Words on singed lips
Commentary
You can always tell the prophets by the scars on their lips. How could it be otherwise for mouths that pass the word of God? Jeremiah's lips had the Lord's own fingerprint (Jeremiah 1:9). Isaiah had the quintessential divine disfigurement, the mark of a burning coal on his mouth (Isaiah 6:6-7).
Sometimes the marks are less obvious. Ezekiel had a smile of one who had tasted honey, while the Elder of the book of Revelation found the honey on his tongue turned sour in his stomach (Ezekiel 2:8--3:3; Revelation 10:8-11). The word inside Paul tortured him with his past as a persecutor of the church, to the point that he called himself "the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle," redeemed only by the grace of God and the proclamation now passing his lips (1 Corinthians 15:9-11). Likewise Peter was singed by the word of Jesus, which laid open his past in plain sight (Luke 5:5-8).
Whatever the mark, visible or not, the touch of God cannot help but leave a lasting impression.
Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13)
Isaiah presents us with a vision of a God who is totally other. The scene is the familiar Temple in Jerusalem, but the image is not pretty -- it's like something out of science fiction, with darkness, smoke, and lurking monsters. At the center is a God too big to be contained by mortal thought, let alone mortal structures, and a frail human being who is scared out of his wits, yet willing to say, "Here I am."
There is much debate over whether chapter 6 represents Isaiah's original call as a prophet, or merely a commissioning for a special task. Certainly the account has some features of a typical prophetic call narrative: the divine vision, the call, reluctance or refusal on the part of the prophet, and a sign from God followed by a commission (cf. Exodus 3; Judges 6; Jeremiah 1). However, this story does not take place at the beginning of the prophet's ministry, but well into it (thus some theorize that the narrative was part of a memoir that has been inserted into pre-existing material). And it bears some striking resemblances to another sort of divine commissioning story, where the prophet overhears a debate within the divine council and volunteers for a special mission (cf. Micaiah in 1 Kings 22). Ultimately, the form is subordinate to the actual content of the commission.
Isaiah places the time as "in the year that King Uzziah died" (v. 1). The exact date varies with the source (either 742, 738, or 736/45 B.C.), but is more a symbol than a time marker: the death of Uzziah marked an end to an age of stability and the beginning of the dominance of Assyria in the region. Tiglath-Pileser III came to power in Assyria in 745, and soon began to expand into Syria and Palestine, so most of Isaiah's ministry took place under the shadow of foreign threat. The call/commission is closely linked to the following stories in chapters 7-9, where Isaiah will confront the new king, Ahaz, over his capitulation to Assyria, which will eventually lead Israel into exile in 722.
Isaiah's temple vision shows the glory of a God who is too big to fit this world; the mere hem of God's robe fills the temple completely (6:1). God is enthroned as a king, and surrounded by royal attendants, the seraphim. Usually seraphim are described as winged serpents (cf. 14:29; 30:6; Numbers 21:6; 2 Kings 18:4); here they sing: "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory" (v. 3). Their wings not only enable them to fly, but hide their nakedness (the euphemistic "feet") and cover their eyes, for not even the divine attendants can approach God uncovered, and no one can see God face-to-face and live. Their message reinforces their behavior, for God is said to be "holy" and have "glory." Holiness is not an ethical quality here, but the essence of God's nature as separate from creation -- God's total otherness from all that we know. Such otherness produces glory, the visible splendor that springs from God's nature. The title "Lord of Hosts" reminds us that God is vastly powerful, in charge of armies of these hideous creatures that serve him in the temple, who shake the foundations with their song (v. 4).
The "smoke" that fills the temple is necessary to moderate the glory of God before created eyes, but it also sets the stage for the burning lip balm that Isaiah is about to receive. The prophet realizes immediately that his life is forfeit in the presence of holy glory (v. 5). This is one instance in which Isaiah's call breaks the usual pattern, since his cry is far stronger than the usual protest or resistance: he is both utterly "silenced" and "lost" (the verb can mean both at once), because his lips are not only unclean, but belong to an unclean people. To say that these lips are "unclean" is to say that they are "common," the opposite of "holy"; rather than being fit for speaking of the divine, they are capable only of human speech. Isaiah shares with his community the commonness of speech that cannot do justice to the God before him; his "woe" is a lament for himself and his fellow citizens. Fortunately, God has a treatment for his condition: the searing of lips by a live coal from the altar (vv. 6-7). Isaiah's common lips have been certified to speak of otherness by this painful treatment (perhaps modeled on Egyptian and Mesopotamian coronation rituals), though as we shall see, nothing is said of the unclean lips of his people. Isaiah is now set apart, as God is set apart.
The shorter lectionary choice ends the passage with Isaiah's positive response to God's need (v. 8). This happy ending may make for easy preaching, but Isaiah's hard work had only begun. As they say in the army, never volunteer, and Isaiah soon learns why: the task set before him is as strange and incomprehensible as the God who commissioned him. The prophet is sent, not to redeem the people, but to harden them against redemption (v. 9). Isaiah's task is to "make the mind of this people dull" (literally, "make their hearts fat"), "and stop their ears, and shut their eyes, so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed" (v. 10). Rather than offering singed lips to all the people, God will instead leave them be, with their old, fat, and dull hearts ("hearts" here taken as the seat of the intellect). The inexplicable truth is that God has had it with Israel, and the end is near, at the hands of Assyria. The vineyard that is Israel will be destroyed (cf. Isaiah 5:1-10).
Isaiah responds to the bad news with words from a prayer, "How long, O LORD?" (v. 11, cf. Psalm 13:2; 74:10; 80:4; 89:46; 90:13). God's answer is that there is no specified limit, but that the vineyard will be left wasted and utterly desolate (vv. 11-12). The final verse is difficult, and has prompted many emendations, but the original (represented by NRSV) makes about as much sense as anything: the idea seems to be that even a tenth part of the vineyard remaining will be subject to yet another purification by fire (v. 13). As Isaiah's lips were cleansed by fire, so the entire land will be given over to unrelenting cleansing. The last line, "the holy seed is its stump," may be a postexilic addition, but it represents the hope embodied in Isaiah's teaching: there always remains a remnant, those who survive the fire, to start over.
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Paul's encounter with the otherness of God was no less traumatic than Isaiah's, and formed the foundation of all that he had to tell the Corinthians. The doctrine of resurrection of the dead was rooted in Paul's own experience of the risen Christ. This was no dusty tradition passed along in words that rang hollow to experience. Not only could Paul point to many still alive who had seen the risen Jesus, but he himself had also seen him. Paul's language throughout the chapter is intended to shock, for the seriousness of the issue cannot be underestimated. There can be no Christianity without resurrection, because if Christ is not raised, faith in him is "in vain" (v. 2, cf. vv. 14, 17).
This last major section of the letter is presumably a response to an issue raised by the Corinthians (cf. 7:1; 8:1; 12:1). As such, it stands in the rhetorically significant position of the final emphasis; this doctrine has a bearing on all previously raised issues. It is not entirely clear what it means that "some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead" (v. 12). To completely deny resurrection would be an anti-Christian position, and Paul clearly addresses them as "brothers and sisters" (v. 1). Resurrection would have been a foreign notion to Gentile audiences (even some Jews denied it), and some Corinthians may have interpreted resurrection as the departure of the soul from the body, rather than the resuscitation of the corpse. Some may have seen the resurrection of Jesus as an isolated case, not applicable to the majority. Others may have believed that only Christians who were present at Jesus' return would go to the next life with him (cf. 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). Still others may have seen "resurrection" as only a spiritualized way of understanding the present life, the freeing of the soul from the body. This last suggestion is the favored theory among scholars today, for it makes sense of certain other indications in the letter that some in Corinth thought themselves above the fray, as if they had already been raised to new life (cf. 4:8-11). Whatever the problem, Paul affirms that resurrection will take place, that it will take place in the future, and that it will involve bodies, for the model of Christ demands it.
Paul begins with a summary of the tradition, in a chain-link construction of relative clauses that exactly mirrors the content: as the tradition has been passed from mouth to mouth, it forms the basis of Christian profession, Christian living, and Christian hope (vv. 1-2). "Being saved" requires holding firm to the message as proclaimed -- otherwise, God's work in them is for naught (v. 2).
The tradition itself is outlined in verses 3-11, which may be based on an earlier creed, since Paul himself admits that he did not invent it, but was merely a link in the chain. This tradition Paul received "as of first importance" (or "in the first place," signifying time -- the expression is ambiguous); it concerned Christ's death for our sins, his burial, his resurrection on the third day, and his appearances to various disciples. All this is said to take place according to the scriptures, although Paul does not specify which scriptures, any more than he specifies exactly how Christ's death dealt with sins, or how the resurrection took place. All we know is that he was in fact dead (his burial substantiates that), and that "he has been raised" (the perfect tense denotes a past state that is still significant, for he is still alive).
The appearances include those known and those otherwise unattested. Jesus appeared to Peter, whom Paul always calls "Cephas," according to Luke 24:34. The entire Twelve see Jesus in a number of Gospel accounts (Matthew 28:16-20; Luke 24:33-51; John 20:19-23, 26-29; Acts 1:3). The appearance to 500 is otherwise unknown, as is the appearance to James and "all the apostles" (a term Paul uses broadly, cf. 12:28; Romans 16:7). Last of all, he appeared to Paul (cf. 9:1; Galatians 1:16; Acts 9:1-9).
The tradition that came to Paul, and which Paul in turn handed to the Corinthians, comes with the seal of a burnt mouth. Paul can testify to his own experience that Jesus is in fact alive and has touched his lips, that he has changed him from a persecutor to a mouthpiece, and that despite Paul's many failings, God's grace is at work in him. In fact, Paul is proud of his labial disfigurement, because it means that the power in him is not his own but that of the other. In any case, the message is more important than the messenger. In the final verse, he comes full circle back to the chain-link tradition with which he began: "Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe" (v. 11). The only thing that matters is to believe that Christ is risen, for all of us depend on his life for our own, now and in the future.
Luke 5:1-11
Simon Peter is the third person in our lections to find his life reconfigured by the searing word of the Lord. Like Isaiah, Simon finds himself on his knees before the indescribable other. Like Paul, his life will be changed forever by the encounter. As with the others, when God intrudes into everyday life, the results are combustible.
Luke's version of the call of Simon, James, and John follows the rejection of Jesus in Nazareth, which foreshadows much of the story to come. This is one of six vignettes in a section set in Capernaum that gives an overview of Jesus' ministry in Galilee (4:31--5:16). Luke's story is quite distinct from the call of the disciples pictured in Mark and Matthew; rather than the enigmatic Pied Piper who mysteriously calls fishermen away from their nets, Jesus in Luke performs a prophetic work of power than authenticates his credentials, and on this basis the fishermen leave their boats to follow him.
In many ways, however, this is Simon Peter's story, and it follows the Old Testament call pattern. The story has three scenes. In Scene One, Jesus finds an ingenious solution to the problem of the great crowd following him (vv. 1-3). While speaking the word of God near the "lake of Gennesaret" (used only here of what is usually called "the sea of Galilee"), Jesus finds it necessary to requisition a fishing boat, just in from a night's work. Simon takes time from net maintenance (nets had to be washed, lest they shrink and become brittle) to put Jesus off from the shore, which forms an informal amphitheater.
Scene Two comprises the call of Simon (vv. 4-10). Apparently Simon is not alone in the boat but has some of his crew, for while the command, "Put out into the deep water," is singular in number, "Let down your nets for a catch," is plural (v. 4). Simon's answer stresses the importance of Jesus' word: "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so [literally, 'at your word'], I will let down the nets." Despite all appearances to the contrary, Simon puts his trust in the prophet's word -- having put out to the deep on the basis of nothing but a word, how could he turn back now? The resulting catch is emblematic of Luke's theme of reversal: what humans expect and what God delivers could not differ more. Simon's "partners in the other boat" turn out to be the sons of Zebedee, James and John, and even with their help the catch is so great that it almost swamps both boats (vv. 6-7, 10).
Simon's response to the prophetic sign is much like Isaiah's cry of woe: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" (v. 8). Simon confesses himself a "sinner," one of the groups that Jesus specialized in. But his actions prove himself worthy of the company of the prophets, which requires only the searing change that God's word can bring. Jesus tells him to stop fearing (a present imperative, "Do not be afraid"), and offers him a job in keeping with his soon-to-be-former profession: "From now on you will be catching people." The verb "catching" denotes "snaring" or "capturing alive." In contrast with the former life, Simon will now be keeping his catch alive, saving them from death. Fishing was a common metaphor in Greek literature for philosophical conversion; note however that Luke does not use Mark's pun about becoming "fishers of men."
Scene Three brings the episode to a quick conclusion. Simon's life has changed, along with his partners, for when they reach shore, they leave boats, nets, and everything to follow Jesus. Their disposition of their possessions is symbolic of their conversion; the old way of life simply means nothing any more, so they leave it behind. They "follow" Jesus with both hearts and bodies. They become part of his net.
Application
Those who handle the word of God should not expect it to be non-toxic Play-Doh. This is dangerous stuff. To read the Bible, as Annie Dillard has put it, is to become "children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning" (Teaching a Stone to Talk, p. 40). This God who touches our lips is fire, beyond anything we can dream or imagine, and we cannot expect to walk away from a meeting with God unchanged. Nor can we encounter such a God and remain conformed to what this world sees as beauty. On the contrary, we should expect to walk away disfigured.
This is not to say that life after God's fiery touch is unpleasant, but it can be hard. Isaiah was given a message of unrelenting gloom and doom, with only a hairline fracture of hope in its bleak surface. Paul confessed his long hard hours; plus he has to put up with the Corinthians. Peter left behind a good livelihood to trace Jesus' footsteps toward Calvary. To follow him is to step into the shadow of the cross.
The question is perhaps not so much whether it is worth it, but the extent to which we are compelled. Isaiah jumped right into the job while his lips still stung. Paul could hardly turn back to Jerusalem on the road to Damascus. Peter was actually quite comic, asking Jesus to leave in the middle of the lake (what, did he expect him to walk on the water?). Yet he, like disciples and prophets before and since, hurried after his Lord when offered the chance to gather more like himself. Such is the irony of the encounter with the divine -- that it both repels us in fear and draws us in joy.
Alternate Applications
1) Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13); 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11. God's call comes in the midst of what we were doing anyway. Isaiah was minding his own business when he had an encounter with monsters in the temple. Paul was busy persecuting the church when the road was pulled out from under him. Simon was doing net maintenance at the end of a double shift. We need not go to exotic shrines or retreats to find the divine word, because it always finds us. Chances are, if we have not heard it in the place where we are, doing what we usually do, then we simply haven't been listening.
2) Luke 5:1-11. Preachers could take a lesson from Luke in storytelling. Not only does he improve on Mark's version by supplying a motivation for Simon's conversion; he very carefully sets up each scene with logic and continuity. Jesus gets into the boat because he needs to speak to the crowd. Two boats are mentioned, because they will be needed later, and they belong to James and John, who will figure as new disciples. The fishermen are presented as washing their nets, a morning activity, thus it is no surprise to hear Simon say, "We have worked all night long" (v. 5). At the end of the story, Luke carefully brings the fishermen to shore, so they won't have to walk on the water to follow Jesus. (Luke's one lapse in narrative technique is that he has Simon out of the boat in verse 2, but back in it in verse 3.) Stories are perhaps the most powerful tools in the preacher's workshop, but they have to be carefully prepared to be effective; there is nothing worse than listening to a story that cannot be visualized -- or only as an absurdity -- because the preacher has been careless in the telling. The smart preacher learns from scripture not just content but the art of form.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 138
Attempting to use mere language to discuss and describe the workings of God is not an easy task. God, for all the obvious reasons, quickly exhausts our meager language. But that doesn't keep us from trying. The writers of the psalms were constantly using extreme language, pushing words and syntax to their limits, in an effort to describe their awareness or experiences of God.
Psalm 138 is a good example of that. Set in the context of praises to God for answered prayer, the psalmist takes us far beyond the realm of his personal situation. The God he knows has a name "above everything" (v. 2).
The psalmist wastes no time in getting to the point of his poem. "I give you thanks" are the first words he writes. The expression of thanks becomes the overriding theme for everything else that is offered. As the psalmist pours out praises from a grateful heart, his imagination soars with the wonder of God's greatness.
God is greater than all other gods. God is greater than kings. God's presence, God's name, God's word are all greater -- "above everything."
We have all heard people say that they would like to find and commit themselves to something "bigger than they are," or "larger than life." Although saying these things has a certain cliched quality about it, the sentiment nevertheless describes a common human need and aspiration. We sense intuitively that human life is more than just about personal survival. We were made for greater things, for more lofty purposes. We sense that we will only find the true meaning of our lives by giving ourselves to something larger than ourselves.
This desire to connect with something larger than ourselves becomes particularly important in times of suffering and distress (v. 7). If we have as the focus of our lives the preservation of our lives, then death becomes our constant fear. We live only to stay alive. And any threat of death, such as illness or calamity, serves not only to increase our fear, but also raises the specter of meaningless. In other words, the fulfillment of our aspiring need to connect to something larger than life is also the remedy for the fear that accompanies a life that we know is short.
If all this is true, then the psalmist has us on the right path. He seems to have found something not just larger than life, but larger than kings and even other deities. Meaning for him has been found in the name that is above every name. With that as his reason for living, the psalmist declares, "The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me" (v. 8).
Sometimes the marks are less obvious. Ezekiel had a smile of one who had tasted honey, while the Elder of the book of Revelation found the honey on his tongue turned sour in his stomach (Ezekiel 2:8--3:3; Revelation 10:8-11). The word inside Paul tortured him with his past as a persecutor of the church, to the point that he called himself "the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle," redeemed only by the grace of God and the proclamation now passing his lips (1 Corinthians 15:9-11). Likewise Peter was singed by the word of Jesus, which laid open his past in plain sight (Luke 5:5-8).
Whatever the mark, visible or not, the touch of God cannot help but leave a lasting impression.
Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13)
Isaiah presents us with a vision of a God who is totally other. The scene is the familiar Temple in Jerusalem, but the image is not pretty -- it's like something out of science fiction, with darkness, smoke, and lurking monsters. At the center is a God too big to be contained by mortal thought, let alone mortal structures, and a frail human being who is scared out of his wits, yet willing to say, "Here I am."
There is much debate over whether chapter 6 represents Isaiah's original call as a prophet, or merely a commissioning for a special task. Certainly the account has some features of a typical prophetic call narrative: the divine vision, the call, reluctance or refusal on the part of the prophet, and a sign from God followed by a commission (cf. Exodus 3; Judges 6; Jeremiah 1). However, this story does not take place at the beginning of the prophet's ministry, but well into it (thus some theorize that the narrative was part of a memoir that has been inserted into pre-existing material). And it bears some striking resemblances to another sort of divine commissioning story, where the prophet overhears a debate within the divine council and volunteers for a special mission (cf. Micaiah in 1 Kings 22). Ultimately, the form is subordinate to the actual content of the commission.
Isaiah places the time as "in the year that King Uzziah died" (v. 1). The exact date varies with the source (either 742, 738, or 736/45 B.C.), but is more a symbol than a time marker: the death of Uzziah marked an end to an age of stability and the beginning of the dominance of Assyria in the region. Tiglath-Pileser III came to power in Assyria in 745, and soon began to expand into Syria and Palestine, so most of Isaiah's ministry took place under the shadow of foreign threat. The call/commission is closely linked to the following stories in chapters 7-9, where Isaiah will confront the new king, Ahaz, over his capitulation to Assyria, which will eventually lead Israel into exile in 722.
Isaiah's temple vision shows the glory of a God who is too big to fit this world; the mere hem of God's robe fills the temple completely (6:1). God is enthroned as a king, and surrounded by royal attendants, the seraphim. Usually seraphim are described as winged serpents (cf. 14:29; 30:6; Numbers 21:6; 2 Kings 18:4); here they sing: "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory" (v. 3). Their wings not only enable them to fly, but hide their nakedness (the euphemistic "feet") and cover their eyes, for not even the divine attendants can approach God uncovered, and no one can see God face-to-face and live. Their message reinforces their behavior, for God is said to be "holy" and have "glory." Holiness is not an ethical quality here, but the essence of God's nature as separate from creation -- God's total otherness from all that we know. Such otherness produces glory, the visible splendor that springs from God's nature. The title "Lord of Hosts" reminds us that God is vastly powerful, in charge of armies of these hideous creatures that serve him in the temple, who shake the foundations with their song (v. 4).
The "smoke" that fills the temple is necessary to moderate the glory of God before created eyes, but it also sets the stage for the burning lip balm that Isaiah is about to receive. The prophet realizes immediately that his life is forfeit in the presence of holy glory (v. 5). This is one instance in which Isaiah's call breaks the usual pattern, since his cry is far stronger than the usual protest or resistance: he is both utterly "silenced" and "lost" (the verb can mean both at once), because his lips are not only unclean, but belong to an unclean people. To say that these lips are "unclean" is to say that they are "common," the opposite of "holy"; rather than being fit for speaking of the divine, they are capable only of human speech. Isaiah shares with his community the commonness of speech that cannot do justice to the God before him; his "woe" is a lament for himself and his fellow citizens. Fortunately, God has a treatment for his condition: the searing of lips by a live coal from the altar (vv. 6-7). Isaiah's common lips have been certified to speak of otherness by this painful treatment (perhaps modeled on Egyptian and Mesopotamian coronation rituals), though as we shall see, nothing is said of the unclean lips of his people. Isaiah is now set apart, as God is set apart.
The shorter lectionary choice ends the passage with Isaiah's positive response to God's need (v. 8). This happy ending may make for easy preaching, but Isaiah's hard work had only begun. As they say in the army, never volunteer, and Isaiah soon learns why: the task set before him is as strange and incomprehensible as the God who commissioned him. The prophet is sent, not to redeem the people, but to harden them against redemption (v. 9). Isaiah's task is to "make the mind of this people dull" (literally, "make their hearts fat"), "and stop their ears, and shut their eyes, so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed" (v. 10). Rather than offering singed lips to all the people, God will instead leave them be, with their old, fat, and dull hearts ("hearts" here taken as the seat of the intellect). The inexplicable truth is that God has had it with Israel, and the end is near, at the hands of Assyria. The vineyard that is Israel will be destroyed (cf. Isaiah 5:1-10).
Isaiah responds to the bad news with words from a prayer, "How long, O LORD?" (v. 11, cf. Psalm 13:2; 74:10; 80:4; 89:46; 90:13). God's answer is that there is no specified limit, but that the vineyard will be left wasted and utterly desolate (vv. 11-12). The final verse is difficult, and has prompted many emendations, but the original (represented by NRSV) makes about as much sense as anything: the idea seems to be that even a tenth part of the vineyard remaining will be subject to yet another purification by fire (v. 13). As Isaiah's lips were cleansed by fire, so the entire land will be given over to unrelenting cleansing. The last line, "the holy seed is its stump," may be a postexilic addition, but it represents the hope embodied in Isaiah's teaching: there always remains a remnant, those who survive the fire, to start over.
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Paul's encounter with the otherness of God was no less traumatic than Isaiah's, and formed the foundation of all that he had to tell the Corinthians. The doctrine of resurrection of the dead was rooted in Paul's own experience of the risen Christ. This was no dusty tradition passed along in words that rang hollow to experience. Not only could Paul point to many still alive who had seen the risen Jesus, but he himself had also seen him. Paul's language throughout the chapter is intended to shock, for the seriousness of the issue cannot be underestimated. There can be no Christianity without resurrection, because if Christ is not raised, faith in him is "in vain" (v. 2, cf. vv. 14, 17).
This last major section of the letter is presumably a response to an issue raised by the Corinthians (cf. 7:1; 8:1; 12:1). As such, it stands in the rhetorically significant position of the final emphasis; this doctrine has a bearing on all previously raised issues. It is not entirely clear what it means that "some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead" (v. 12). To completely deny resurrection would be an anti-Christian position, and Paul clearly addresses them as "brothers and sisters" (v. 1). Resurrection would have been a foreign notion to Gentile audiences (even some Jews denied it), and some Corinthians may have interpreted resurrection as the departure of the soul from the body, rather than the resuscitation of the corpse. Some may have seen the resurrection of Jesus as an isolated case, not applicable to the majority. Others may have believed that only Christians who were present at Jesus' return would go to the next life with him (cf. 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). Still others may have seen "resurrection" as only a spiritualized way of understanding the present life, the freeing of the soul from the body. This last suggestion is the favored theory among scholars today, for it makes sense of certain other indications in the letter that some in Corinth thought themselves above the fray, as if they had already been raised to new life (cf. 4:8-11). Whatever the problem, Paul affirms that resurrection will take place, that it will take place in the future, and that it will involve bodies, for the model of Christ demands it.
Paul begins with a summary of the tradition, in a chain-link construction of relative clauses that exactly mirrors the content: as the tradition has been passed from mouth to mouth, it forms the basis of Christian profession, Christian living, and Christian hope (vv. 1-2). "Being saved" requires holding firm to the message as proclaimed -- otherwise, God's work in them is for naught (v. 2).
The tradition itself is outlined in verses 3-11, which may be based on an earlier creed, since Paul himself admits that he did not invent it, but was merely a link in the chain. This tradition Paul received "as of first importance" (or "in the first place," signifying time -- the expression is ambiguous); it concerned Christ's death for our sins, his burial, his resurrection on the third day, and his appearances to various disciples. All this is said to take place according to the scriptures, although Paul does not specify which scriptures, any more than he specifies exactly how Christ's death dealt with sins, or how the resurrection took place. All we know is that he was in fact dead (his burial substantiates that), and that "he has been raised" (the perfect tense denotes a past state that is still significant, for he is still alive).
The appearances include those known and those otherwise unattested. Jesus appeared to Peter, whom Paul always calls "Cephas," according to Luke 24:34. The entire Twelve see Jesus in a number of Gospel accounts (Matthew 28:16-20; Luke 24:33-51; John 20:19-23, 26-29; Acts 1:3). The appearance to 500 is otherwise unknown, as is the appearance to James and "all the apostles" (a term Paul uses broadly, cf. 12:28; Romans 16:7). Last of all, he appeared to Paul (cf. 9:1; Galatians 1:16; Acts 9:1-9).
The tradition that came to Paul, and which Paul in turn handed to the Corinthians, comes with the seal of a burnt mouth. Paul can testify to his own experience that Jesus is in fact alive and has touched his lips, that he has changed him from a persecutor to a mouthpiece, and that despite Paul's many failings, God's grace is at work in him. In fact, Paul is proud of his labial disfigurement, because it means that the power in him is not his own but that of the other. In any case, the message is more important than the messenger. In the final verse, he comes full circle back to the chain-link tradition with which he began: "Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe" (v. 11). The only thing that matters is to believe that Christ is risen, for all of us depend on his life for our own, now and in the future.
Luke 5:1-11
Simon Peter is the third person in our lections to find his life reconfigured by the searing word of the Lord. Like Isaiah, Simon finds himself on his knees before the indescribable other. Like Paul, his life will be changed forever by the encounter. As with the others, when God intrudes into everyday life, the results are combustible.
Luke's version of the call of Simon, James, and John follows the rejection of Jesus in Nazareth, which foreshadows much of the story to come. This is one of six vignettes in a section set in Capernaum that gives an overview of Jesus' ministry in Galilee (4:31--5:16). Luke's story is quite distinct from the call of the disciples pictured in Mark and Matthew; rather than the enigmatic Pied Piper who mysteriously calls fishermen away from their nets, Jesus in Luke performs a prophetic work of power than authenticates his credentials, and on this basis the fishermen leave their boats to follow him.
In many ways, however, this is Simon Peter's story, and it follows the Old Testament call pattern. The story has three scenes. In Scene One, Jesus finds an ingenious solution to the problem of the great crowd following him (vv. 1-3). While speaking the word of God near the "lake of Gennesaret" (used only here of what is usually called "the sea of Galilee"), Jesus finds it necessary to requisition a fishing boat, just in from a night's work. Simon takes time from net maintenance (nets had to be washed, lest they shrink and become brittle) to put Jesus off from the shore, which forms an informal amphitheater.
Scene Two comprises the call of Simon (vv. 4-10). Apparently Simon is not alone in the boat but has some of his crew, for while the command, "Put out into the deep water," is singular in number, "Let down your nets for a catch," is plural (v. 4). Simon's answer stresses the importance of Jesus' word: "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so [literally, 'at your word'], I will let down the nets." Despite all appearances to the contrary, Simon puts his trust in the prophet's word -- having put out to the deep on the basis of nothing but a word, how could he turn back now? The resulting catch is emblematic of Luke's theme of reversal: what humans expect and what God delivers could not differ more. Simon's "partners in the other boat" turn out to be the sons of Zebedee, James and John, and even with their help the catch is so great that it almost swamps both boats (vv. 6-7, 10).
Simon's response to the prophetic sign is much like Isaiah's cry of woe: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" (v. 8). Simon confesses himself a "sinner," one of the groups that Jesus specialized in. But his actions prove himself worthy of the company of the prophets, which requires only the searing change that God's word can bring. Jesus tells him to stop fearing (a present imperative, "Do not be afraid"), and offers him a job in keeping with his soon-to-be-former profession: "From now on you will be catching people." The verb "catching" denotes "snaring" or "capturing alive." In contrast with the former life, Simon will now be keeping his catch alive, saving them from death. Fishing was a common metaphor in Greek literature for philosophical conversion; note however that Luke does not use Mark's pun about becoming "fishers of men."
Scene Three brings the episode to a quick conclusion. Simon's life has changed, along with his partners, for when they reach shore, they leave boats, nets, and everything to follow Jesus. Their disposition of their possessions is symbolic of their conversion; the old way of life simply means nothing any more, so they leave it behind. They "follow" Jesus with both hearts and bodies. They become part of his net.
Application
Those who handle the word of God should not expect it to be non-toxic Play-Doh. This is dangerous stuff. To read the Bible, as Annie Dillard has put it, is to become "children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning" (Teaching a Stone to Talk, p. 40). This God who touches our lips is fire, beyond anything we can dream or imagine, and we cannot expect to walk away from a meeting with God unchanged. Nor can we encounter such a God and remain conformed to what this world sees as beauty. On the contrary, we should expect to walk away disfigured.
This is not to say that life after God's fiery touch is unpleasant, but it can be hard. Isaiah was given a message of unrelenting gloom and doom, with only a hairline fracture of hope in its bleak surface. Paul confessed his long hard hours; plus he has to put up with the Corinthians. Peter left behind a good livelihood to trace Jesus' footsteps toward Calvary. To follow him is to step into the shadow of the cross.
The question is perhaps not so much whether it is worth it, but the extent to which we are compelled. Isaiah jumped right into the job while his lips still stung. Paul could hardly turn back to Jerusalem on the road to Damascus. Peter was actually quite comic, asking Jesus to leave in the middle of the lake (what, did he expect him to walk on the water?). Yet he, like disciples and prophets before and since, hurried after his Lord when offered the chance to gather more like himself. Such is the irony of the encounter with the divine -- that it both repels us in fear and draws us in joy.
Alternate Applications
1) Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13); 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11. God's call comes in the midst of what we were doing anyway. Isaiah was minding his own business when he had an encounter with monsters in the temple. Paul was busy persecuting the church when the road was pulled out from under him. Simon was doing net maintenance at the end of a double shift. We need not go to exotic shrines or retreats to find the divine word, because it always finds us. Chances are, if we have not heard it in the place where we are, doing what we usually do, then we simply haven't been listening.
2) Luke 5:1-11. Preachers could take a lesson from Luke in storytelling. Not only does he improve on Mark's version by supplying a motivation for Simon's conversion; he very carefully sets up each scene with logic and continuity. Jesus gets into the boat because he needs to speak to the crowd. Two boats are mentioned, because they will be needed later, and they belong to James and John, who will figure as new disciples. The fishermen are presented as washing their nets, a morning activity, thus it is no surprise to hear Simon say, "We have worked all night long" (v. 5). At the end of the story, Luke carefully brings the fishermen to shore, so they won't have to walk on the water to follow Jesus. (Luke's one lapse in narrative technique is that he has Simon out of the boat in verse 2, but back in it in verse 3.) Stories are perhaps the most powerful tools in the preacher's workshop, but they have to be carefully prepared to be effective; there is nothing worse than listening to a story that cannot be visualized -- or only as an absurdity -- because the preacher has been careless in the telling. The smart preacher learns from scripture not just content but the art of form.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 138
Attempting to use mere language to discuss and describe the workings of God is not an easy task. God, for all the obvious reasons, quickly exhausts our meager language. But that doesn't keep us from trying. The writers of the psalms were constantly using extreme language, pushing words and syntax to their limits, in an effort to describe their awareness or experiences of God.
Psalm 138 is a good example of that. Set in the context of praises to God for answered prayer, the psalmist takes us far beyond the realm of his personal situation. The God he knows has a name "above everything" (v. 2).
The psalmist wastes no time in getting to the point of his poem. "I give you thanks" are the first words he writes. The expression of thanks becomes the overriding theme for everything else that is offered. As the psalmist pours out praises from a grateful heart, his imagination soars with the wonder of God's greatness.
God is greater than all other gods. God is greater than kings. God's presence, God's name, God's word are all greater -- "above everything."
We have all heard people say that they would like to find and commit themselves to something "bigger than they are," or "larger than life." Although saying these things has a certain cliched quality about it, the sentiment nevertheless describes a common human need and aspiration. We sense intuitively that human life is more than just about personal survival. We were made for greater things, for more lofty purposes. We sense that we will only find the true meaning of our lives by giving ourselves to something larger than ourselves.
This desire to connect with something larger than ourselves becomes particularly important in times of suffering and distress (v. 7). If we have as the focus of our lives the preservation of our lives, then death becomes our constant fear. We live only to stay alive. And any threat of death, such as illness or calamity, serves not only to increase our fear, but also raises the specter of meaningless. In other words, the fulfillment of our aspiring need to connect to something larger than life is also the remedy for the fear that accompanies a life that we know is short.
If all this is true, then the psalmist has us on the right path. He seems to have found something not just larger than life, but larger than kings and even other deities. Meaning for him has been found in the name that is above every name. With that as his reason for living, the psalmist declares, "The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me" (v. 8).
