A world turned upside down
Commentary
Object:
In 17th-century England, under the leadership of Oliver Cromwell and his righteous Puritanism, Parliament passed laws ensuring that Christmas would be observed as a solemn occasion. Not all in the country agreed, particularly since Christmas had been one of the great festivals of social silliness where class distinctions were put aside for a few hours. Responding to the uptight rigor of governmentally imposed holiday restrictions, a new protest song swept through neighborhoods and quickly became the song of the day. It was called "World Turned Upside Down," and included these lyrics:
Listen to me and you shall hear, news hath not been this thousand year:
Since Herod, Caesar, and many more, you never heard the like before.
Holy-dayes are despis'd, new fashions are devis'd.
Old Christmas is kicked out of Town
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.
The song took on new significance a century later, when the American colonies rebelled. After the battle of Yorktown in 1781, ending the Revolutionary War, the British military band is reported to have played this song, signaling the strangeness of mighty England's ungainly defeat. The world, it seemed, had indeed turned upside down.
So too in today's lectionary readings. Yahweh battles Pharaoh in the ten plagues showdown, leading to the death of Egypt's firstborn, and the Passover celebration starting a new world order. Paul reminds the new Christians of Corinth that social orders come undone in the world turned upside down by the gospel of Christ. And Jesus himself models for his disciples what love means when the mighty serve and the humble are honored. Perhaps this is not a world turned upside down, but an upside-down world finally turned right side up!
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
Exodus 1-19 forms an extended "historical prologue" to the Sinai covenant by declaring Israel's precarious situation in Egypt (ch. 1), the birth and training of the leader who would become Yahweh's agent for recovering Yahweh's enslaved people (ch. 2), the calling of this deliverer (chs. 3-4), and the battle of the superpowers (the Pharaoh and Yahweh) who each lay claim to suzerain status over this vassal nation (chs. 5-19). Exodus 25-40 focuses on the creation of a suitable residence for Israel's suzerain. Thus the whole of Exodus may be quickly outlined as struggles (1-19), stipulations (20-24), and symbols (25-40) surrounding the Sinai covenant-making event.
The struggles of chapters 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that "Joseph" has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backward, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
The deadly solution proposed by the Pharaoh in dealing with the rising population of his slave community may sound harsh, but it was likely a very modest and welcomed political maneuver among his primary subjects. Because there is virtually no rain in Egypt, with most of its territory lying in or on the edge of the great Saharan desert, the Nile is and was the critical source of water that sustained life throughout the region. The Nile "miraculously" ebbed and flowed annually, responding to the rains of central Africa thousands of miles away. Far removed from Egypt's farmlands and cities, this process was attributed to the gods that nurtured Egyptian civilization. Thus it was fitting for the people to pay homage to these gods, especially by giving appropriate sacrifices to the power of the Nile. In that manner, having the boy babies of the Hebrews tossed into the Nile's currents would not have been considered genocide, but instead it would be deemed a suitable civic and cultural responsibility. Such a practice provided the Nile god with fittingly dear tribute and at the same time allowed the bulk of the Egyptian population to save its own babies by substituting those of this surrogate vassal people living within their borders.
Moses' own name ties him to the royal family of Egypt and its influence (note the frequent occurrence of the letters MSS in the names of Pharaohs of the 18th through 20th dynasties -- Thutmoses, Ramses, and so on), and his training in the palace schools would provide him with skills that set him apart from the rest of the Israelites in preparation for his unique leadership responsibilities. Moses' time in the wilderness, on the other hand, made him familiar with Bedouin life and similarly fortified his ability to stand at the head of a wandering community once Israel was released from slavery.
In Moses' unique encounter with God at Mount Horeb (chs. 3-4), he experienced the power of the forgotten deity of Israel and learned a name by which this divinity would soon become known again to the people. "Yahweh" is a variation on the Hebrew verb of existence, and that is why translators bring it into English with terms like "I am" or "I will be." Furthermore, through the voice from the burning bush, this God immediately connected the current events with a specific past through a historical recitation that would later be explicated at length in the extended Genesis historical prologue to the Sinai covenant: Yahweh is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Because of the promises made to that family, Moses is now to become the agent through whom the Israelites will be returned to the land promised to their ancestors. Of course, this is what triggered the battle for control of the nation and eventually set the stage for Yahweh to claim suzerainty over Israel at Mount Sinai.
The conflict intensifies in Exodus 5:1--6:12 when Moses makes his first dramatic appearance back in Egypt. The Pharaoh's initial reaction is disdain; why should he listen to the apocalyptic ravings of a wilderness wild man, even if he seems unusually aware of Egyptian language and protocol?
At this point the famous plagues enter the story. While these miracles of divine judgment make for great Hollywood screenplay, the reason for this extended weird display of divine power is not always apparent to those of us who live in very different cultural contexts, especially when it is interspersed with notes that Pharaoh's heart was hardened, sometimes, in fact, seemingly as an act of Yahweh. Could not Yahweh have provided a less destructive and deadly exit strategy for Israel?
The plagues begin to make sense when they are viewed in reference to Egypt's climate and culture. After the initial sparring between Moses and the pharaoh's sorcerers (Exodus 7:10-13) with snakes to show magical skills, the stakes are raised far beyond human ability merely to manipulate the natural order. First the waters are turned to blood; then the marshes send out a massive, unwelcome pilgrimage of frogs; next the dust is beat into gnats, soon to be followed by even peskier flies; subsequently the livestock gets sick from the dust, and this illness then spreads to human life in the form of boils and open sores; penultimately the heavens send down mortar shells of hail, transport in a foreign army of locusts, and then withhold the light of the sun; finally, in an awful culmination, the firstborn humans and animals across Egypt die suddenly.
This is strange but not quite so when seen in three successive groupings. Among the many deities worshiped in ancient Egypt, none superseded a triumvirate composed by the Nile, the good earth, and the heavens that were the home of the sun. So it was that the initial plagues of bloody water and frogs both turned the Nile against the Egyptians and showed the dominance of Yahweh over this critical source of national life.
The ante was then upped when Yahweh took on the farmland of Egypt, one of the great breadbaskets of the world. Instead of producing crops, Moses showed, by way of plagues three through six, how Yahweh could cause these fertile alluvial plains to generate all manner of irritating and deadly pestilence, making it an enemy instead of a friend. Finally, in the third stage of plagues, the heavens themselves became menacing. Rather than providing the sheltering confidence of benign sameness, one day the heavens attacked with the hailstone mortar fire of an unseen enemy. Next these same heavens served as the highway of an invading army of locusts. Then old friend Ra (the sun), the crowning deity of Egyptian religion, simply vanished for three days. The gloom that terrified the Egyptians was no mere fear of darkness but rather the ominous trepidation that their primary deity had been bested by the God of the Israelites.
All of this culminated in the final foray of this cosmic battle, when the link of life between generations and human connectedness with ultimate reality was severed through the killing of Egypt's firstborn. The Egyptians believed that the firstborn carried the cultural significance of each family and species, so in a sudden and dramatic moment the very chain of life was destroyed. Furthermore, since the pharaohs themselves were presumed to be deity incarnate, descending directly from the sun by way of firstborn inheritance, cutting this link eviscerated the life-potency of the Egyptian civilization not only for the present but also for the future. It was a true cultural, religious, political, and social knockout punch.
This explains why the plagues originally served not as gory illustration material for modern Sunday school papers, but rather as the divine initiatives in an escalating battle between Yahweh and the Pharaoh of Egypt over claims on the people of Israel. The plagues were a necessary prologue to the Sinai covenant because they displayed and substantiated the sovereignty of Yahweh as suzerain not only over Israel but also over other contenders. Israel belongs to Yahweh both because of historic promises made to Abraham, and also by way of chivalrous combat in which Yahweh won back the prize of lover and human companion from the usurper who had stolen her away from the divine heart. Furthermore, Yahweh accomplished this act without the help of Israel's own resources (no armies, no resistance movements, no terrorist tactics, no great escape plans), and in a decisive manner that announced the limitations of the Egyptian religious and cultural resources.
This is why the final plague is paired with the institution of the Passover festival (Exodus 12). The annual festival would become an ongoing reminder that Israel was bought back by way of a blood-price redemption, and that the nation owed its very existence to the love and fighting jealousy of its divine champion. In one momentous confrontation, Egypt lost its firstborn and its cultural heritage, while Israel became Yahweh's firstborn and rightful inheritance.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Probably sometime in late 51 AD or early 52 AD Paul sent a letter of strongly worded reproof to the Corinthian congregation. No copies have survived, but from what Paul himself says about this communication in 1 Corinthians 5:9 it is easy to see why some might take exception to it. Indeed, it appears that a number of people in the congregation began to disown Paul's authority after reading that letter, and then began to instigate factionalism in the community. Cliques grew based upon personal preferences about which leaders were better preachers, and who had a right to claim greater sway among them (see 1 Corinthians 2-4). Meanwhile, a delegation of three men (Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus), all highly respectful of Paul's apostolic authority, traveled from Corinth to Ephesus, bringing to Paul an oral report about the difficulties going on in the church. They also carried a written list of questions that members of the congregation were raising.
Paul quickly wrote a letter of response. Although it was actually his second letter to the Corinthian congregation, because the earlier communication has been lost, this one survives as 1 Corinthians in our New Testaments. Immediately in the opening passages, Paul addresses the difficulties some have at his continued influence in the congregation. He chastises the members for dividing up into parties where each waves a banner acclaiming the worthiness of a different leader. These groupings were sinful and disruptive, according to Paul, for they denied the honor that ought to be given only to the true head of the church, Jesus Christ. Such schisms also played favorites among human leaders, setting them over against each other, rather than recognizing their complementary gifts for helping the church as a whole to grow. By chapter 4, Paul was ready to give a declaration for his own apostolic authority, pleading with the Corinthians to receive his teachings as God's own initiatives toward them.
In chapters 5 and 6, Paul painfully rehearsed some of the examples of immorality within the congregation that must have been the focus of his earlier letter. Several social sins, including blatantly inappropriate sexual relations and lawsuits between Christians, are marched out onto the platform in descriptions that must have left little doubt as to who Paul was talking about. The reflections about sexual behavior may have reminded Paul of the queries on the list brought by Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus. To these he turns next.
Paul's response to questions about worship practices (11:2-33) contains a reflection on two social value systems. First, with regard to differing roles for women and men in society, Paul wants to ensure that the genders are not blurred. There is a creational distinction between females and males, according to Paul, and this must not be erased, even by the freedoms found in Christ. At the same time, this gender distinction ought not to undermine the broad equality by which the gifts of the Spirit are distributed. Both women and men can and should prophesy. Spiritual leadership in the church is not limited by gender.
Second, in a review of the church's celebration of "the Lord's Supper," as it was becoming known, another facet of social interaction was addressed. The "differences" within the congregation were not only of the kind where parties became loyal to different leaders (1 Corinthians 1-3), but also the manifestation of divergent socio-economic groupings present in Corinthian society. The reason why some who attended these Lord's Supper gatherings "go ahead without waiting for anybody else" and others "remain hungry," was due to the divergent lifestyle practices of the rich and the poor among them. Wealthy people were able to come and go as they pleased, including showing up to worship services, potluck dinners, and Lord's Supper celebrations right at the start. The poor and the slaves, however (some likely coming from the same households), were often late to arrive because they had to fulfill their domestic work obligations first. Paul declared that "recognizing the body of the Lord" was necessary if the Lord's Supper was to be celebrated properly. This did not mean having the capacity to understand an appropriate theological theory of the atonement or some other such cognitive ability. Instead, it amounted to remembering that all who belong to Jesus are welcome at his table, and none have more rights than others. If this socially and economically diverse group of society was indeed the body of Christ, each must live and act accordingly, making room at the table for all.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Once the transition takes place in John's gospel from the "Book of Signs" to the "Book of Glory," only two major events happen. First, Jesus meets for an extended meal and conversation with his disciples (chs. 13-17). This lengthy monologue seems somewhat meandering and repetitive until it is viewed through the Hebrew communication lens of chiasm. Then the "Farewell Discourse," as it is known, takes on new depth as it weaves back and forth and climaxes in the middle. This parting exhortation becomes an obviously deeply moving instruction to Jesus' followers to remain connected to him by way of the powerful "Paraclete" (a Greek term meaning "counselor" or "advocate"), in the face of the troubling that will come upon them because of his imminent physical departure, and the rising persecutions targeted toward them by the world that remains in darkness. In chiastic summary, the Farewell Discourse can be portrayed in this manner:
Gathering experience of unity -- 13:1-35
Prediction of disciple's denial -- 13:36-38
Jesus' departure tempered by Father's power -- 14:1-14
Promise of the "Paraclete" -- 14:15-24
Troubling encounter with the world -- 14:25-31
"Abide in Me!" teaching -- 15:1-17
Troubling encounter with the world -- 15:18--16:4a
Promise of the "Paraclete" -- 16:4b-15
Jesus' departure tempered by Father's power -- 16:16-28
Prediction of disciple's denial -- 16:29-33
Departing experience of unity -- 17:1-26
Every element of this "Farewell Discourse" is doubled with a parallel passage except for Jesus' central teaching that his disciples should "abide in me."
Furthermore, these parallel passages are arranged in reverse order in the second half to their initial expression in the first half. At the heart of it all comes the unparalleled vine and branches teaching, which functions as the chiastic center and ultimate focus of the discourse as a whole. In effect, John shows us how the transforming power of Jesus as the light of the world is to take effect. Jesus comes into this darkened world as a brilliant ray of re-creative light and life. But if he goes about his business all by himself the light will have limited penetrating value, over against the expansive and pervasive darkness that has consumed this world. So a multiplication and amplification has to happen. Jesus himself spoke about this at the end of the "Book of Signs." He said: "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me..." (12:26).
In this chiastic "Farewell Discourse," Jesus makes clear the meaning of everything. His disciples have been transformed from darkness to light (and thus from death to life) through Jesus' incorporation of them into fellowship with himself and the Father (chs. 13, 17). This does not free them immediately from struggles, as seen in Judas' betrayal and the coming denial of them all. But the connection between the Father and the disciples is secure, because it is initiated by the Father, and will last even when Jesus disappears from them very shortly, because the powerful "Paraclete" will arrive to dispense Jesus' ongoing presence with them all, wherever they go, and in whatever circumstances they find themselves. Of course, that will only trigger further conflicts and confrontations with "the world." So (and here's the central element of the discourse), "abide in me!" Either you are with the darkness or you are with the light. Either you are dead because of the power of the world, or you are alive in me. And, of course, if you "abide in me," you will glow with my light and the multiplication of the seed sown will take place. Eventually through you, the light that comes into the world through Jesus will bring light to everyone. It is a picture of the mission of God, promised to Abraham, enacted geographically through Israel, but now become a global movement through Jesus' disciples who "abide" in him through the power of the "Paraclete."
In today's gospel passage, it all begins when Jesus' disciples are served by their master and washed into holy union with him and his mission. The world we thought we knew has been turned upside down.
Application
Donna Hoffman, a young mother who battled cancer for a number of years, wrote this little poem in her journal. She was in the hospital at the time. The cancer seemed so strong, and tomorrow seemed like an uncertain dream or a tragic nightmare. She called her poem "Journey":
My soul runs arms outstretched
down the corridor to you.
Ah, my feet may stumble
but how my heart can stride!
Only God's grace can sustain us in a world turned upside down, even when our feet stumble and when the journey seems too long, too troublesome. "My soul runs. How my heart can stride!"
Years ago, young William Borden testified of the same. He was the wealthy son of a powerful family who graduated with top honors from Yale University. He could do anything in life that he chose. Many were surprised that he chose to become a missionary of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
His friends thought he was crazy. "Why throw your life away like that?" they said. "You've got so much to live for here."
But Borden knew who held his tomorrows. He made his choices, and God gave him the inner strength to live his convictions.
He set out on a long journey to China. It took months in those days, and by the time he got to Egypt, some disease managed to make him sick. He was placed in a hospital and soon it became obvious that he wouldn't recover. William Borden would die a foreigner in Egypt. He never reached his goal. He never went back home.
He could have been troubled by the tragedy of it all. But his last conscious act was to write a little note. Seven words -- seven words that were spoken at his funeral. Seven words that summarized his life, his identity: "No reserve, no retreat, and no regrets!"
An Alternative Application
John 13:1-17, 31b-35. On this Maundy Thursday, the gospel passage stands at the center of our attention. We are served by Jesus and receive his new command (so "Maundy"): "Love one another as I have loved you." This is not something to be exegeted but to be enacted.
Walter Wangerin Jr. powerfully summarized the meaning of Jesus as Messiah in his allegory of the Ragman. Wangerin pictures himself in a city on a Friday morning. A handsome young man comes to town, dragging behind him a cart made of wood. The cart is piled high with new, clean clothes, bright and shiny and freshly pressed.
Wandering through the streets the trader marches, crying out his strange deal: "Rags! New rags for old! Give me your old rags, your tired rags, your torn and soiled rags!"
He sees a woman on the back porch of a house. She is old and tired and weary of living. She has a dirty handkerchief pressed to her nose, and she is crying a thousand tears, sobbing over the pains of her life.
The Ragman takes a clean linen handkerchief from his wagon and brings it to the woman. He lays it across her arm. She blinks at him, wondering what he is up to. Gently the young man opens her fingers and releases the old, dirty, soaking handkerchief from her knotted fist.
Then comes the wonder. The Ragman touches the old rag to his own eyes and begins to weep her tears. Meanwhile, behind him on her porch stands the old woman, tears gone, eyes full of peace.
It happens again. "New rags for old!" he cries, and he comes to a young girl wearing a bloody bandage on her head. He takes the caked and soiled wrap away and gives her a new bonnet from his cart. Then he wraps the old rags around his head. As he does this, the girl's cuts disappear and her skin turns rosy. She dances away with laughter and returns to her friends to play. But the Ragman begins to moan and from her rags on his head the blood spills down.
He next meets a man. "Do you have a job?" the Ragman asks. With a sneer the man replies, "Are you kidding?" and holds up his shirtsleeve. There is no arm in it. He cannot work. He is disabled.
But the Ragman says, "Give me your shirt. I'll give you mine."
The man's shirt hangs limp as he takes it off, but the Ragman's shirt hangs firm and full because one of the Ragman's arms is still in the sleeve. It goes with the shirt. When the man puts it on, he has a new arm. But the Ragman walks away with one sleeve dangling.
It happens over and over again. The Ragman takes the clothes from the tired, the hurting, the lost, and the lonely. He gathers them to his own body and takes the pains into his own heart. Then he gives new clothes to new lives with new purpose and new joy.
Finally, around midday the Ragman finds himself at the center of the city, where nothing remains but a stinking garbage heap. It is the accumulated refuse of a society lost to anxiety and torture. On Friday afternoon the Ragman climbs the hill, stumbling as he drags his cart behind him. He is tired and sore and pained and bleeding. He falls on the wooden beams of the cart, alone and dying from the disease and disaster he has garnered from others.
Wangerin wonders at the sight. In exhaustion and uncertainty he falls asleep. He lies dreaming nightmares through all of Saturday until he is shaken from his fitful slumbers early on Sunday morning. The ground quakes and Wangerin looks up. In surprise he sees the Ragman stand up. He is alive! The sores are gone, though the scars remain. But the Ragman's clothes are new and clean. Death has been swallowed up and transformed by life!
Still worn and troubled in his spirit, Wangerin cries up to the Ragman, "Dress me, Ragman! Give me your clothes to wear! Make me new!"
We know the picture. It is Jesus coming into our world to share our sufferings and to bear our shame and guilt. Jesus stands in our place, dying our death so that we might gain a new and renewing relationship with God.
Sure, it is hard to explain. But it is also something, according to the Bible, that we cannot live without.
Listen to me and you shall hear, news hath not been this thousand year:
Since Herod, Caesar, and many more, you never heard the like before.
Holy-dayes are despis'd, new fashions are devis'd.
Old Christmas is kicked out of Town
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.
The song took on new significance a century later, when the American colonies rebelled. After the battle of Yorktown in 1781, ending the Revolutionary War, the British military band is reported to have played this song, signaling the strangeness of mighty England's ungainly defeat. The world, it seemed, had indeed turned upside down.
So too in today's lectionary readings. Yahweh battles Pharaoh in the ten plagues showdown, leading to the death of Egypt's firstborn, and the Passover celebration starting a new world order. Paul reminds the new Christians of Corinth that social orders come undone in the world turned upside down by the gospel of Christ. And Jesus himself models for his disciples what love means when the mighty serve and the humble are honored. Perhaps this is not a world turned upside down, but an upside-down world finally turned right side up!
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
Exodus 1-19 forms an extended "historical prologue" to the Sinai covenant by declaring Israel's precarious situation in Egypt (ch. 1), the birth and training of the leader who would become Yahweh's agent for recovering Yahweh's enslaved people (ch. 2), the calling of this deliverer (chs. 3-4), and the battle of the superpowers (the Pharaoh and Yahweh) who each lay claim to suzerain status over this vassal nation (chs. 5-19). Exodus 25-40 focuses on the creation of a suitable residence for Israel's suzerain. Thus the whole of Exodus may be quickly outlined as struggles (1-19), stipulations (20-24), and symbols (25-40) surrounding the Sinai covenant-making event.
The struggles of chapters 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that "Joseph" has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backward, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
The deadly solution proposed by the Pharaoh in dealing with the rising population of his slave community may sound harsh, but it was likely a very modest and welcomed political maneuver among his primary subjects. Because there is virtually no rain in Egypt, with most of its territory lying in or on the edge of the great Saharan desert, the Nile is and was the critical source of water that sustained life throughout the region. The Nile "miraculously" ebbed and flowed annually, responding to the rains of central Africa thousands of miles away. Far removed from Egypt's farmlands and cities, this process was attributed to the gods that nurtured Egyptian civilization. Thus it was fitting for the people to pay homage to these gods, especially by giving appropriate sacrifices to the power of the Nile. In that manner, having the boy babies of the Hebrews tossed into the Nile's currents would not have been considered genocide, but instead it would be deemed a suitable civic and cultural responsibility. Such a practice provided the Nile god with fittingly dear tribute and at the same time allowed the bulk of the Egyptian population to save its own babies by substituting those of this surrogate vassal people living within their borders.
Moses' own name ties him to the royal family of Egypt and its influence (note the frequent occurrence of the letters MSS in the names of Pharaohs of the 18th through 20th dynasties -- Thutmoses, Ramses, and so on), and his training in the palace schools would provide him with skills that set him apart from the rest of the Israelites in preparation for his unique leadership responsibilities. Moses' time in the wilderness, on the other hand, made him familiar with Bedouin life and similarly fortified his ability to stand at the head of a wandering community once Israel was released from slavery.
In Moses' unique encounter with God at Mount Horeb (chs. 3-4), he experienced the power of the forgotten deity of Israel and learned a name by which this divinity would soon become known again to the people. "Yahweh" is a variation on the Hebrew verb of existence, and that is why translators bring it into English with terms like "I am" or "I will be." Furthermore, through the voice from the burning bush, this God immediately connected the current events with a specific past through a historical recitation that would later be explicated at length in the extended Genesis historical prologue to the Sinai covenant: Yahweh is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Because of the promises made to that family, Moses is now to become the agent through whom the Israelites will be returned to the land promised to their ancestors. Of course, this is what triggered the battle for control of the nation and eventually set the stage for Yahweh to claim suzerainty over Israel at Mount Sinai.
The conflict intensifies in Exodus 5:1--6:12 when Moses makes his first dramatic appearance back in Egypt. The Pharaoh's initial reaction is disdain; why should he listen to the apocalyptic ravings of a wilderness wild man, even if he seems unusually aware of Egyptian language and protocol?
At this point the famous plagues enter the story. While these miracles of divine judgment make for great Hollywood screenplay, the reason for this extended weird display of divine power is not always apparent to those of us who live in very different cultural contexts, especially when it is interspersed with notes that Pharaoh's heart was hardened, sometimes, in fact, seemingly as an act of Yahweh. Could not Yahweh have provided a less destructive and deadly exit strategy for Israel?
The plagues begin to make sense when they are viewed in reference to Egypt's climate and culture. After the initial sparring between Moses and the pharaoh's sorcerers (Exodus 7:10-13) with snakes to show magical skills, the stakes are raised far beyond human ability merely to manipulate the natural order. First the waters are turned to blood; then the marshes send out a massive, unwelcome pilgrimage of frogs; next the dust is beat into gnats, soon to be followed by even peskier flies; subsequently the livestock gets sick from the dust, and this illness then spreads to human life in the form of boils and open sores; penultimately the heavens send down mortar shells of hail, transport in a foreign army of locusts, and then withhold the light of the sun; finally, in an awful culmination, the firstborn humans and animals across Egypt die suddenly.
This is strange but not quite so when seen in three successive groupings. Among the many deities worshiped in ancient Egypt, none superseded a triumvirate composed by the Nile, the good earth, and the heavens that were the home of the sun. So it was that the initial plagues of bloody water and frogs both turned the Nile against the Egyptians and showed the dominance of Yahweh over this critical source of national life.
The ante was then upped when Yahweh took on the farmland of Egypt, one of the great breadbaskets of the world. Instead of producing crops, Moses showed, by way of plagues three through six, how Yahweh could cause these fertile alluvial plains to generate all manner of irritating and deadly pestilence, making it an enemy instead of a friend. Finally, in the third stage of plagues, the heavens themselves became menacing. Rather than providing the sheltering confidence of benign sameness, one day the heavens attacked with the hailstone mortar fire of an unseen enemy. Next these same heavens served as the highway of an invading army of locusts. Then old friend Ra (the sun), the crowning deity of Egyptian religion, simply vanished for three days. The gloom that terrified the Egyptians was no mere fear of darkness but rather the ominous trepidation that their primary deity had been bested by the God of the Israelites.
All of this culminated in the final foray of this cosmic battle, when the link of life between generations and human connectedness with ultimate reality was severed through the killing of Egypt's firstborn. The Egyptians believed that the firstborn carried the cultural significance of each family and species, so in a sudden and dramatic moment the very chain of life was destroyed. Furthermore, since the pharaohs themselves were presumed to be deity incarnate, descending directly from the sun by way of firstborn inheritance, cutting this link eviscerated the life-potency of the Egyptian civilization not only for the present but also for the future. It was a true cultural, religious, political, and social knockout punch.
This explains why the plagues originally served not as gory illustration material for modern Sunday school papers, but rather as the divine initiatives in an escalating battle between Yahweh and the Pharaoh of Egypt over claims on the people of Israel. The plagues were a necessary prologue to the Sinai covenant because they displayed and substantiated the sovereignty of Yahweh as suzerain not only over Israel but also over other contenders. Israel belongs to Yahweh both because of historic promises made to Abraham, and also by way of chivalrous combat in which Yahweh won back the prize of lover and human companion from the usurper who had stolen her away from the divine heart. Furthermore, Yahweh accomplished this act without the help of Israel's own resources (no armies, no resistance movements, no terrorist tactics, no great escape plans), and in a decisive manner that announced the limitations of the Egyptian religious and cultural resources.
This is why the final plague is paired with the institution of the Passover festival (Exodus 12). The annual festival would become an ongoing reminder that Israel was bought back by way of a blood-price redemption, and that the nation owed its very existence to the love and fighting jealousy of its divine champion. In one momentous confrontation, Egypt lost its firstborn and its cultural heritage, while Israel became Yahweh's firstborn and rightful inheritance.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Probably sometime in late 51 AD or early 52 AD Paul sent a letter of strongly worded reproof to the Corinthian congregation. No copies have survived, but from what Paul himself says about this communication in 1 Corinthians 5:9 it is easy to see why some might take exception to it. Indeed, it appears that a number of people in the congregation began to disown Paul's authority after reading that letter, and then began to instigate factionalism in the community. Cliques grew based upon personal preferences about which leaders were better preachers, and who had a right to claim greater sway among them (see 1 Corinthians 2-4). Meanwhile, a delegation of three men (Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus), all highly respectful of Paul's apostolic authority, traveled from Corinth to Ephesus, bringing to Paul an oral report about the difficulties going on in the church. They also carried a written list of questions that members of the congregation were raising.
Paul quickly wrote a letter of response. Although it was actually his second letter to the Corinthian congregation, because the earlier communication has been lost, this one survives as 1 Corinthians in our New Testaments. Immediately in the opening passages, Paul addresses the difficulties some have at his continued influence in the congregation. He chastises the members for dividing up into parties where each waves a banner acclaiming the worthiness of a different leader. These groupings were sinful and disruptive, according to Paul, for they denied the honor that ought to be given only to the true head of the church, Jesus Christ. Such schisms also played favorites among human leaders, setting them over against each other, rather than recognizing their complementary gifts for helping the church as a whole to grow. By chapter 4, Paul was ready to give a declaration for his own apostolic authority, pleading with the Corinthians to receive his teachings as God's own initiatives toward them.
In chapters 5 and 6, Paul painfully rehearsed some of the examples of immorality within the congregation that must have been the focus of his earlier letter. Several social sins, including blatantly inappropriate sexual relations and lawsuits between Christians, are marched out onto the platform in descriptions that must have left little doubt as to who Paul was talking about. The reflections about sexual behavior may have reminded Paul of the queries on the list brought by Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus. To these he turns next.
Paul's response to questions about worship practices (11:2-33) contains a reflection on two social value systems. First, with regard to differing roles for women and men in society, Paul wants to ensure that the genders are not blurred. There is a creational distinction between females and males, according to Paul, and this must not be erased, even by the freedoms found in Christ. At the same time, this gender distinction ought not to undermine the broad equality by which the gifts of the Spirit are distributed. Both women and men can and should prophesy. Spiritual leadership in the church is not limited by gender.
Second, in a review of the church's celebration of "the Lord's Supper," as it was becoming known, another facet of social interaction was addressed. The "differences" within the congregation were not only of the kind where parties became loyal to different leaders (1 Corinthians 1-3), but also the manifestation of divergent socio-economic groupings present in Corinthian society. The reason why some who attended these Lord's Supper gatherings "go ahead without waiting for anybody else" and others "remain hungry," was due to the divergent lifestyle practices of the rich and the poor among them. Wealthy people were able to come and go as they pleased, including showing up to worship services, potluck dinners, and Lord's Supper celebrations right at the start. The poor and the slaves, however (some likely coming from the same households), were often late to arrive because they had to fulfill their domestic work obligations first. Paul declared that "recognizing the body of the Lord" was necessary if the Lord's Supper was to be celebrated properly. This did not mean having the capacity to understand an appropriate theological theory of the atonement or some other such cognitive ability. Instead, it amounted to remembering that all who belong to Jesus are welcome at his table, and none have more rights than others. If this socially and economically diverse group of society was indeed the body of Christ, each must live and act accordingly, making room at the table for all.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Once the transition takes place in John's gospel from the "Book of Signs" to the "Book of Glory," only two major events happen. First, Jesus meets for an extended meal and conversation with his disciples (chs. 13-17). This lengthy monologue seems somewhat meandering and repetitive until it is viewed through the Hebrew communication lens of chiasm. Then the "Farewell Discourse," as it is known, takes on new depth as it weaves back and forth and climaxes in the middle. This parting exhortation becomes an obviously deeply moving instruction to Jesus' followers to remain connected to him by way of the powerful "Paraclete" (a Greek term meaning "counselor" or "advocate"), in the face of the troubling that will come upon them because of his imminent physical departure, and the rising persecutions targeted toward them by the world that remains in darkness. In chiastic summary, the Farewell Discourse can be portrayed in this manner:
Gathering experience of unity -- 13:1-35
Prediction of disciple's denial -- 13:36-38
Jesus' departure tempered by Father's power -- 14:1-14
Promise of the "Paraclete" -- 14:15-24
Troubling encounter with the world -- 14:25-31
"Abide in Me!" teaching -- 15:1-17
Troubling encounter with the world -- 15:18--16:4a
Promise of the "Paraclete" -- 16:4b-15
Jesus' departure tempered by Father's power -- 16:16-28
Prediction of disciple's denial -- 16:29-33
Departing experience of unity -- 17:1-26
Every element of this "Farewell Discourse" is doubled with a parallel passage except for Jesus' central teaching that his disciples should "abide in me."
Furthermore, these parallel passages are arranged in reverse order in the second half to their initial expression in the first half. At the heart of it all comes the unparalleled vine and branches teaching, which functions as the chiastic center and ultimate focus of the discourse as a whole. In effect, John shows us how the transforming power of Jesus as the light of the world is to take effect. Jesus comes into this darkened world as a brilliant ray of re-creative light and life. But if he goes about his business all by himself the light will have limited penetrating value, over against the expansive and pervasive darkness that has consumed this world. So a multiplication and amplification has to happen. Jesus himself spoke about this at the end of the "Book of Signs." He said: "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me..." (12:26).
In this chiastic "Farewell Discourse," Jesus makes clear the meaning of everything. His disciples have been transformed from darkness to light (and thus from death to life) through Jesus' incorporation of them into fellowship with himself and the Father (chs. 13, 17). This does not free them immediately from struggles, as seen in Judas' betrayal and the coming denial of them all. But the connection between the Father and the disciples is secure, because it is initiated by the Father, and will last even when Jesus disappears from them very shortly, because the powerful "Paraclete" will arrive to dispense Jesus' ongoing presence with them all, wherever they go, and in whatever circumstances they find themselves. Of course, that will only trigger further conflicts and confrontations with "the world." So (and here's the central element of the discourse), "abide in me!" Either you are with the darkness or you are with the light. Either you are dead because of the power of the world, or you are alive in me. And, of course, if you "abide in me," you will glow with my light and the multiplication of the seed sown will take place. Eventually through you, the light that comes into the world through Jesus will bring light to everyone. It is a picture of the mission of God, promised to Abraham, enacted geographically through Israel, but now become a global movement through Jesus' disciples who "abide" in him through the power of the "Paraclete."
In today's gospel passage, it all begins when Jesus' disciples are served by their master and washed into holy union with him and his mission. The world we thought we knew has been turned upside down.
Application
Donna Hoffman, a young mother who battled cancer for a number of years, wrote this little poem in her journal. She was in the hospital at the time. The cancer seemed so strong, and tomorrow seemed like an uncertain dream or a tragic nightmare. She called her poem "Journey":
My soul runs arms outstretched
down the corridor to you.
Ah, my feet may stumble
but how my heart can stride!
Only God's grace can sustain us in a world turned upside down, even when our feet stumble and when the journey seems too long, too troublesome. "My soul runs. How my heart can stride!"
Years ago, young William Borden testified of the same. He was the wealthy son of a powerful family who graduated with top honors from Yale University. He could do anything in life that he chose. Many were surprised that he chose to become a missionary of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
His friends thought he was crazy. "Why throw your life away like that?" they said. "You've got so much to live for here."
But Borden knew who held his tomorrows. He made his choices, and God gave him the inner strength to live his convictions.
He set out on a long journey to China. It took months in those days, and by the time he got to Egypt, some disease managed to make him sick. He was placed in a hospital and soon it became obvious that he wouldn't recover. William Borden would die a foreigner in Egypt. He never reached his goal. He never went back home.
He could have been troubled by the tragedy of it all. But his last conscious act was to write a little note. Seven words -- seven words that were spoken at his funeral. Seven words that summarized his life, his identity: "No reserve, no retreat, and no regrets!"
An Alternative Application
John 13:1-17, 31b-35. On this Maundy Thursday, the gospel passage stands at the center of our attention. We are served by Jesus and receive his new command (so "Maundy"): "Love one another as I have loved you." This is not something to be exegeted but to be enacted.
Walter Wangerin Jr. powerfully summarized the meaning of Jesus as Messiah in his allegory of the Ragman. Wangerin pictures himself in a city on a Friday morning. A handsome young man comes to town, dragging behind him a cart made of wood. The cart is piled high with new, clean clothes, bright and shiny and freshly pressed.
Wandering through the streets the trader marches, crying out his strange deal: "Rags! New rags for old! Give me your old rags, your tired rags, your torn and soiled rags!"
He sees a woman on the back porch of a house. She is old and tired and weary of living. She has a dirty handkerchief pressed to her nose, and she is crying a thousand tears, sobbing over the pains of her life.
The Ragman takes a clean linen handkerchief from his wagon and brings it to the woman. He lays it across her arm. She blinks at him, wondering what he is up to. Gently the young man opens her fingers and releases the old, dirty, soaking handkerchief from her knotted fist.
Then comes the wonder. The Ragman touches the old rag to his own eyes and begins to weep her tears. Meanwhile, behind him on her porch stands the old woman, tears gone, eyes full of peace.
It happens again. "New rags for old!" he cries, and he comes to a young girl wearing a bloody bandage on her head. He takes the caked and soiled wrap away and gives her a new bonnet from his cart. Then he wraps the old rags around his head. As he does this, the girl's cuts disappear and her skin turns rosy. She dances away with laughter and returns to her friends to play. But the Ragman begins to moan and from her rags on his head the blood spills down.
He next meets a man. "Do you have a job?" the Ragman asks. With a sneer the man replies, "Are you kidding?" and holds up his shirtsleeve. There is no arm in it. He cannot work. He is disabled.
But the Ragman says, "Give me your shirt. I'll give you mine."
The man's shirt hangs limp as he takes it off, but the Ragman's shirt hangs firm and full because one of the Ragman's arms is still in the sleeve. It goes with the shirt. When the man puts it on, he has a new arm. But the Ragman walks away with one sleeve dangling.
It happens over and over again. The Ragman takes the clothes from the tired, the hurting, the lost, and the lonely. He gathers them to his own body and takes the pains into his own heart. Then he gives new clothes to new lives with new purpose and new joy.
Finally, around midday the Ragman finds himself at the center of the city, where nothing remains but a stinking garbage heap. It is the accumulated refuse of a society lost to anxiety and torture. On Friday afternoon the Ragman climbs the hill, stumbling as he drags his cart behind him. He is tired and sore and pained and bleeding. He falls on the wooden beams of the cart, alone and dying from the disease and disaster he has garnered from others.
Wangerin wonders at the sight. In exhaustion and uncertainty he falls asleep. He lies dreaming nightmares through all of Saturday until he is shaken from his fitful slumbers early on Sunday morning. The ground quakes and Wangerin looks up. In surprise he sees the Ragman stand up. He is alive! The sores are gone, though the scars remain. But the Ragman's clothes are new and clean. Death has been swallowed up and transformed by life!
Still worn and troubled in his spirit, Wangerin cries up to the Ragman, "Dress me, Ragman! Give me your clothes to wear! Make me new!"
We know the picture. It is Jesus coming into our world to share our sufferings and to bear our shame and guilt. Jesus stands in our place, dying our death so that we might gain a new and renewing relationship with God.
Sure, it is hard to explain. But it is also something, according to the Bible, that we cannot live without.
