Tag Archives: Dennis Olson

Fourth Sunday of Lent in Year B (Mundahl18)

Loving the Cosmos as God DoesTom Mundahl reflects on repenting of the “windigo” way.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common Lectionary

Readings for the Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year B (2018, 2021, 2024)

Numbers 21:4-9
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22
Ephesians 2:1-10
John 3:14-21

Each Ash Wednesday we make an unusually comprehensive community confession of sin. We confess ā€œour self-indulgent appetites and ways, our exploitation of other people,ā€ ā€œour indifference to injustice and cruelty,ā€ and ā€œour waste and pollution of creation and our lack of concern for those who come after usā€ (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006, p. 253). While the starkness of these petitions may strike some as excessive, in light of the state of our planet one may also wonder: how could they be so mild?

Not only are we struggling through the aftermath of the eighteenth U.S. school shooting in the first couple months of 2018, but already residents of the Ohio River watershed are experiencing severe flooding. In my own Twin Cities, residents of the eastern suburbs of St. Paul are wondering if ā€œ3-M’sā€ nearly one billion dollar fine for polluting groundwater with the chemical components of Teflon will be sufficient given the 100 square mile toxic underground ā€œplumeā€ that has developed. And, once more the residents of California are beginning to worry about the low snowpack in the Sierra Nevada, one of their most important water sources. Will this year bring more fires, mudslides, and greater stress to farms and city residents alike?

The gravity of issues like this was on the mind of Wake Forest University’s Fred Bahnson as he attended Good Friday services last year. He arrived at worship hoping to have quiet time to reflect on the cross, the state of his life, and the state of the world. What he experienced was quite different. ā€œPerhaps what we needed that night at the National Cathedral was not more can-do American solutions, but more ā€˜sackcloth and ashesā€™ā€ (ā€œThe Ecology of Prayer,ā€ Orion, Vol. 36, No. 4, Thirty-fifth Anniversary Issue, 2017, p. 85).

To the wandering Israelites described in this week’s First Lesson, ā€œsackcloth and ashesā€ may not have sounded so bad. Not only was the first generation of leaders dying, the wilderness wanderers continued to be frustrated by continued detours forcing them to rely on Moses’ leadership and a divinely provided menu. It is no wonder that once more the people complained, this time directly to God, ā€œWhy have you brought us out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable foodā€ (Numbers 21:5).

No longer does ā€œout of Egyptā€ seem to be a punch line for a freedom dance. Now Egypt seems to represent a time without endless wandering and, despite bondage, a time of relative economic security. In their imaginations, Egypt may have become what Maggie Ross once referred to as ā€œthe mall across the Red Sea.ā€ Especially to the second generation of those on this extended trek, stories detailing life in Egypt would likely have become attractive. How easy it was to forget the cultural humiliation and painful work of brick-making for harsh Egyptian masters, slavery which seemed to consume their unique gift to the world (Dennis Olson, Numbers, Louisville: John Knox, 1996, p. 135ff.).

The desperate attraction to the horrors of life in Egypt reminds me of one of most powerful of Algonquin legends—the tradition of the ā€œwindigo,ā€a being who has developed an appetite for food, wealth, and power that can never be satisfied. Not only had the Israelites been victims of this ā€œwindigo” power in Egypt, but in many ways, so are we. Robin Wall Kimmerer describes how contemporary culture has ā€œspawned a new breed of ā€œwindigoā€ that devours Earth’s resources ā€œnot for need but for greed.ā€ This mind-set proposes to improve our ā€œquality of life,ā€ but eats us from within. ā€œIt is as if we’ve been invited to a feast, but the table is laid with food that only nourishes emptiness, the black hole of the stomach that never fills. We have unleashed a monsterā€ (Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants, Minneapolis: Milkweed, 2013, p. 308).

The consequences for the Israelites attracted to this nostalgic security monster are dire.

Poisonous serpents are deployed that quickly produce a high body count. When the desperate Israelites seek Moses’ help, he prays to the LORD, who commands him to make a bronze casting of a poisonous serpent, put it on a pole, so that, ā€œwhenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and liveā€ (Numbers 21:9). No longer did they long for the storied days of imagined ease brought by the Egyptian ā€œwindigo;ā€ now by looking at the very source of death they find healing and restoration of communal trust. It is no surprise that the Johannine evangelist uses this image (John 3:14) to portray the cross, that brutal instrument of Roman torture, as the sign pointing to cosmic renewal of life. God transforms the very instruments of death (serpent/cross) sub contrario, into tools for life.

Much the same can be seen in this week’s Second Lesson from Ephesians, where the author frames the text with the Greek verb peripateo, ā€œto walk,ā€ the source of the English ā€œperipatetic.ā€ This ā€œinclusioā€ describes contrary ways of life: in v. 2 walking the ā€œwindigoā€ way of death; in v. 10 walking the way of service and care. ā€œFollowing the course of this worldā€ (Ephesians 2:2) suggests that ā€œhuman life is under the malign influence of celestial powers thought to rule the universe, akin to ā€˜the elemental spirits’ of Col. 2:8, 20ā€ (Ralph Martin, Ephesians, Colossians, and Philemon, Louisville: John Knox, 1991 p. 26). The result is a warped understanding of life that leads to boasting (v. 9), misplaced confidence in human capacity, and being caught in the maelstrom of “windigo” lust.

The results of this kind of living are familiar to us today. According to Clive Hamilton, ā€œThe Great Acceleration began at the end of WW II and inaugurated both globalization and the Anthropocene. The rapid acceleration of economic growth, along with booming consumption and its profligate resource usage and waste, drove human destabilization of the Earth System. The pursuit of the American Dream at the same time brought the Anthropocene nightmareā€ (Clive Hamilton, Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene, Cambridge: Polity, 2017, p. 84). That this accelerating, self-augmenting, out-of-control system reminds us of the ā€œwindigoā€ should be no surprise. And, it is certainly not to automobile drivers trapped in nearly identical smog-producing traffic jams in Los Angeles, Cairo, Moscow, Beijing, and Addis Ababa.

Fortunately, the author of Ephesians reminds readers of the mercy of God, ā€œwho has made us alive together with Christā€ (Ephesians 2:55). ā€œIn effect, God has done for Christians what God has already done for Christā€ (Martin, p. 27). This results not in a new status of ā€œholiness,ā€ since it is all done ā€œby grace as a free giftā€ (Ephesians 2:8), but in an explosion of servant-care. ā€œFor we are what he made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of lifeā€ (Ephesians 2:10). This amazing verse pulls no punches: the communal gift of grace flows through us as a way of continuing the renewal of creation and healing. Integral to this new way of walking (the closing of our ā€œinclusioā€ frame) is building eco-justice.

This week’s lesson from John’s Gospel continues this emphasis on God’s action to heal and renew creation through the Son of Man (John 3:14) and the new community he calls into being (John 3:21). Once more we see a figure lifted up as Moses lifted the serpent, but this time the result is not only the healing of those bitten by fiery serpents. Here the result is a new quality of life not only for those who believe, but for the whole creation (John 3:15-16).

Despite the uniqueness of John’s Gospel, Raymond Brown reminds us that the three statements describing Jesus being lifted up (John 3:14, 8: 28, and 12:32-34) function as the equivalent of the three synoptic passion predictions (The Gospel According to John, New York, Doubleday, 1966, p. 146). While John does not describe a specific response to each of these, the consequences are clear. In our text, even though the Son was ā€œnot sent into the world to condemn the worldā€ (John 3:17), those who have seen and do not believe have already condemned themselves (John 3:18). ā€œAnd this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evilā€ (John 3:19). What is this if not a sense of being trapped in the ā€œwindigo” energy of ā€œthe virtue of selfishnessā€ which has led to everything from out-of-control ecological devastation to power addiction and genocide? And this does not even begin to measure the energy required to ā€œcover up in the darknessā€ responsibility for these deeds!

John describes the life of faith as producing even greater energy. But this energy is directed toward ā€œdoing the truthā€ (John 3:21a). Because these deeds come into the light, visible to the entire cosmos, they contain an entirely different kind of generativity. Just as the author of Ephesians refers to ā€œgood works which God has prepared beforehandā€ (Ephesians 2:10), so the works coming from faith-active-in-love are ā€œdeeds performed in Godā€ (Arndt, Bauer, Gingrich, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957, p. 307). Certainly ecojustice and Earthcare are among them.

The motive force behind ā€œdoing the truthā€ is the ā€œlife of new creationā€/ā€eternal lifeā€ that comes from the lifting up of the Son of man, the word made flesh. This energy easily surpasses competing powers, including ā€œEternal Rome.ā€ While Roman ideology claimed divine paternity for Augustus and his successors, who assumed political permanence, the gift of the one lifted up on a Roman cross could be grasped ā€œonly by faithā€ (Margaret Daly-Denton, John—An Earth Bible Commentary, London: Bloomsbury, 2017, p. 78). Still, a ā€œlife that bears endless newnessā€ is the audacious claim of the early community, an assertion intensified in his gift of peace ā€œnot as the world (here read ā€œCaesarā€) givesā€ (John 14:27).

The center of this text is John 3:16, an echo of the prologue with its allusion to creationā€”ā€In the beginning . . . .ā€ (John 1:1). Note well that Jesus does not say, ā€œGod loved humankind so much.ā€ The life of the new time is not just for human beings; it envelops the entire Earth, the cosmos. Margaret Daly-Denton calls attention to the rich meaning of ā€œcosmosā€ with etymological connections to ā€œbeauty,ā€ the root of ā€œcosmetic.ā€ In this case, however, the word points to beauty that is rooted deeply within the creation and integral to the harmony of its endless interconnections (Ibid., pp. 78-79).

When we affirm God’s love for the cosmos, broken as it is, we discover surprising depth. What faith sees is seldom simply an object of vision, but even more the unseen reality that brings it into being. As Wirzba writes, ā€œOur gaze at a creature . . . does not stop at the creature’s surface but extends beyond it to its dependence upon and source in a Creator. The Logos through which all things in the world came to be is also the light and life within each thingā€ (Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating, Cambridge, 2011, p. 32). This attitude requires us to live ā€œtogether withā€ the whole of creation in a respectful way, or, as John would have it, ā€œliving in the lightā€ (John 3:21).

That this is not the way we see the world God loves in our consumer-driven culture is clear. As Orthodox theologian Philip Sherrard reveals, ā€œWe are treating our planet in an inhuman, god-forsaken manner because we see things in an inhuman, god-forsaken way. And we see things in this way because that is basically how we see ourselvesā€ (Human Image–World Image: The Death and Resurrection of Sacred Cosmology, Ipswich: Golgonooza Press, 1992, p. 2). In order for us as to serve Earth and build ecojustice for all, we need once more to recognize God’s love in each other and in all that the Creator has made.

Yes, Fred Bahnson is correct in calling for us to put on the ā€œsackcloth and ashesā€ of grief when we consider what we continue to do to this planet. Our actions are based primarily on how we see the cosmos—as a ā€œmineā€ of resources to satisfy our endless desires, the ā€œwindigo” way from which it seems impossible to extricate ourselves. While the new-mindedness of Lenten repentance requires action, public policy change, hard work, and all of our energy, it also suggests the need for Lenten time to breathe and remember the depth of God’s love, a memory that may open us once more to be ā€œchannels of justice.ā€

Tom Mundahl
Saint Paul, MN
tmundahl@gmail.com

Originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2018.