"X" marks the spot
Commentary
God works in hidden ways.
It's an oft-heard saying, perhaps a cliché, but there is a reason certain phrases become clichés. The Bible gives plenty of evidence of a God who works in hidden ways.
Our lections this morning give us three such pieces of evidence. In Jacob, God was at work to fulfill the promise given to Abraham that he would become a great nation -- even in the trickery that kept Jacob in virtual serfdom for fourteen years. In the letter to the Romans, Paul speaks of God's work in a Spirit we cannot see, who speaks words we cannot hear, and the Gospel of Matthew pictures the kingdom of heaven growing through hidden processes and surprising turns. The promise of all three lessons is that at the end of the road, everything will turn out for the good.
Just because it's a cliché doesn't mean it's not true.
Genesis 29:15-28
Jacob's personality as a devious trickster has already been well established (see Genesis 27:1-29). Laban now reenters the story, his personality only hinted at in chapter 24. But the man who took one look at the gifts lavished on his sister and said, "Yes, Isaac, please marry her" will prove to be as avaricious as we might expect, and just as devious as Jacob. Even though he called him kin (literally, "brother," 29:15), Laban was willing to let Jacob work without pay for a month (his talk of Jacob's "service" is ironic in light of the prophecies that Jacob would be the one served, cf. 25:33; 27:29, 37, 40). In response to Jacob's precise, legalistic statement of what he wanted ("seven years," "younger daughter," "Rachel," 29:18), Laban's non-committal commitment will easily bend to his purpose (v. 19) -- in a deal that is already much to Laban's favor!
Jacob has more than met his match in Laban, and the punishment fits his own crime like a wool glove (cf. 27:16). Jacob ironically protests being "deceived," using the same word that describes his own treatment of his father (29:25; cf. 27:35). Jacob fumbled in the darkness, just as Isaac, in blindness. He again runs afoul of cultural standards regarding the rights of the firstborn and those of the younger (29:26; cf. 27:16, 32, 36). Jacob's treachery against Esau rebounds right back at him, and he finds himself trapped in servitude to his own dark alter ego, his father-in-law.
However, both trickeries work together for God's purpose. Laban's deceit plays into the hands of God, as did Jacob's. We are moving in covenant time here, toward the fulfillment of the promise given to Abraham of many descendents. The "reward" promised to Abraham (15:10) will turn out to be the progeny that issues from fourteen years of Jacob's "wages" (the same Hebrew root is used in 29:15). While the chapter represents another "betrothal by the well" scene (cf. 24:15-33; Exodus 2:15-22), the significant formal feature is found on a larger level of the narrative movement. The entire episode between Jacob and Laban (29:1--32:2) puts the birth of eleven children (all but Benjamin) at its apex, contrasting Jacob's arrival in Haran (29:1-14) and his return to Canaan (31:1-54) with his struggles with Laban over marriage (29:15-30) and work (30:25-43), with the birth of the sons at the very center of the story (29:31--30:24). The point of Jacob's exile in Haran is thus shown to be the fulfillment of the promise that Abraham would spawn a great nation. Even the maids played a part (29:24, 29; cf. 30:5-13).
Laban's motivation is explained by his concern with public honor and shame. Blood may be thicker than water, but honor and shame trump both. It was actually more honorable in Laban's eyes to deceive Jacob than to violate the custom that specified the firstborn daughter must be the first to marry (v. 26). The wedding and marriage customs are assumed rather than explained, including the requirement of the "bride price" (v. 18; cf. 24:53; 34:12; on the "servant's marriage" cf. Joshua 15:16-17; 1 Samuel 17:25; 18:17, 25); the lavish wedding feast (v. 22) and the week-long nuptial period (v. 27); the veiled bride (implied in vv. 23-25); and the overwhelming importance of birth order in marriagability (v. 26). Marriage was strictly a property transfer, the woman practically bartered, but this was not necessarily incompatible with a love match (vv. 18, 20), so much so that the narrator can skip over the seven years of waiting, saying only that "they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her" (v. 20).
Rachel's status as the favored wife will prove to be a factor in the ongoing story (cf. vv. 30-31). It's not clear whether Leah's eyes were defective, or the narrator is damning her with faint praise, but in favor of the "defect" interpretation it can be said that she apparently had no other suitors in seven years! (Some ancient interpreters held that she had ruined her eyes with crying because her prospects were so bad, and she might even get stuck with hairy old Esau). By contrast, Rachel was "graceful and beautiful" (v. 17), like Sarah (12:11) and Rebekah (24:16) before her. The contrast between Jacob's two wives-to-be is embedded even in their names: Leah means "wild cow," while Rachel means "ewe" (and the tribes descended from Leah were known as cattlemen, those from Rachel, shepherds).
The improbability factor has ranked high among interpreters, both ancient and modern. Where, for example, was Rachel all night? Was she herself tricked by Laban, as some rabbis maintained? Or was she part of the conspiracy, helping Leah to convince Jacob of her identity in order to preserve her sister from public shame? Some rabbis held that Leah herself played an active role in deceiving Jacob, answering to the name of "Rachel" when he called that night, and later justifying it on the basis that he had pulled the same trick on his own father. The truth is that neither woman would have had anything to say in the matter, which was strictly a business deal between the men.
But how could Jacob have let himself be deceived so? Wasn't it obvious that the woman was not Rachel? Some ancient interpreters blamed Jacob's wedding-night credulity on the veil, the darkness, or too much party wine. Others speculated that Jacob realized he was duped at once, but waited until the morning to confront Laban. None of these explanations would have interested the original storyteller, who was content to leave the reader room to fill in the blanks. The important point was that God was at work despite all the shenanigans, fulfilling the promise even in the midst of the deception.
Fortunately for Jacob, he didn't have to wait another seven years (his sexual impatience is implied in v. 21, "Give me my wife that I may go in to her, for my time is completed"). He was able to take Rachel as his wife after the first wedding week concluded (v. 28); he had to work another seven years, but only wait a week. Laban may have been deceitful, but he wasn't totally sadistic.
Romans 8:26-39
In Romans 8, Paul continues his argument about the nature of justification by faith. Christian life is life in the Spirit, which gives us the power to overcome sin and live a new life of grace. Paul pulls out plenty of rhetorical tricks, including word-chain form (cf. 5:3-5), the citation of scripture (8:36, cf. Psalm 44:22), a hardship catalog (v. 35), the use of contrasting pairs (vv. 38-39), and rhetorical questions (vv. 31-39). The final section has the feeling of a legal closing argument, as Paul takes one last stab at persuading a sympathetic jury of Roman Christians.
This section of the argument focuses on the role of the Holy Spirit as intercessor. This is a practical as well as a theological concern; Paul's focus is correctly understood when we realize that "those who love God" (v. 28) is in the emphatic, first position in the sentence. The Spirit is given to help those who love God. The Spirit prays for us (v. 25), in fact "sighs" or "groans" for us (v. 26); this may refer back to the "groans" of the created order cited in verses 22-23, or the cry of "Abba, Father" in 8:15, or it may simply refer to glossolalia. Whatever form the Spirit's prayers take, their purpose is straightforward: to help us in our weakness (v. 26). The Spirit has a definite advantage here, in light of its intimacy with God. The Spirit can bypass normal human abilities of communication, since "God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit." Thus the Spirit's intercessions for us are "according to the will of God" (v. 27).
Paul also speaks of the role of Jesus as a model for the Christian life in the Spirit. Those who love God have a God-given purpose: to be conformed to the image of his Son (v. 29). Paul recaps the Adam/Christ contrast introduced at 1:23; Jesus is the new Adam who restores humanity to the image of God (cf. 1 Corinthians 15:49; 2 Corinthians 4:4; Philippians 3:21). Jesus Christ is literally "the firstborn among many brothers" (v. 29; cf. 8:14; Colossians 1:15; Hebrews 2:8-13). The hardships Paul lists are those that line us up in the image of Christ (vv. 35-36), a Messiah who suffered, he tells the Roman Christians, "for your sake" (v. 36).
Ultimately, God is the instigator and sustainer of this system of new life. God's saving work is the context of the oft-quoted verse 28, "all things work together for good for those who love God," which was not a carte blanche for material accumulation or a promise of a hassle-free life, but a promise of movement toward salvation -- by "good" Paul clearly meant the good of salvation, the new life given through the Spirit on the model of Jesus. Paul traces this movement toward salvation through a series of verbs describing God's action for us: God "called" (vv. 28, 30), "foreknew," "predestined" (v. 29), "justified," and "glorified" us (v. 30). This is all one series of actions in God's time, so that our future "glorification" can be spoken of in the same verb tense as our past "calling." God's faithfulness in bringing us life in his Son is the climax of God's work in history and in scripture (v. 32 echoes the Abraham story, cf. Genesis 22:16). The eloquent rhetorical climax (vv. 34-39) can preach itself; any additions from the preacher could only be anti-climactic.
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Matthew's parable chapter is the third of five major blocks of teaching in the gospel. Its major theme is summed up in the parable (and interpretation) of the sower: the mystery of the acceptance and rejection of the good news.
Our lection omits a crucial transition section. Verses 34-43 change the setting of Jesus' teaching from public to private, introducing teaching for the disciples about the parable of the weeds and the final judgment (a theme which returns in vv. 47-50). Verses 44-52 continue this private teaching, but constitute a single unit unified by the opening and closing mention of "treasure," and by the identical introductions of the parables. It is important to realize, therefore, that the parables of the mustard seed and yeast were delivered publicly to the crowds, according to Matthew, but the other parables are part of the private teaching, meant only for disciples.
The public teaching to the crowds pivots on the twin themes of growth and "hiddenness." The theme of growth has expanded to the point of hyperbole, as Jesus super-sizes ordinary occurrences. A mustard plant might grow quickly to ten or twelve feet, but it would never become a tree with room for birds' nests (vv. 31-32); the picture is akin to the cover of the Allman Brother's album, Eat A Peach, with a giant peach in a flatbed truck. Similarly, it would be a commercial baker, not an ordinary housewife, who would leaven three measures of flour (about fifty pounds), enough for 100 loaves -- or one giant one! (v. 33). This tremendous growth, of course, was meant to be taken as a sign of the presence of God's kingdom.
The seed in the ground, or the leaven in the bread expresses the hidden nature of the kingdom. We can't see the hyperbolic growth happening, only its results. Plus, the images are unexpected; we wouldn't normally think of God's work as a bush or a loaf, and "yeast" is usually used negatively (16:6), so Jesus' use of the image is a bit like saying "the kingdom of heaven is like a virus no antibiotic can stop." Both the kingdom and the teaching about it are unexpected.
The private teaching to the disciples sounds the themes of risk, surprise, and judgment. It is indeed a risky business to sell all that you have for one field -- especially when there was no assurance that any treasure you might find there would be legally yours (v. 44; the laws on such finds were debated). Neither would a jeweler who sold his whole inventory to obtain one pearl be accused of good business practice (v. 45). Yet the value of the kingdom of heaven is worth such a risk, for it is the legacy of a lifetime, the spiritual equivalent of winning the state lottery, the Powerball, and the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes all at once.
The kingdom is also a surprise, since no treasure map marks "X" as the spot. There were no banks with safe deposit boxes in those days, so it was common enough to bury one's goods to protect the assets -- what a surprise it would be to dig a hole for your own stuff, only to find a pirate's chest! The pearl is found in the course of daily business, but it exceeds in value all the business the jeweler has ever done (as if a minor art dealer came across a Picasso in an attic). In the same way -- surprise! surprise! -- the kingdom of heaven is in your midst.
The final parable of the section recaps the theme of judgment (vv. 47-48). Fishing on the Sea of Galilee was done with a dragnet, weighted with rocks, tossed out of a boat or suspended between two boats. Needless to say, the net would not be picky about what was caught, so the inedible or ritually unclean seafood would have to be sorted out. Like the weeds (vv. 24-30), the bad is disposed of (it is not thrown back into the water!).
According to its conclusion, the parable chapter is intended as student/teacher training. Throughout Matthew's story, the disciples are presented as students of the Lord, who will in turn become teachers of others (28:18-20). They are to be "scribes trained for the kingdom of heaven," who are "like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old" (13:52). What is old is the Mosaic tradition, which is not denigrated (cf. 5:17-20); what is new is the authoritative interpretation of it given by Jesus. That old/new teaching is to be handed on to further generations. Obedience to this tradition thus becomes a mark of community membership: to do the will of God as revealed in Jesus' teaching is to become part of his family (12:46-50).
Unlike the disciples as portrayed by Mark, Matthew's disciples understand what Jesus has to say. When he asks if they have understood his teaching; they answer, "Yes" (13:51). By the end of the story, they will finish their training by becoming witnesses of his resurrection (28:17), and will take their places in the teaching mission as scribes of the kingdom of heaven (13:52).
The training is intended for all followers of Jesus, not just an elite. Matthew designates the entire community, not just the twelve, as holders of the teaching office (18:18). Hierarchy is discouraged, and the measurement for leadership in the community is service: "You are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students ... Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant" (23:8, 10-11). Thus no one disciple, but all together, imitate Jesus in his teaching role. No one fount of wisdom that pours knowledge into the heads of the community, but a round table of scribes exercises the teaching office together. The ongoing presence of Jesus as teacher is to be found in the small community of two or three that has gathered around him, the family that does the will of God as he taught it (18:20; 12:46-50).
Application
"There's something wrong with every person who comes to this church." My friend was neither a candidate for clergy burnout intervention nor was he expressing cynicism about his congregation. He was simply reflecting on the wounds that had brought so many to his door. They came to Jesus, because only the sick need a physician.
"All things work together for good" is not a guarantee of health and wealth, but a deeper promise -- one of salvation. We've seen God working this good in the story of Jacob, who forms a model for how God might redeem a dysfunctional family. We've seen it among the Romans: why would they need the Spirit to groan for them, if there were nothing to groan about? And, we've seen it in Matthew, where the final sorting out of life must wait for the end.
In the meantime, we are called to be householders who ourselves bring good stuff out of things both old and new -- scribes who, like Jesus, are well-trained for the kingdom of heaven.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52. "What's your pearl?" the preaching focus group asked. The student preacher stammered a bit. "What would you personally give up everything for?" the questioner persisted. "If you can't find something in your own experience that matches the gospel message, how can you possibly preach it to others?"
Over the years, I've become dubious about this assertion. I grant that some personal point of contact is necessary for effective preaching. The sermon is not a lecture; it must touch on something that is of ultimate importance to us at a personal level. An abstracted discourse on the nature of salvation is not the same as good news, and abstraction will never get our point across; it will just bore people.
That being said, I'm not sure that coming out and telling people my own pearl of great price is the proper function of the sermon. For one thing, I'm leery of sermons that tell us more about the preacher than the good news -- and it may well be that any first-person revelation will distract from our message. For example, I recently told a story in a sermon about "my friend Tom"; after the service, I was asked, "Were you talking about Tom So-and-so?" (someone of whom I had never heard). It was the only substantive conversation I had with anyone about the sermon, and it left me feeling that they were so engaged with guessing games that the point passed them by.
My other concern is that talking about what one would give to obtain a pearl of great price might lead us into some deep waters. Giving up everything for one goal is not only a feature of religious conversion, it is also a feature of addiction. Do we really want to offer our own addictive behaviors, whatever they may be, as illustrations of the gospel?
In short, it may well be worth our while to consider the question, "What is my personal pearl?" Such reflection may yield insight for the sermon. It also may be much too personal to talk about.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 119:129-136
(This is the alternative psalm for Proper 12)
If you asked a randomly chosen group of Americans to share their reactions to the word "law," their responses would likely be all over the map. Some would think of "the rule of law" -- an abstract principle that most people regard favorably. Others -- perhaps operating more from a Libertarian philosophy -- would respond cautiously, thinking of law as a necessary evil that ought to be minimized whenever possible. Our American culture -- perhaps still close enough to its "wild and woolly" frontier roots -- feels a certain ambivalence about the law.
Not so for ancient Israel. Psalm after psalm, wisdom saying after wisdom saying, extols the law as a sign of divine favor. This is because the cultural memory of the Israelite people is very different from our own. We are the people who discovered our rights, declared our independence from European colonial powers, and settled the wilderness, taming it through individual virtues like thrift, self-reliance, and hard work (such is our national myth, anyway, even if the reality sometimes differs). Israel, on the other hand, found its identity in the intervention of a sovereign, all-powerful God, who freed the people from miserable slavery, then gave them the law as the condition of a new covenant. That covenant was imposed from above, rather than being ratified from below as an enlightenment "social contract."
A deep and abiding love for the law is apparent in this section of Psalm 119. God's law is "wonderful." It "gives light." There is expressed here a soul-hunger for the law -- the sort of hunger our society typically reserves for pleasures of the flesh: "With open mouth I pant, because I long for your commandments" (v. 131).
Verse 134 is especially interesting, for it vividly highlights the clash between our modern culture and that of ancient Israel: "Redeem me from human oppression, that I may keep your precepts." The oppression of which the psalmist speaks is slavery, or perhaps some form of indentured servitude. Slaves are not free to live in obedience to God's Law, but must rather obey the precepts of their masters. Such was the dilemma of the exiles in Babylon, who could only practice their faith within the parameters laid down by the foreign king (the Psalms, of course, underwent their final editing either during or just after the exile, so concerns such as these are prominent). One can readily imagine a modern American praying, "Redeem me from human oppression," but it's hard to imagine most people concluding with the second part of that verse. "Freed for obedience?" the modern observer might ask, in astonishment: "What kind of oxymoron is that?" Yet this seeming oxymoron is the most heartfelt desire of the author of Psalm 119.
There is a story of a school crossing guard in Florida, who tried everything to get cars to slow down through the school zone he patrolled. Nothing worked -- until he took a blow dryer and wrapped it in electrical tape, making it look like a radar gun. All he had to do was point his invention at passing cars. The drivers hit the brakes instantly.
"It's almost comical," reported the crossing guard. "It's amazing how well it works."
Do we follow God's Law out of love? Or out of fear?
It's an oft-heard saying, perhaps a cliché, but there is a reason certain phrases become clichés. The Bible gives plenty of evidence of a God who works in hidden ways.
Our lections this morning give us three such pieces of evidence. In Jacob, God was at work to fulfill the promise given to Abraham that he would become a great nation -- even in the trickery that kept Jacob in virtual serfdom for fourteen years. In the letter to the Romans, Paul speaks of God's work in a Spirit we cannot see, who speaks words we cannot hear, and the Gospel of Matthew pictures the kingdom of heaven growing through hidden processes and surprising turns. The promise of all three lessons is that at the end of the road, everything will turn out for the good.
Just because it's a cliché doesn't mean it's not true.
Genesis 29:15-28
Jacob's personality as a devious trickster has already been well established (see Genesis 27:1-29). Laban now reenters the story, his personality only hinted at in chapter 24. But the man who took one look at the gifts lavished on his sister and said, "Yes, Isaac, please marry her" will prove to be as avaricious as we might expect, and just as devious as Jacob. Even though he called him kin (literally, "brother," 29:15), Laban was willing to let Jacob work without pay for a month (his talk of Jacob's "service" is ironic in light of the prophecies that Jacob would be the one served, cf. 25:33; 27:29, 37, 40). In response to Jacob's precise, legalistic statement of what he wanted ("seven years," "younger daughter," "Rachel," 29:18), Laban's non-committal commitment will easily bend to his purpose (v. 19) -- in a deal that is already much to Laban's favor!
Jacob has more than met his match in Laban, and the punishment fits his own crime like a wool glove (cf. 27:16). Jacob ironically protests being "deceived," using the same word that describes his own treatment of his father (29:25; cf. 27:35). Jacob fumbled in the darkness, just as Isaac, in blindness. He again runs afoul of cultural standards regarding the rights of the firstborn and those of the younger (29:26; cf. 27:16, 32, 36). Jacob's treachery against Esau rebounds right back at him, and he finds himself trapped in servitude to his own dark alter ego, his father-in-law.
However, both trickeries work together for God's purpose. Laban's deceit plays into the hands of God, as did Jacob's. We are moving in covenant time here, toward the fulfillment of the promise given to Abraham of many descendents. The "reward" promised to Abraham (15:10) will turn out to be the progeny that issues from fourteen years of Jacob's "wages" (the same Hebrew root is used in 29:15). While the chapter represents another "betrothal by the well" scene (cf. 24:15-33; Exodus 2:15-22), the significant formal feature is found on a larger level of the narrative movement. The entire episode between Jacob and Laban (29:1--32:2) puts the birth of eleven children (all but Benjamin) at its apex, contrasting Jacob's arrival in Haran (29:1-14) and his return to Canaan (31:1-54) with his struggles with Laban over marriage (29:15-30) and work (30:25-43), with the birth of the sons at the very center of the story (29:31--30:24). The point of Jacob's exile in Haran is thus shown to be the fulfillment of the promise that Abraham would spawn a great nation. Even the maids played a part (29:24, 29; cf. 30:5-13).
Laban's motivation is explained by his concern with public honor and shame. Blood may be thicker than water, but honor and shame trump both. It was actually more honorable in Laban's eyes to deceive Jacob than to violate the custom that specified the firstborn daughter must be the first to marry (v. 26). The wedding and marriage customs are assumed rather than explained, including the requirement of the "bride price" (v. 18; cf. 24:53; 34:12; on the "servant's marriage" cf. Joshua 15:16-17; 1 Samuel 17:25; 18:17, 25); the lavish wedding feast (v. 22) and the week-long nuptial period (v. 27); the veiled bride (implied in vv. 23-25); and the overwhelming importance of birth order in marriagability (v. 26). Marriage was strictly a property transfer, the woman practically bartered, but this was not necessarily incompatible with a love match (vv. 18, 20), so much so that the narrator can skip over the seven years of waiting, saying only that "they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her" (v. 20).
Rachel's status as the favored wife will prove to be a factor in the ongoing story (cf. vv. 30-31). It's not clear whether Leah's eyes were defective, or the narrator is damning her with faint praise, but in favor of the "defect" interpretation it can be said that she apparently had no other suitors in seven years! (Some ancient interpreters held that she had ruined her eyes with crying because her prospects were so bad, and she might even get stuck with hairy old Esau). By contrast, Rachel was "graceful and beautiful" (v. 17), like Sarah (12:11) and Rebekah (24:16) before her. The contrast between Jacob's two wives-to-be is embedded even in their names: Leah means "wild cow," while Rachel means "ewe" (and the tribes descended from Leah were known as cattlemen, those from Rachel, shepherds).
The improbability factor has ranked high among interpreters, both ancient and modern. Where, for example, was Rachel all night? Was she herself tricked by Laban, as some rabbis maintained? Or was she part of the conspiracy, helping Leah to convince Jacob of her identity in order to preserve her sister from public shame? Some rabbis held that Leah herself played an active role in deceiving Jacob, answering to the name of "Rachel" when he called that night, and later justifying it on the basis that he had pulled the same trick on his own father. The truth is that neither woman would have had anything to say in the matter, which was strictly a business deal between the men.
But how could Jacob have let himself be deceived so? Wasn't it obvious that the woman was not Rachel? Some ancient interpreters blamed Jacob's wedding-night credulity on the veil, the darkness, or too much party wine. Others speculated that Jacob realized he was duped at once, but waited until the morning to confront Laban. None of these explanations would have interested the original storyteller, who was content to leave the reader room to fill in the blanks. The important point was that God was at work despite all the shenanigans, fulfilling the promise even in the midst of the deception.
Fortunately for Jacob, he didn't have to wait another seven years (his sexual impatience is implied in v. 21, "Give me my wife that I may go in to her, for my time is completed"). He was able to take Rachel as his wife after the first wedding week concluded (v. 28); he had to work another seven years, but only wait a week. Laban may have been deceitful, but he wasn't totally sadistic.
Romans 8:26-39
In Romans 8, Paul continues his argument about the nature of justification by faith. Christian life is life in the Spirit, which gives us the power to overcome sin and live a new life of grace. Paul pulls out plenty of rhetorical tricks, including word-chain form (cf. 5:3-5), the citation of scripture (8:36, cf. Psalm 44:22), a hardship catalog (v. 35), the use of contrasting pairs (vv. 38-39), and rhetorical questions (vv. 31-39). The final section has the feeling of a legal closing argument, as Paul takes one last stab at persuading a sympathetic jury of Roman Christians.
This section of the argument focuses on the role of the Holy Spirit as intercessor. This is a practical as well as a theological concern; Paul's focus is correctly understood when we realize that "those who love God" (v. 28) is in the emphatic, first position in the sentence. The Spirit is given to help those who love God. The Spirit prays for us (v. 25), in fact "sighs" or "groans" for us (v. 26); this may refer back to the "groans" of the created order cited in verses 22-23, or the cry of "Abba, Father" in 8:15, or it may simply refer to glossolalia. Whatever form the Spirit's prayers take, their purpose is straightforward: to help us in our weakness (v. 26). The Spirit has a definite advantage here, in light of its intimacy with God. The Spirit can bypass normal human abilities of communication, since "God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit." Thus the Spirit's intercessions for us are "according to the will of God" (v. 27).
Paul also speaks of the role of Jesus as a model for the Christian life in the Spirit. Those who love God have a God-given purpose: to be conformed to the image of his Son (v. 29). Paul recaps the Adam/Christ contrast introduced at 1:23; Jesus is the new Adam who restores humanity to the image of God (cf. 1 Corinthians 15:49; 2 Corinthians 4:4; Philippians 3:21). Jesus Christ is literally "the firstborn among many brothers" (v. 29; cf. 8:14; Colossians 1:15; Hebrews 2:8-13). The hardships Paul lists are those that line us up in the image of Christ (vv. 35-36), a Messiah who suffered, he tells the Roman Christians, "for your sake" (v. 36).
Ultimately, God is the instigator and sustainer of this system of new life. God's saving work is the context of the oft-quoted verse 28, "all things work together for good for those who love God," which was not a carte blanche for material accumulation or a promise of a hassle-free life, but a promise of movement toward salvation -- by "good" Paul clearly meant the good of salvation, the new life given through the Spirit on the model of Jesus. Paul traces this movement toward salvation through a series of verbs describing God's action for us: God "called" (vv. 28, 30), "foreknew," "predestined" (v. 29), "justified," and "glorified" us (v. 30). This is all one series of actions in God's time, so that our future "glorification" can be spoken of in the same verb tense as our past "calling." God's faithfulness in bringing us life in his Son is the climax of God's work in history and in scripture (v. 32 echoes the Abraham story, cf. Genesis 22:16). The eloquent rhetorical climax (vv. 34-39) can preach itself; any additions from the preacher could only be anti-climactic.
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Matthew's parable chapter is the third of five major blocks of teaching in the gospel. Its major theme is summed up in the parable (and interpretation) of the sower: the mystery of the acceptance and rejection of the good news.
Our lection omits a crucial transition section. Verses 34-43 change the setting of Jesus' teaching from public to private, introducing teaching for the disciples about the parable of the weeds and the final judgment (a theme which returns in vv. 47-50). Verses 44-52 continue this private teaching, but constitute a single unit unified by the opening and closing mention of "treasure," and by the identical introductions of the parables. It is important to realize, therefore, that the parables of the mustard seed and yeast were delivered publicly to the crowds, according to Matthew, but the other parables are part of the private teaching, meant only for disciples.
The public teaching to the crowds pivots on the twin themes of growth and "hiddenness." The theme of growth has expanded to the point of hyperbole, as Jesus super-sizes ordinary occurrences. A mustard plant might grow quickly to ten or twelve feet, but it would never become a tree with room for birds' nests (vv. 31-32); the picture is akin to the cover of the Allman Brother's album, Eat A Peach, with a giant peach in a flatbed truck. Similarly, it would be a commercial baker, not an ordinary housewife, who would leaven three measures of flour (about fifty pounds), enough for 100 loaves -- or one giant one! (v. 33). This tremendous growth, of course, was meant to be taken as a sign of the presence of God's kingdom.
The seed in the ground, or the leaven in the bread expresses the hidden nature of the kingdom. We can't see the hyperbolic growth happening, only its results. Plus, the images are unexpected; we wouldn't normally think of God's work as a bush or a loaf, and "yeast" is usually used negatively (16:6), so Jesus' use of the image is a bit like saying "the kingdom of heaven is like a virus no antibiotic can stop." Both the kingdom and the teaching about it are unexpected.
The private teaching to the disciples sounds the themes of risk, surprise, and judgment. It is indeed a risky business to sell all that you have for one field -- especially when there was no assurance that any treasure you might find there would be legally yours (v. 44; the laws on such finds were debated). Neither would a jeweler who sold his whole inventory to obtain one pearl be accused of good business practice (v. 45). Yet the value of the kingdom of heaven is worth such a risk, for it is the legacy of a lifetime, the spiritual equivalent of winning the state lottery, the Powerball, and the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes all at once.
The kingdom is also a surprise, since no treasure map marks "X" as the spot. There were no banks with safe deposit boxes in those days, so it was common enough to bury one's goods to protect the assets -- what a surprise it would be to dig a hole for your own stuff, only to find a pirate's chest! The pearl is found in the course of daily business, but it exceeds in value all the business the jeweler has ever done (as if a minor art dealer came across a Picasso in an attic). In the same way -- surprise! surprise! -- the kingdom of heaven is in your midst.
The final parable of the section recaps the theme of judgment (vv. 47-48). Fishing on the Sea of Galilee was done with a dragnet, weighted with rocks, tossed out of a boat or suspended between two boats. Needless to say, the net would not be picky about what was caught, so the inedible or ritually unclean seafood would have to be sorted out. Like the weeds (vv. 24-30), the bad is disposed of (it is not thrown back into the water!).
According to its conclusion, the parable chapter is intended as student/teacher training. Throughout Matthew's story, the disciples are presented as students of the Lord, who will in turn become teachers of others (28:18-20). They are to be "scribes trained for the kingdom of heaven," who are "like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old" (13:52). What is old is the Mosaic tradition, which is not denigrated (cf. 5:17-20); what is new is the authoritative interpretation of it given by Jesus. That old/new teaching is to be handed on to further generations. Obedience to this tradition thus becomes a mark of community membership: to do the will of God as revealed in Jesus' teaching is to become part of his family (12:46-50).
Unlike the disciples as portrayed by Mark, Matthew's disciples understand what Jesus has to say. When he asks if they have understood his teaching; they answer, "Yes" (13:51). By the end of the story, they will finish their training by becoming witnesses of his resurrection (28:17), and will take their places in the teaching mission as scribes of the kingdom of heaven (13:52).
The training is intended for all followers of Jesus, not just an elite. Matthew designates the entire community, not just the twelve, as holders of the teaching office (18:18). Hierarchy is discouraged, and the measurement for leadership in the community is service: "You are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students ... Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant" (23:8, 10-11). Thus no one disciple, but all together, imitate Jesus in his teaching role. No one fount of wisdom that pours knowledge into the heads of the community, but a round table of scribes exercises the teaching office together. The ongoing presence of Jesus as teacher is to be found in the small community of two or three that has gathered around him, the family that does the will of God as he taught it (18:20; 12:46-50).
Application
"There's something wrong with every person who comes to this church." My friend was neither a candidate for clergy burnout intervention nor was he expressing cynicism about his congregation. He was simply reflecting on the wounds that had brought so many to his door. They came to Jesus, because only the sick need a physician.
"All things work together for good" is not a guarantee of health and wealth, but a deeper promise -- one of salvation. We've seen God working this good in the story of Jacob, who forms a model for how God might redeem a dysfunctional family. We've seen it among the Romans: why would they need the Spirit to groan for them, if there were nothing to groan about? And, we've seen it in Matthew, where the final sorting out of life must wait for the end.
In the meantime, we are called to be householders who ourselves bring good stuff out of things both old and new -- scribes who, like Jesus, are well-trained for the kingdom of heaven.
An Alternative Application
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52. "What's your pearl?" the preaching focus group asked. The student preacher stammered a bit. "What would you personally give up everything for?" the questioner persisted. "If you can't find something in your own experience that matches the gospel message, how can you possibly preach it to others?"
Over the years, I've become dubious about this assertion. I grant that some personal point of contact is necessary for effective preaching. The sermon is not a lecture; it must touch on something that is of ultimate importance to us at a personal level. An abstracted discourse on the nature of salvation is not the same as good news, and abstraction will never get our point across; it will just bore people.
That being said, I'm not sure that coming out and telling people my own pearl of great price is the proper function of the sermon. For one thing, I'm leery of sermons that tell us more about the preacher than the good news -- and it may well be that any first-person revelation will distract from our message. For example, I recently told a story in a sermon about "my friend Tom"; after the service, I was asked, "Were you talking about Tom So-and-so?" (someone of whom I had never heard). It was the only substantive conversation I had with anyone about the sermon, and it left me feeling that they were so engaged with guessing games that the point passed them by.
My other concern is that talking about what one would give to obtain a pearl of great price might lead us into some deep waters. Giving up everything for one goal is not only a feature of religious conversion, it is also a feature of addiction. Do we really want to offer our own addictive behaviors, whatever they may be, as illustrations of the gospel?
In short, it may well be worth our while to consider the question, "What is my personal pearl?" Such reflection may yield insight for the sermon. It also may be much too personal to talk about.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 119:129-136
(This is the alternative psalm for Proper 12)
If you asked a randomly chosen group of Americans to share their reactions to the word "law," their responses would likely be all over the map. Some would think of "the rule of law" -- an abstract principle that most people regard favorably. Others -- perhaps operating more from a Libertarian philosophy -- would respond cautiously, thinking of law as a necessary evil that ought to be minimized whenever possible. Our American culture -- perhaps still close enough to its "wild and woolly" frontier roots -- feels a certain ambivalence about the law.
Not so for ancient Israel. Psalm after psalm, wisdom saying after wisdom saying, extols the law as a sign of divine favor. This is because the cultural memory of the Israelite people is very different from our own. We are the people who discovered our rights, declared our independence from European colonial powers, and settled the wilderness, taming it through individual virtues like thrift, self-reliance, and hard work (such is our national myth, anyway, even if the reality sometimes differs). Israel, on the other hand, found its identity in the intervention of a sovereign, all-powerful God, who freed the people from miserable slavery, then gave them the law as the condition of a new covenant. That covenant was imposed from above, rather than being ratified from below as an enlightenment "social contract."
A deep and abiding love for the law is apparent in this section of Psalm 119. God's law is "wonderful." It "gives light." There is expressed here a soul-hunger for the law -- the sort of hunger our society typically reserves for pleasures of the flesh: "With open mouth I pant, because I long for your commandments" (v. 131).
Verse 134 is especially interesting, for it vividly highlights the clash between our modern culture and that of ancient Israel: "Redeem me from human oppression, that I may keep your precepts." The oppression of which the psalmist speaks is slavery, or perhaps some form of indentured servitude. Slaves are not free to live in obedience to God's Law, but must rather obey the precepts of their masters. Such was the dilemma of the exiles in Babylon, who could only practice their faith within the parameters laid down by the foreign king (the Psalms, of course, underwent their final editing either during or just after the exile, so concerns such as these are prominent). One can readily imagine a modern American praying, "Redeem me from human oppression," but it's hard to imagine most people concluding with the second part of that verse. "Freed for obedience?" the modern observer might ask, in astonishment: "What kind of oxymoron is that?" Yet this seeming oxymoron is the most heartfelt desire of the author of Psalm 119.
There is a story of a school crossing guard in Florida, who tried everything to get cars to slow down through the school zone he patrolled. Nothing worked -- until he took a blow dryer and wrapped it in electrical tape, making it look like a radar gun. All he had to do was point his invention at passing cars. The drivers hit the brakes instantly.
"It's almost comical," reported the crossing guard. "It's amazing how well it works."
Do we follow God's Law out of love? Or out of fear?
