think you cannot go on, but God can strengthen and guide you on. You are at the end of your rope, but God holds you by a cord of love.
Indeed, some loved one of yours has died and you have been left behind, with nothing but emptiness to fill your days and the feeling that life is over. Christians, however, are those who never have to say goodbye. Beyond the grave, beyond the emptiness, beyond the sorrowful goodbye, there is God's eternal life, and God's joyful reunion of all those who love him, and yes, still the strength and the comfort that can give peace in the midst of loneliness. The resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ put an end to permanent endings. For the God who redeemed Israel out of slavery had the power and the love to overcome even death.
God has a future for us all, no matter what our situation. "Behold, I am doing a new thing," he tells us. Wait for it and expect it, trusting that he will never forget or forsake you.
