The Tenth Day of Christmas: And The Word Became Flesh

And The Word Became Flesh

The Tenth Day of Christmas

Sunday, January 3, 2021

John 1.1-18

In the beginning.

That is how John’s gospel opens, mirroring the opening of Genesis. And so, on this Second Sunday of Christmas, we are invited to see Christmas as the beginning of a new creation.

In the beginning was the Word.

And Frederick Buechner reminds us that, in Hebrew, “word” and “deed” are the same word, dabar.

“Thus to say something,” Buechner explains, “is to do something.”

He speaks about the power of words, both God’s words and our own: “When God said, ‘Let there be light,’ there was light where before there was only darkness. When I say I love you, there is love where before there was only ambiguous silence. In a sense I do not love you first and then speak it, but only by speaking it give it reality.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

And through the Word came life and light. “By uttering himself,” says Buechner, “God makes God heard and makes God hearers.”

But the world didn’t recognize the light.

Even still, says Buechner, “God never seems to weary of trying to get across to us. Word after word God tries in search of the right word.”

And then “God tries flesh and blood.”

Buechner lists some of the failed experiments: “God tried saying it in Noah, but…. God tried saying it in Abraham, but…. God tried Moses, but....; tried David…. Toward the end of his rope, God tried saying it in John the Baptist....’’

“So God tried once more.”

And the Word became flesh.

The Ninth Day of Christmas: Wisdom & The Good Life

Wisdom & The Good Life

The Ninth Day of Christmas

Saturday, January 2, 2021

Proverbs 1:1-7

James 3:13-18

Very often, churches focus on salvation. But not today’s readings. Our readings today

are all about wisdom. 

Recall from yesterday that wisdom literature is a specific genre in scripture. And understanding

the genre helps us to better read the text.

“In the Bible,” observes Rachel Held Evans, “wisdom is rarely presented as a single decision,

belief, or rule, but rather as a ‘way’ or ‘path’ that the sojourner must continually discern amid

the twists and turns of life.”

The author of James tells us that wisdom is shown by a “good life” with “works...done with

gentleness.”

And he tells us a little about what that looks like: “The wisdom from above is first pure, then

peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or

hypocrisy.” 

This is contrasted with a different kind of wisdom:  an “earthly, unspiritual, devilish” wisdom

that “does not come from above” that is characterized as “bitter envy and selfish ambition” on

the inside, “boastful and false to the truth” on the outside.

All of this has an air of spirituality to it that begs the question: What does this mean, practically,

in our lives? And how do we learn this wisdom from above?

This is where the book of Proverbs comes in, for “proverbs are spiritual guides for ordinary

people,” writes Ellen Davis, “on an ordinary day, when water does not pour forth from rocks

and angels do not come to lunch.”

Proverbs, argues Kathryn Schifferdecker, is about “character formation.” But it’s not some

highfalutin ethics course (like my masters program); no, the basic message is “to do well by

doing good.”

And so our reading today, the opening prologue (Robert Alter calls it a prelude) that “lays out

the agenda for the book.” 

“To know wisdom” is unsurprising. But “to know wisdom and reproof”? Alter explains: “the

pedagogical assumption of the book is that the unsuspecting young need to be warned of

life’s dangers and scolded for their susceptibility to temptation.”

Again, we are not surprised by “righteousness, justice, and uprightness.” But what about this:

“To give shrewdness to the simple, to a lad, knowledge and cunning”? This is the same

language used to describe the serpent in Genesis.

This “fits with the pragmatic curriculum of Proverbs,” Alter explains. “Intelligence is of the most

practical sort, involving alertness to potential deceptions and seductions, is seen as an

indispensable tool for the safe, satisfying, and ethical life, and a fool is repeatedly thought

of as a dupe.”

In other words, wisdom gets its hands dirty.

But there is a spiritual element underneath: “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of

knowledge.”

This gives us a clue about the serpent. It’s not shrewdness that puts the serpent at odds

with Yahweh; it’s the lack of “fear.” And this “fear,” notes Alter, “reflects a distinctive Israelite

emphasis not evident in analogous Wisdom texts in Egypt and Mesopotamia.”

So what is this “fear of the LORD”?

Jon Levenson defines it as “reverential obedience.” Carey Ellen Walsh says it “denotes a

posture of reverence and awe toward the holy, more than it does outright fright.”

“At its most basic level,” says Schifferdecker, “the fear of the LORD is the knowledge that

God is God and we are not.” And she points us to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe:

“Aslan is a lion - the Lion, the great Lion.”

“Ooh,” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he - quite safe? I shall feel rather

nervous about meeting a lion.”

“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver; “if there’s anyone who can

appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or

just plain silly.”

“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver…”Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But

he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

This understanding is central not just to Proverbs, but to Psalms and Job as well. And it’s a

prerequisite for wisdom and the good life.

The Eighth Day of Christmas: The Politics of Scripture

The Politics of Scripture

The Eighth Day of Christmas

Friday, January 1, 2021

Psalm 8

Ecclesiastes 3.1-13

Revelation 21.1-6a

Matthew 25.31-46

“Everything has a season,” writes Qohelet, the poet-philosopher. 

Note that we’re using her authentic Hebrew name, as opposed to the more familiar Greek,

Ecclesiastes. And don’t credit Solomon with words he certainly did not write, no matter what

tradition would have you believe. 

“It is best to think of Qohelet,” writes Robert Alter, “as the literary persona of a radical

philosopher articulating...a powerful dissent from the mainline Wisdom outlook that is

the background of his thought.”

Whoever it is, the author’s engaging in a dialogue with other parts of scripture. 

The god of Qohelet does not seem like the God of Genesis and Exodus, the God who

controls history, bringing floods and plagues, rescuing the chosen people and providing

manna as they wander through the wilderness. 

The god of Qohelet does not seem like the God of Amos or Jeremiah or Isaiah either, the

God who condemns Israel for its unfaithfulness but then steps in to rescue the repentant

nation.

Rather, the god of Qohelet is more like the god of deism that gets things going but then steps

back and absently allows history to run its course. This may be similar to the god of today’s

Psalm, but that stands in stark contrast to the God of our reading in Revelation who is making

all things new. Or the God of our gospel reading who separates the sheep from the goats.

Of course, this is not the only dialogue happening within scripture. The opening two chapters

of Genesis - the two competing creation stories - are themselves in dialogue.

And the fact that the Bible includes such a dialogue is not only beautiful, but is also key to

understanding its contents. Contrary to popular opinion, the Bible is not an owner’s manual;

it’s not a rulebook. (Rachel Held Evans compares this view to Michael Scott, in an episode of

The Office, driving a rental car into a lake because the GPS said to turn right.)

In fact, the Bible is not a book at all: “it’s a diverse library,” says Held Evans, “of ancient texts,

spanning multiple centuries, genres, and cultures, authored by a host of different authors

coming from a variety of perspectives.”

Notice that she mentioned genre. Well, genre is key to understanding.

Qohelet (Ecclesiastes) is wisdom literature. And as Held Evans observes, “The aim of

wisdom literature is to uncover something true about the nature of reality in a way that

makes the reader or listener wiser.”

And how does wisdom make us, as readers, become wiser? “In the Bible, wisdom is rarely

presented as a single decision, belief, or rule, but rather as a ‘way’ or ‘path’ that the sojourner

must continually discern amid the twists and turns of life.”

You see, life is too complex for a simple rulebook.

“Wisdom, it seems, is situational,” argues Held Evans. “It isn’t just about knowing what to

say; it's about knowing when to say it. And it’s not just about knowing what is true; it’s about

knowing when it’s true.”

And so she concludes: “To engage the Bible with wisdom, then, is to embrace its diversity,

not fight it.”

It’s not just the Bible that speaks with a diversity of voices. We, as a community, do too. And

we should follow the example of the biblical authors, and the biblical editors, by continuing the

dialogue as we read and interpret and discuss the text together.

Everything has a season.

Brueggemann see this as the “numbness” of the “royal consciousness” and “Solomonic

establishment” that “embodies the loss of passion, which is the inability to care or suffer”

and so leads to “apathy, a-pathy, a-pathos, the absence of pathos.”

To Held Evans, on the other hand, “these verses imply a pro tip: “When your friend is sitting

in a heap of ashes, grieving the loss of his family and scratching his diseased skin with a

shard of pottery” - she’s describing Job, in case you missed that - “it’s time to be silent. It’s

time to listen and to grieve.”

If you are wondering who is right, you’ve missed the point.

There are definitely wrong ways to read scripture. And unfortunately, many of us were

taught wrong. The good news is that there is no one right way. But that also means that

no one person has all the answers, which is why Hauerwas constantly reminds us that we

must read together.

In fact, it may be dangerous to read alone, lest we think we understand on our own.

Reading is political. Part of living together is learning to read together.

The Seventh Day of Christmas: New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve

The Seventh Day of Christmas

 Thursday, December 31, 2020

     Psalm 148

Hallelujah.

Praise the LORD from the heavens,

   praise him on the heights.

Praise him, all his messengers,

   praise him, all his armies.

Praise him, sun and moon,

   praise him, all you stars of light.

Praise him, utmost heavens,

   and the waters above the heavens.

Let them praise the LORD’s name,

   for he commanded, and they were created.

And he made them stand forever, for all time.

   He set them a border that could not be crossed.

Praise the LORD from the earth,

   sea monsters and all you deeps.

Fire and hail, snow and smoke,

   storm wind that performs his command,

the mountains and all the hills,

   fruit trees and all the cedars,

wild beasts and all the cattle,

   crawling things and winged birds,

kings of the earth and all the nations,

   princes and all leaders of earth,

young men and also maidens,

   elders together with lads.

Let them praise the LORD’s name,

   for his name alone is exalted.

      His grandeur is over earth and the heavens.

And may he raise up a horn for his people,

   praise of all his faithful,

      of the Israelites, the people near him.

         Hallelujah.

translation: Robert Alter

Auld Lang Syne

by Robert Burns

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!

And surely I’ll be mine!

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pou’d the gowans fine;

But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,

Sin’ auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,

Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar’d

Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!

And gie’s a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

Should auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

The Sixth Day of Christmas: The Politics of Time

 

The Politics of Time

The Sixth Day of Christmas

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

2 Peter 3:8-13

“With the Lord,” writes the author of 2 Peter, “a single day is like a thousand years, and a 

thousand years are like a single day.”

This, we might say, is kingdom time.

And kingdom time implies a certain politics, a certain way of living together.

“In the kingdom,” argues John Caputo, “the best way to raise the question of time is to begin 

with forgiveness.”

Because part of living together is the fact that we sometimes hurt each other, whether on 

purpose or on accident, the past holds a certain power over us. And this leads to a toxic 

and vicious cycle of resentment and revenge that undermines community.

But forgiveness, Caputo observes, “involves a readiness to wipe away the past in some way, 

a willingness not to hold on to it, to dismiss it.”

“I must give up the power,” says Caputo, “forgo repayment, or give away the advantage I have 

over you. I wipe the ledger clear so that the offense is gone, actively wiped away, wiped out, 

and you are released.”

But how does this relate to time?

Well, this is where things get interesting. 

“The wonder here,” according to Caputo, “the amazing grace, is not annihilation, for what is in 

the past is still there, but re-formation or transformation, where the offense is transformed in 

the moment of forgiveness into something that is no longer hanging over us, no longer between 

us, not anymore.”

Caputo calls this “the as-if time of forgiveness [because] we proceed as if it never happened.”

“Of course it did happen,” he is quick to remind us, “and it is retained, otherwise there would 

be nothing to forgive, but it is retained as forgiven.”

The past is still the past, the harm is still a harm - forgiveness is not forgetting. We can’t wipe 

our memory clean, but we can give it new meaning.

Caputo points back to the beginning of time, to the seventh day of creation, after God has said, 

good, good, very good, and then takes a sabbath rest. 

But, knowing how creation quickly turns into a bit of a mess, he argues that, for Jesus, “the 

seventh day is a day dedicated to healing and mending what has gone astray in creation, for 

reforming things first formed in creation.”

And so, in an interesting twist, he says that the past depends upon the future, for the “good” 

of creation is “both a proclamation and a promise.”

Creation is not over and done, but is still being formed and re-formed. And Caputo says that 

we are called “to make good on” God’s “good.”

At the beginning, God declared creation good. But creation depends on - God depends on - us 

to make it so today.

And that starts with forgiveness, letting go of that which is past.

By holding on to the past, we ensure that the future will be nothing but more of the same. 

Likewise, by holding on to the future we can see, the future we can predict, we prevent God 

from acting and prevent the kingdom from coming.

On the other hand, when we let go of time, when we let go of yesterday and tomorrow, we 

allow God’s newness, re-creation, to break through today.

And so Caputo points to the Lord’s Prayer: “Abba, give us today.”

“The kingdom lasts but a day,” he says, “but that day is every day, and it starts today.”

And that’s the key: “The time of the kingdom is neither a line nor a circle, but a new beginning, 

a fresh start - now.”