Proper 21A (RCL)
Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16
Philippians 2:1-13
Matthew 21:23-32

The authorities ask Jesus by what authority he is doing these things. One might ask, “What things?” Immediately preceding this interchange is the cleansing of the Temple and the cursing of the fig tree, both signs of the judgment of God on the existing order of things (for the fig tree, cf. Isaiah 5 — I looked for fruit but found sour fruit, for justice and heard an outcry). The parable of the vineyard will follow.

Jesus refuses to answer, and instead poses a question: Was John’s baptism from God or from humans? This implies Jesus’ authority will be from the same place — however you answer one question, you will answer the other. Then the parable of the two brothers, again working in the vineyard, God’s community of justice (Isaiah 5). Tax collectors and prostitutes will be lead into the Kingdom of God before you. Notice, not into heaven, but into the Kingdom of God, where justice is done.

Who are the tax collectors and prostitutes? They have been pushed to the edge by the economic circumstance. Tax collecting and prostitution are never vocations of first resort. No one chooses them. They are driven to it. John comes preaching repentance of the sins of the nation, and these marginal ‘get it.’ They are living with the consequences of those sins, foreclosures, dislocation and all the rest.

Those people pushed to the edge might very well ask, like the nation at Rephidim, “Is God with us, or not?” Sure, he has shown us wonderful things in the past, but here we are dying of thirst, pushed to the edge. And God makes water to flow from the rock. God is with us. The first son does his father’s will, even though he had said no, he goes to work in the vineyard. He remains faithful, even after refusing. John preached to those who might question whether God is with us, and they repented. How do we learn to see things from the perspective of those on the edge, the tax collectors and prostitutes? What does God’s justice, God’s vineyard look like to them? Paul encourages us to have the same mind as Christ, who did not count equality with God as a prize, but took the form of a slave. Where is the community that does righteousness? Probably not among the Wall Street executive who earn 275 times what the average worker in their company earns. Who will go into the Kindgom first?

Proper 18A (RCL)
Exodus 12:1-14
Psalm 149
Romans 13:8-14
Matthew 18:15-20

Psalm 149 has always bothered me. We read it on All Saints’ Day, among other times. “Let the praises of God be in their throat and a two-edged sword in their hand; to wreak vengeance on the nations and punishment on the peoples; . . . to inflict on them the judgment decreed; this is glory for all God’s faithful people.” Really? Seems odd to sing those lines.

The twelfth chapter of Exodus describes the preparations for the passover meal, before the Hebrews leave Egypt. God will come through Egypt and kill all the first born males, animal and human, except in the houses with blood on the lintel. With that as a foundational story, a group of people would be inclined to see the world in terms of us against them. God save us, but not them.

I noticed a couple of weeks ago, in the reading of Peter’s confession in Matthew’s Gospel, that Matthew’s Jesus seems to be making a distinction between the Christ and the Son of Man: Who do people say the son of man is; who do you say that I am; to which Peter confesses, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” If the Son of Man is the figure who returns at the end of time to wreak God’s vengeance, then Matthew’s Jesus is saying the Christ is some other figure. The very next week, Jesus helps us figure out the distinction: The Christ will suffer and die. Peter of course tempts Jesus not to (get behind me Satan).

And this week, we run into that very rare word again: Church. Jesus tells Simon he is Peter and on that Rock (the rock of Peter’s confession), Jesus will build his church. Now, in the only other occurence of that word anywhere in the Gospels, Jesus tells us that if a brother or sister sins against you, try to work it out between the two. But if not, then eventually lay it before the Church. If things work out, you have re-gained your brother or sister, but if not, then be cut off from them. This follows the teaching about refusing to be a stumbling block for one of these little ones, and the shepherd who leaves the 99 to search for the single sheep.

I believe Matthew intends an inclusio with these two occurences of the word church, and the saying about binding and loosing. It is, after all, Peter who asks how many times I must forgive a brother. The foundational story about the church is not how we are distinguished from them, but how we are to treat one another. If two or three are united in something, then it’s done. Whose sins do we bind to them, and whose sins do we loose for them? In Matthew’s Gospel, and no where else, Jesus, at the last supper, says that the cup is his blood of the new covenant shed for you and for all for the forgiveness of sins. The blood isn’t about distinguishing the saved from the not-saved, but for the saving of all, the bringing of all inside.

That, I think, is what Matthew means about saving one’s life and losing it. If we think this is about making us special, we’ve got it wrong. The vocation of the church is to loose the sins of all — not that we can just let them go; it has to happen through reconciliation. But we are to be about the work of reconciling each to God and all to all. If two or three . . .

Proper 17A (RCL)
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

Reading last week’s Gospel, I was struck by the distinction Matthew’s Jesus draws between himself and the Son of Man. He asks, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” and then, “But, you, who do you say I am?” Two distinctions: between “people” and “you” and “Son of Man” and “me.” Peter’s confession, of course, is “You are the Christ, the son of the living God.” So, for Matthew, Christ and Son of Man are not the same.

This week, Jesus predicts his own passion, and Peter scolds him, “Mercy. Let it never be this for you.” Mercy, meaning “God have mercy.” Jesus in turn rebukes Peter, saying, “Come behind me Satan (which is the same vocabulary just a sentence or two down, “if any wish to come behind me.”). Satan shows up three times in Matthew’s Gospel: here, in 4:10, and in 12:26. In 12:26, Jesus asks, “If satan cast out satan, how will his kingdom stand?” In 4:10, after the three tempations, Jesus says, “Get away, Satan.” The word for “get away” is the same word as for “come” in “come behind me satan,” in 16:23. These two occurences are connected. Peter is tempting Jesus in the same way satan did.

Then comes the teaching on discipleship: if any wishes to come behind me, let that one. Peter is not intending the things of heaven, but the things of earth. And then, Jesus closes out the saying with the statement that there are those standing here who will not taste death before they see the son of man (or the human being) coming in his kingdom. If this is not Jesus, who is it?

The Son of Man means two things in the Gospels: the human being (as in, “foxes have holes, and birds have nests, but the human being has no place to lay his head”), or the one like the son of man from Daniel, the eschatological figure who reestablishes God’s reign. Or both things together.

If Peter is tempting Jesus, he is tempting him to understand “the Christ, the Son of the Living God,” an identity revealed, after all, by God, in human terms. You are setting your mind on things of earth, not of heaven. So, how do we understand God’s favor, being sons and daughters of the living God?

Jesus, as the Christ, establishes his church on the rock of Peter’s confession, the recognition of him as the Christ. But this is not the same as the apocalyptic figure who gives to everyone their just deserts, who punishes the wicked and vindicates the righteous. The Church is not an eschatological reality: it is a present reality. It’s purpose is here and now, in the interim. It’s not our business to set things to rights (to weed out tares), but to muddle along as best we can, with our eyes on heavenly things, in the meantime. The church’s business is forgiveness, binding and loosing, gathering up the lost and broken. The Son of Man will take care of things at the end — not our deal. But some of us standing here won’t taste death until we see the human being in his kingdom. The Church is to look for the royal dignity of every human being. We catch glimpses. But in the meantime, we are to give our lives to that pursuit. And it won’t look like success, or anything humanly defined for that matter. If we set out for success, for establishing the realm of God the way it is intended to be at the end of time, we will lose our lives, just as Jesus would have lost his if he had accepted Satan’s dares in the wilderness.

Moses encounters God in a burning bush. What a puny theophany! Why not in an exploding volcano? Why not in a hydrogen bomb? Why not in a supernova? A bush using oxygen to produce ash and heat. Don’t all bushes ultimately turn to dust? God is not going to set things to rights in any flashy way, overthrow Pharaoh and put the Hebrews (or Moses) in his place. Instead, God initiates a long process that will culminate in the formation of the Hebrews into a people, the people Israel, their entry into the promised land and eventually the monarchy and its overthrow.

God sets up an interim reality. We want the final reality, and God gives us a way to live together in the meantime — I think that’s what the Romans passage is about. For Paul, the death and resurrection of Jesus is God’s downpayment on the way things are supposed to be, but we have to live in meantime. And it’s not all victorious. There may be a son of man out there yet to come to set things to rights; in the meantime, following the Christ, the son of the living God involves us in looking for the royalty in all.

Proper 15A (RCL)
Genesis 45:1-15
Psalm 133
Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
Matthew 15:10-28

I have certainly been having fun reading the stories from Genesis in the RCL now that we’ve switched. Never had to pay close attention to them before. For this week’s lesson, I was caught by the last sentence: “He kissed his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.” Seems a little staged. The Tanakh (New JPS Translation) has, “He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to talk to him.” I like that.

Joseph was something of an insufferable brat when he had been at home with his brothers, all his dreams of dominating them. He was his father’s favorite. No wonder they hated him. They, of course, sold him into slavery in Egypt. When they showed up needing grain, Joseph decided to get a little of his own back, sending the money back with the grain, and then hiding his cup in Benjamin’s sack. As long as the grievances stood, there was no communication. On each side the shame (done to and by each side) got in the way of relationship. Only grief could restore the relationship. Joseph had to come to realize that his dreams of dominance hadn’t been about him (getting to lord it over his brothers), but part of God’s plan for saving others. The brothers, too, had to figure out what this kind of servant leadership looked like. It was a come down for both sides.

And then, they could talk.

Jesus encounters this pesky woman (or better, she encounters him). She cries, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” She addresses him as a suppliant entering the presence of a sovereign, and uses royal titles (same ones used by Blind Bartimaeus). Jesus answers not a word, a sovereign’s right. The disciples want her dealt with: she is shaming them and Jesus with the commotion. Jesus shames her in return: no one takes the children’s bread and throws it to the dogs. She accepts the rebuke and points out to Jesus the unreasonableness of his position: even dogs. He replies, “Woman, great is your faithfulness.” That’s an attribute of God (Great is thy faithfulness).

Paul is trying to broker a peace between Gentile Christians, who think they are all that, and Jewish Christians.

The Diocese of Missouri and the Diocese of Lui find themselves in similar positions; or the Episcopal Church USA and the Episcopal Church of Sudan. Archbishop Daniel issued a press release in which he condemned homosexuality. People who love him, and who care deeply about ECS, and about Lui have been hurt deeply. Bishop Wayne says that the Sudanese bishops want us to understand, they wouldn’t have issued such a statement if they didn’t love us. They could only say those things to someone they cared about. Doesn’t feel like love. Some of us have wanted to cut off the relationship with Lui. ECS says its hard to evangelize in their circumstance being known as the “gay” church. They say we don’t understand how deeply we have hurt them.

So, there are Joseph and his brothers facing one another. There is grain in Egypt. Can they be part of God’s plan to save the family of Israel? It’s a dicey business. Both could claim the hurt was too deep, and rightly so. Instead, they weep. And only then can they talk. We need to express our griefs to one another (ECUSA and ECS) and recognize our brothers and sisters. It would be so much easier to walk away. We wouldn’t have to acknowledge how deeply we have been hurt and how deeply we have hurt the other. That’s not comfortable.

Jesus has his encounter with the Canaanite woman in the region of Tyre and Sidon. He is off his familiar ground, in Gentile territory. We can only “get it” if we go there. I’m glad Matthew chose to portray Jesus (following Mark’s example) as clueless and even cruel, before his own conversion. The christian community, telling its story as Jesus’ story acknowledges that moving to a new understanding of the Gospel is costly work. Gives me encouragement when we don’t “get it” right away, that we are in good company.

Proper 14A (RCL)
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
Psalm: 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b
Romans 10:5-15
Matthew 14:22-33

Last night, Fr. Nathaniel drew some wonderful parallels between the story of Joseph and the story of Jesus, besides the obvious of going down to Egypt. Joseph was sold for twenty pieces of silver; Jesus for 30. Joseph later saves his brothers and family from starvation; Jesus saves his household. It is clear that the writers of the story of Jesus had before them the story of Joseph. We noticed a couple of other parallels as well. Judah sells Joseph; Judas (the Greek spelling of Judah) sells Jesus. The caravan of Ishmaelites was carrying gum, balm and resin — frankincense and myrrh.

Reading through this great saga, we are coming to the portion of the story in Egypt, which will culminate in the crossing of the Red Sea. The Gospel story of Jesus walking on the sea bears many parallels with the story of Moses leading the children of Israel across the sea. Moses is on the mountain alone, watching the progress of the people; Jesus is on the mountain alone watching the progress of the boat. All this happens in the night watch (Exodus 14:24); and in the fourth watch of the night (Mt 14:25). There is a strong wind (Exodus 14:21; Mt 14:30). And so it goes. Clearly the writers of the story of Jesus walking on the sea had before them the story of Israel crossing the Red Sea, most likely in the Septuagint.

But, then an interesting thing happens. Peter asks Jesus to command him to walk on the waters (not the sea; Jesus does not walk on the waters, but on the sea; Peter walks on the waters). Mark’s account does not have Peter walk on the waters. Matthew is telling us something new. This episode is also a resurrection appearance. The disciples think they are seeing a ghost, an appearance of one dead. When he enters the boat, they worship. Peter doubts (literally, is of two minds). When the disciples see Jesus on the mountain in Galilee “they worship, but doubt (are of two minds — the only two occurences of this word in Matthew). Jesus then instructs them to make disciples of “all the nations” baptizing them in the name of the Trinity.

In Galatians 2, Paul recounts the encounter between himself and Peter in Antioch. Before certain men from James came down from Jerusalem came down to Antioch, Peter used to eat with Gentiles (in the mixed community in Antioch). But when those men arrived, Peter drew back and separated himself, “because he was afraid of the circumcised.” In what follows the story of Jesus walking on the sea, the Syro-Phoencian woman will approach him and ask him to heal her daughter (remember Jairus?). He will refuse, because she is a Gentile: “It is not right to take the children’s bread and give it to the dogs.” She will retort, “True, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.” So, this episode is about table fellowship; do Jews and Gentiles eat together? Jesus is shamed by her response, and heals her daughter. Peter’s sinking in the water is Matthew’s way of telling us the story of the Antioch incident. Peter’s small faithfulness prevents him from stepping out over the waters of baptism into the mixed Jewish and Gentile community.

It has always been terrifying for the church to go to the new places Jesus asks us to go. Jesus, after Peter’s confession of him as the Christ, gives Peter the keys of the kingdom, and a new name, “Rocky.” But for his fear, Rocky sinks like a stone.

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 13A (RCL)
Genesis 32:22-31
Psalm 17:1-7, 16
Romans 9:1-5
Matthew 14:13-21

The Windsor Continuation Group made its report at the Lambeth Conference yesterday. Reaction was mixed. They called for moratoria on cross provincial interventions and on blessing of same sex unions and consecrations of partnered gay persons as bishops. Nobody is happy.

I am glad that we have been reading the Abraham/Sarah, Isaac/Rebekah, Jacob/Rachel and Leah saga with the Revised Common Lectionary this year. I have not before paid much attention to what surrounds our reading this week from Genesis. We all know the story of Jacob crossing the Jabbok, and its outcome: no one comes away from an encounter with God unmarked. But, I’ve not before paid much attention to his circumstance. He has just had a meal with Laban in which they establish an uneasy relationship of detente. They set up a pile of stones and each promise not to cross it into the other’s territory. It’s the last time Israel and Aram (Syria) are on familial terms. The relationship degenerates into one of enmity. Jacob is cut off from his immediate past.

And he faces an uncertain future, from even further in his past. He is going to meet Esau, who has every reason to hate him. No wonder he spends the night wrestling with God: the results of all his machinations are about to come home to roost. Jacob grows up. He learns that he can’t scheme and deceive without consequences. His wound is of his own making. But, he does wrestle with divine and human beings and survive. He’s screwed up, he’s going to pay for it (and does so with a limp), but he’s alive.

The Episcopal Church will face some decisions after Lambeth. There will be elections for bishop in which partnered gay or lesbian persons are elected. Then what? Pastors of congregations will be approached by gay or lesbian couples asking for the relationships to be blessed. Then what? We will have to wrestle with God. Jacob can’t go back. He can only hope to reach some kind of peace with Esau.

The crowd in the wilderness fed by Jesus is in similar circumstances. They have crossed the stormy sea, been healed of infirmities (demon possession, death, etc.) which rendered them unfit for table fellowship. Jesus instructs his disciples to “give them something to eat” (the same instruction he gives to the crowd around the dead girl). Make a place for them at the table. They’ve crossed the sea and entered the wilderness. God must now provide bread from heaven. So, what boundary are we called to cross? What’s our Jabbok or Sea of Galilee?

Paul shifts his rhetorical emphasis at this point in the letter to the Romans. Up until now he has been arguing for a mixed community, Jew and Greek. Now, he laments the fact that most of the Jews won’t accept the offer. He wishes he could be cut off from Christ (literally, anathema, a word which can also mean a gift to a god). Are we ready to go that far in our relationships with others in our communion. Would I be willing to be cut off if I thought the Nigerian Church would join this wild party in the wilderness, where demoniacs, unclean and even the dead are raised and eat? I don’t think so, more’s the shame.

One way or another, we stand at a brink, and we are not going to walk away without a limp.

Proper 12A
Genesis29:15-28
Psalm 105:1-11, 45b
Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

The story of Jacob and Rachel and Leah is another story of a meeting at a well that ends in marriage. In this story, Jacob gets his comupance. He had extorted Esau’s birthright from him, and then tricked Isaac out of the blessing meant for Esau. He has to flee his brother to avoid his anger. He goes back to Abraham’s homeland, and meets Rachel, his cousin. He continues his tricky ways. The cover on the well is meant to be heavy enough that only all the shepherds together can lift it off, thereby guaranteeing a fair sharing of water rights. Jacob, who is evidently very strong, lifts it off by himself so that Rachel can water her father’s sheep. Not a good idea to mess with local custom. Rachel takes him home to meet Laban, her father and Jacob’s uncle. Jacob agrees to work seven years to marry Rachel, and on the wedding night (was Jacob drunk?), Laban gives him Leah instead. He gets tricked in his own turn. He marries Rachel a week later, and agrees to work another seven years for her dowry. Notice that neither of these women have any say in the matter.

After twenty years, Jacob decides that Laban has not treated him fairly, and so takes his family and flocks and leaves. Laban pursues him and accuses him of stealing flocks. The reach an uneasy peace, and essentially agree never to see one another again. The women claim abuse by their father (he married them off without permission) and agree to go with Jacob. Jacob’s is the last trip to Abraham’s homeland. It’s also another sort of “twin” story. Rachel, the youngest, is Jacob’s favorite, and though she and her sister get into a contest over who can bear Jacob the most sons (from which the twelve tribes of Israel take their names), Rachel bears his two favorite, Joseph and Benjamin.

As so often in the epic of Israel, God chooses unlikely people to carry forward the divine plan: the deceiver and the deceived; the lovely and the unloved. It’s never the hero as we would see it. Israel recounts its own history through these very flawed human characters. What might God be doing through us?

In the Gospel passage, we have a number of images for the Kingdom, all of them surprising. Mustard is a noxious weed. With no encouragement at all, and in fact without a great deal of vigilance, it will take over whole fields. No one in his right mind sows a mustard seed in his field. Noxious as it is, it never becomes a tree. A scrubby shrub maybe, but not a tree. The parable, about birds making their nest in it, is comparing mustard to the cedars of Lebanon. This scrappy, scrubby weed will replace the great tree of the davidic kingdom. Yeast is unclean — during the high holy days, no yeast can be in the house at all. Here, the kingdom is compared to a woman (!) placing just a little bit of yeast in a great mass of dough, and the whole thing being leavened. The Kingdom is treasure worth everything one has, and a net which catches good and not-so-good fish.

The communities that recorded these stories though of themselves as scrappy, yeasty, on the fringes of things, and yet once given foothold, capable of replacing the cedar of Lebanon, capable of gathering in all sorts of fish. This would not be their doing, but God’s. God prefers to use (or is forced to use?) people like deceitful and deceived Jacob, and Rachel and Leah, pawns in a men’s game, and communities like mustard seeds and yeast for the divine purposes. Whenever we come to think of ourselves as divine agents, all righteous and right, we would do well to remember Jacob, and the mustard weed and the yeast. Making peace in Sudan, bringing all the outcast to the table, will be accomplished more by scappy little weeds and very human people like Jacob and Rachel and Leah than by all the grand rhetoric we so often use. The kingdom ain’t pretty, but once that seed has been sown, it’s inevitable, once that yeast has been added, it’s sure to arrive.

I have to admit that I’ve been a little desultory in following news from the Lambeth conference. Mostly, I’ve been reading Bishop Smith’s blog. So I was a little startled yesterday when he wrote about the news from the Episcopal Church of Sudan, and the pain it was causing. I had to go hunting in the ENS website to find out what was so surprising. Archbsihop Daniel, speaking for the Episcopal Church of Sudan, had issued a news release and held a press conference, in which he called for Bishop Robinson’s resignation. As you can imagine, this statement touched off a storm of controversy on the internet. I read statements suggesting that ++Daniel was the latest and greatest spokesman for orthodoxy and truth, and had the courage to stand up to the corrupt Episcopal Church US. I read statements suggesting that he was duplicitous, accepting money from ECUSA with one hand and stabbing us in the back with the other hand. I’m not going to link to any of these blogs, as the language was really quite startling, on both sides.

All of this would have seemed like so much more of the same, if I hadn’t actually met the man. He preached on Ascension Day here at Church of the Advent (see Brother Andrew’s blog). He was a gracious man, and we enjoyed his company. ECS also issued another statement at Lambeth asking for continued prayers and assistance in rebuilding Sudan and assuring adherence to the peace process. The Diocese of Missouri, of course, has a relationship with the Diocese of Lui in Sudan, and Advent has a relationship with the parish of Lozoh, and Deb has spent six months in Lui, and knows so many of the people there.

Also, out there on the blogosphere, there has even been a call for the Companion Diocese Committee of the Diocese of Missouri to end our relationship with Lui, because of what ++Daniel has said. I can’t go that far. I am surprised and hurt by what ++Daniel has said at Lambeth, but I am encouraged by what our bishop says about God finding a way toward unity out of this complicated communion. When Archbishop Ndungane was at Advent, just as the whole Windsor thing was getting started, someone at adult forum asked him if he thought the Anglican Communion would fall apart. He thought for a minute and said, “This morning I received communion from your rector. He and I are in communion. Nothing will change that.” ++Daniel also received communion here. Nothing will change that.

Every wound in the Body of Christ cuts both ways. But if we separate from anyone who hurts us, what chance will there ever be for healing? When Jesus shows up a second time to his disciples in John’s Gospel, Thomas is with them. Jesus invites Thomas to touch his wounds. Only then can Thomas exclaim, “My Lord and My God!” Thomas does not doubt. He refuses to believe in a Body of Christ that has no wounds. It is only when he touches the wounds that Jesus’ identity at last becomes clear (the disciples have been groping after it for the whole of the Gospel). I understand that our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters have been wounded so often that many would be unwilling to continue in relationship with ++Daniel, but I can only know he received communion at our altar, just like many on any Sunday with whom we disagree, with whom we argue, who have hurt us, and whom we have hurt. But the meal atones, or at least gives a foretaste of atonement. Until we eat it with Jesus in the Kingdom . . .

Proper 9A (RCL)
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
Psalm 45:11-18
Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

The reading from Genesis comes for a longer reading of Rebekah’s marriage to Isaac. Abraham’s servant goes to Abraham’s homeland to find a wife for Abraham. Abraham has absolutely forbidden Isaac to go back (would this undo God’s promise to Abraham when he left home in the first place?), and does not want Isaac to marry a Caananite girl. Abraham’s servant takes ten camels loaded with gifts on the journey. He plans to ask the first girl he sees for a drink, and if she offers to water the camels as well, then, she’s the one.

Imagine what a stir ten camels made in the village — this was someone impressive passing through. Rebekah offers him a drink, and then offers to water the camels. That must have taken some time: ten camels can probably drink a lot of water. When she is done watering the camels, the servant puts a ring in her nose, and bracelets on her arm. I wonder what her reaction was (try reading that bit liturgically without smiling).

The long and short of the story is she agrees to go back with Abraham’s servant to be Isaac’s wife. We are told that Isaac loves her — it’s more than just an arranged marriage. I find it remarkable that Rebekah is given a choice; “will you go with him?” And she is the one who ends up repeating Abraham’s journey: she becomes the model for faithfulness to God’s promises after Abraham. Her family blesses her with the same blessing God gave to Abraham; may your offspring be thousands of myriads.

I also find it fascinating that this scene gets repeated a number of times. Jacob meets Rachel at the well. Moses meets Zipporah at the well. Did men go down to the well to watch the women work, to see who would make a good spouse? Women around the world draw the water for their families.

Marriage would serve as a metaphor for the relationship of God to God’s people. The well is a place where a basic human need is met. God’s people meet God at the well. Fast forward to the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman. He meets her at the well, and asks for a drink! This is a marriage proposal — perhaps between God and the Samaritan woman’s people. After a long theological dispute, Jesus asks the woman to go and bring her husband. I have no husband, she replies. Samaria has been conquered five times, and made to worship the gods of her conquerors, and the god they are worshiping now is not theirs (since they aren’t the true Israel). The woman invites Jesus to her village, and they entertain him, just as happens in all the marriage proposal stories at the well.

Abraham wanted to make sure Isaac didn’t marry one of “those sorts” of girls — Caananites. Jesus brings a marriage proposal from God exactly to one of “those sorts” of girls — the Samaritan woman who has had five husbands. No wonder people didn’t know what to make of Jesus. John came fasting and not drinking, and people thought he had a demon. Jesus came partying, and people said, “Look, a drunkard and glutton; a friend of tax collectors and sinners.” The smart and well bred didn’t get it, so God revealed God’s marriage proposal to the simple, those heavey laden and weary.

Proper 8A (RCL)
Genesis 22:1-14
Psalm 13
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42

Ugh. I don’t know a single preacher who likes preaching on this story from Genesis, except maybe Soren Kierkegard. SK wrote Fear and Trembling as an extended meditation on the story of Abraham and Isaac, as a way of writing about his decision not to marry his fiancee Regina. His faith in God required him to give up the one thing he loved, just as did Abraham’s faith. SK also hoped to receive her back again after giving her up, but it was not to be. Not sure that’s the kind of faith in God I want to have.

We are not told what Abraham thought about the whole business, nor what Isaac thought. I wonder if Abraham and Isaac ever spoke again after the event. There are a couple of observations that help make a little bit of sense of the story.

i.) It appears to me to be a “just so” story at some very primitve level. The OT in a number of places speaks of the first born male of any mammal (humans inlcuded) being dedicated to God. A donkey or other work animal can be redeemed with a lamb. Human males can also be redeemed with a lamb. Does this story speak of a time when humans thought that God required the sacrifice of the first born male child, but then discovered that God did not desire the death of the child but provided a way of redeeming the child? The Passover story seems to suggest a similar redemption: while the Egyptians still sacrifice their first born sons, the Hebrews substitute a lamb, painting the blood on the doorpost. That would also make some sense of the prophets’ outrage at the continuing practice in Israel and Judah: we are not supposed to be like our neighbors, especially in this regard. The story of Abraham and Isaac would be a way of remembering when the possibility of redemption entered the culture.

ii.) Isaac is about 13 when this takes place. If there were a cultural memory of a time when male child sacrifice took place, this would provide the story for an initiation rite. Older men would take young boys off some distance from their mothers, tell the story, sacrifice the lamb and return. The boys would always carry the memory that they had been restored to their fathers by God.

iii.) The event takes place on Mount Moriah, presumably the same as Mount Zion in Jerusalem. Imagine the resonance with this story that would be in the minds of everyone who presented a sacrifice at the altar of the Temple. By God’s gracious substitution, we have our male children.

iv.) The story, as we have it written, was set down during the Exile. Abraham had been called away from his homeland — he was cut off from his past. Now God tests him by asking his son of him — he will be cut off from his future. Certainly, the Judeans in Exile would have understood Abraham’s despair. And yet, God’s promise is fulfilled. The Exiles can hope that God’s promise to them will be fulfilled.

I think this setting of the story gives us most hope of interpreting it. There were two theologies (at least) in competition during the Exile. The deuteronomistic theology said that the Exile was God’s punishment for Israel’s unfaithfulness. God would be demanding Isaac (standing in for Israel’s future) for Abraham’s sin. Isaiah also begins at the same time to write the majestic servant songs, which Christians would later apply to Jesus. The suffering of the servant is somehow redemptive, and not only of the Judeans in exile, but for the whole world. Israel must surrender its exclusive claim on God’s promise so that the whole world may enter into God’s household. Put the story of Abraham and Isaac alongside the story of the exile of Hagar and Ishmael. God’s promise for both is fulfilled, whether in the one case the people of promise had cast out those who they though fell outside the pale, or whether on the other hand, they punished themselves for their putative unfaithfulness. God will bring about God’s purpose of the inclusion of the whole world in God’s promises despite our screw-ups.

If this is a fair way of interpreting the story, then Paul is asking the same thing of us, only more directly. He is asking us to die to sin, to the ways of defining people as “in” or “out” by human standards. We are no more to let those things have dominion over us, but present ourselves to God.

I wonder if there isn’t a huge mistake we make when thinking about offering things to God. Kierkegaard made the mistake of thinking that offer something to God was see it destroyed as far as we are concerned; to lose the enjoyment of it (of course, in Repetition he sees that we can have it back after we have surrendered its enjoyment on strictly human terms). Instead, when we offer something to God, we offer its fruit to God’s purposes, which include our enjoyment of it. When we offer bread and wine, we get it back, transformed for God’s purposes, so that we might feed the world, ourselves included, with that precious food. It’s not about losing the thing offered so much as it’s about participating with God’s purposes, which are always larger than we can understand.