Tag Archives: Paul D. Hanson

First Sunday of Christmas in Year B (Mundahl14)

Join the Hymn of All Creation Tom Mundahl reflects on ministering to creation as priests of God.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ 

Readings for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year B (2014, 2017, 2020, 2023)

Isaiah 61:10 – 62:3
Psalm 148
Galatians 4:4-7
Luke 2:22-40

The Coming of God in Christ at Christmas changes everything.Ā Ā It should be no surprise, then, that the psalmody for Christmas Eve echoes the joy of all creation:

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice;
let the sea roar, and everything that fills it;
let the field exult, and everything in it.
Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy
before the Lord….Ā Ā (Psalm 96: 11-13)

In a greeting to the 20th International Ecumenical Conference on Orthodox Spirituality focusing on ecology, former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, wrote, ā€œIf humanity is in God’s image, and if that image is fully realized in the coming of the Word in the flesh, humanity’s calling is to love and nourish the true meaning and form of every aspect of the creation, not to try and subordinate it to some passing version of what seems to be the interest of humanity in isolation.ā€ (Monasterio di BoseĀ Blog, September, 2012)

That is, far from being a ā€œfree passā€ to dominate non-human creation, to live out the ā€œimage of Godā€ must mean to begin a long listening session. Perhaps ā€œimaging Godā€ is an apprenticeship for learning servanthood to the rest of creation, a lifetime of being opened up ā€œto multiple avenues of reciprocal interaction between human beings and other speciesā€ (Elizabeth Johnson,Ā Ask the Beasts: Darwin and the God of Love, London: Bloomsbury, 2014, p. 267). We may even come to understand that, during this season of Christmas, it is we humans who are the latecomers in joiningĀ Ā nature’s chorus.

We certainly hear ā€œheaven and nature singā€ in Psalm 148. As the centerpiece of the final five ā€œHallelujah psalmsā€ (Psalm 146-150), it divides the chorus of praise into ā€œthe heavensā€ (vv. 1-6) and ā€œthe earthā€ (vv. 7-14). Given this division, the psalmist seems intent on providing the greatest variety of voices from each sphere. Angels, sun and moon, and even the waters above the firmament, comprise the heavenly choir. In the earthly chorus, sea monsters from the deep lead the voices of ā€œmountains and hills, fruit trees and all cedars, wild animals and all cattle, creeping things and flying birds!ā€ (Psalm 148:8-10). To these are added, finally, the human voices ranging from royalty to men and women, young and old.

Why? As appropriate as this psalm is for the Christmas Season, it certainly predates its celebration and points to a continuing melody.Ā Ā Elizabeth Johnson suggests a simple answer to this question: ā€œBecause God commanded and they were createdā€ (Psalm 148:5). All exist as the fruit of the powerful good will of the Giver whose name is exalted beyond heaven and earthā€ (Johnson, p. 276).

This ā€œchoir festivalā€ is echoed in today’s First Lesson from Isaiah. The prophet, drawing on the earlier Isaiah, revisits the marriage imagery from Isaiah 52:1-2. When creation is spiced with this celebration, ā€œrighteousness and praise spring up before all nationsā€ as naturally as the seeds in a garden sprout (Isaiah 61: 11).

Yet, as Paul D. Hanson suggests, ā€œThe optimism conveyed in the reaffirmation of Second Isaiah’s vision of restoration in chapters 60 and 61 is tempered in chapter 62 by another motif. Somber intimations of impending crises begin to lead the prophet to a different posture, a more aggressive stance vis-a-vis those perceived as doubting God’s purposesā€ (Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1995, p. 228). The prophet vows not to ā€œshut upā€ until ā€œvindicationā€ and ā€œsalvationā€ are completely expressed by the giving of a ā€œnew nameā€ (Isaiah 62:1-2). To fully appreciate this change of mood and prophetic response, it is necessary to consider Isaiah 62:4-5.

ā€œThird Isaiah follows Hosea, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel in utilizing the marriage metaphor to express the new name, that is, the new status of the people in relation to Godā€ (Hanson, p. 229).

You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married (Isaiah 62:4).

Even though they have completed the return from Babylon, the people have a long way to go. This new journey finds its climax as the people appropriate their new name, a name that pronounces renewed blessing on both people and land. With the new name, not only is the past forgotten, but the bloom of life spreads before them. Despite past exile and an uncertain present, the future is as hopeful as that of a newly married couple, or of a new CSA gardener planting her first crop of kale.

Like the Isaiah prophet, Paul also writes to a community that needs the terms of itsĀ Ā freedom and hope reinforced. Not only does this week’s Galatians text provide one of the earliest textual references to the nativity, it continues Paul’s argument for unity between Jewish and Gentile believers. It is preceded by his reminder that before faith came (ā€œwhen we were minors,ā€ all were ā€œenslaved to the elemental spirits of the worldā€ (Galatians 4:3). These ā€œelemental spiritsā€ are no shaggy Druidic forces to seek woodland harmony with. Instead, they were widely thought to be ā€œdemonic entities of cosmic proportions and astral powers which were hostile towards manā€ (Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians, Hermeneia Series, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979, p. 205)

But because in the fullness of time, ā€œGod sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as childrenā€ (Galatians 4:4-5), the situation has changed. The first purpose clause (ā€œin order to redeem those who were under the lawā€) clearly refers to Jewish members of the community. Since Paul commonly uses the formula ā€œJew first and then Greek,ā€ it is likely that the second purpose clause (ā€œso that we might receive adoption as childrenā€) encompasses allĀ in the early Galatian community (Betz, p. 208). Not only does this incarnation provide unity for the group through the Spirit, but it affirms that slavery for a Christian of Jewish or Gentile origin is over.

Surely this liberation must include freedom from being ā€œenslaved to the elemental spirits of the world.ā€ Instead of desperately trying to alter the course of ā€œfateā€ through a laundry list of sacrifices, astrology, and magic—all part of the old and widely syncretistic worldview—now it is possible to live in freedom. Once more, humankind is freed to deal with the whole creation with the respect and service that is fitting.

Just as our readings from Isaiah and Galatians demonstrate the wholeness God intends for creation, so the new freedom brought by the incarnation is demonstrated dramatically in the life and lyric of Simeon. That Simeon’s entry onstage is vital is signaled by the opening words ā€œAnd beholdā€ (και ιΓου). While there is no evidence that Simeon was an older man, he is described as ā€œrighteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israelā€ (Luke 2: 25b). This ā€œconsolationā€ (Ļ€Ī±ĻĪ±ĪŗĪ»Ī·ĻƒĪ¹Ļ‚) is related both to the ā€œcomfortā€ of Isaiah 40:1-2 and to the Spirit of God (cf. Acts 9:31), which we learn ā€œrested on himā€ (Luke 2:25b). The Spirit had assured Simeon that ā€œhe would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.ā€ (Luke 2: 26)

That Simeon is painted in the prophetic tradition inspired by the Spirit is clear. Now, in the tradition of Jeremiah’s ā€œsymbolic actions,ā€ he takes the child into his arms and praises God in the final ā€œsongā€ of Luke’s birth and infancy narrative, ā€œtheĀ Nunc Dimittisā€ (from the Latin translation of the first words, ā€œNow dismiss….ā€). In fact, Simeon is celebrating his ā€œmanumission,ā€ being released from his patient service as a ā€œslaveā€ (Γουλος) by the divine ā€œmasterā€ (Ī“ĪµĻƒĻ€ĪæĻ„Ī·Ļ‚) after a long wait. As prophesied by Isaiah, this celebration takes place ā€œin the presence of all peoplesā€ (Luke 2:31, Isaiah 40:5). Just as Paul wrote to bring unity to Jew and Gentile, so Luke ensures full inclusion: ā€œa light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israelā€ (Luke 2:32).

If God is fully present in the child in the lap of Mary, this One is also present in the arms of Simeon. Similarly, ā€œthis child is also fully present in the waters of Baptism and in the bread and wine of the Eucharist, and so known by the faithful, whenever these sacraments are shared according to the cosmic Wordā€ (Paul Santmire,Ā Nature Reborn: the Ecological and Cosmic Promise of Christian Theology, Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000, p. 84). Certainly it is just that ā€œcosmic Wordā€ that faithful Anna shares with the faithful people coming to the temple.

But there is more to Luke’s narrative. Following the blessing, the prophet Simeon shares a hard truth with Mary.

Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is spoken against, (and a sword will run through your life also)so that the calculations of many hearts may be exposed (Luke 2: 34-35, author’s translation).

At first, this warning seems to echo Mary’s own song, the Magnificat, which describes a reversal that includes the fall of the powerful and the lifting up of the lowly (Luke 1:52-53). But it moves beyond this sense of reversal by identifying ā€œthis child,ā€ in the words of Isaiah 8:14-15, as a ā€œstone of stumblingā€ which breaks to pieces everyone who falls on it. What’s more, this one is also ā€œThe stone that the builders rejected (who) has become the cornerstoneā€ (Psalm 118:22). Both senses of meaning are used to interpret Luke’s crucial parable of the landlord and the tenants (Luke 20:17-18). When Jesus’ opponents hear the parable and its interpretation, immediately they seekā€ to lay hands on him . . . .ā€ (Luke 20:19). Simeon’s warning, then, exposes the ā€œcalculationsā€ of the ā€œscribes and chief priestsā€ and prepares us for Jesus’ passion. No wonder Luke comments parenthetically to Mary, ā€œand a sword will run through your life also.ā€

Have we lost the celebratory tone of Psalm 148 and our Christmas carols entirely? Of course not, but neither are we so naive as to claim that the age of wonders and fulfillment has completely arrived. In fact, we know that the incarnation of the Servant of Creation still exposes ā€œthe calculations of many hearts.ā€

A recent e-mail from the people who put together the fine short film about consumption, ā€œThe Story of Stuff ā€œ reminded me of this. The message referred to the so-called Pacific Garbage Patch created by the interaction of the North Pacific Gyre currents and gross human plastic dumping. The size of this ā€œpatchā€ outstrips the very word used to describe it: estimated to be anywhere from the size of the state of Texas, on the small side, to the size of the continent of Africa (cf. Alan Weisman,Ā The World Without Us, New York: St. Martin’s, 2007, pp. 121-128).

While the vast majority of this atrocious mess comes from marine vessels, the problem of disposing of plastics is global, but most intense in so-called developed countries. However, since plastic containers have a long life and can be reused many times, there is an opportunity simply to return empty shampoo bottles or olive oil containers to co-ops to be refilled. Unfortunately, refilling options are not always available and, ā€œto expose the calculations of many hearts,ā€ this often requires personal effort. But to move this ā€˜cardiac exposure’ to the public level, are there not public policies that would both educate and regulate to confront this problem? But what is the level of political contributions of plastic manufacturers in the U.S., so intimately connected with the petroleum industry?

We continue to sing Psalm 148. All creation sings the song of God’s praise together. But we also are called to remember our priestly role in mediating the vision of the intention of God’s creation, priests who both imagine and serve (Norman Wirzba,Ā The Paradise of God, Oxford, 2003, p. 135). But, in a way, that continues our listening to God and the whole creation.

Tom Mundahl, Saint Paul, MN
tmundahl@gmail.com

Originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2014.

Third Sunday of Advent in Year B (Mundahl14)

Living the Anticipation, with Joy and New Light Tom Mundahl reflects on what it means to be whole.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ 

Readings for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year B (2014, 2017, 2020, 2023)

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Psalm 126
1 Thessalonians 6:16-24
John 1:6-8, 19-28

Traditionally, the Third Sunday in Advent has been called ā€œGaudete Sunday,ā€ a Sunday to ā€œrejoiceā€ as we turn in hope and expectation toward the Coming One. As the title,Ā Gaudete, originally stems from the Vulgate translation of Philippians 4:4, ā€œGaudete in Domino semperā€ (ā€œrejoice in the Lord alwaysā€), this week’s readings do not neglect this joy.

As a result of the prophet’s appointment to bring hope to the people of God, the faithful are pictured in the tradition of the earlier Isaiah (Isaiah 52:1-2), donning garments for the wedding party (hieros gamos) celebrating the bond with God. ā€œI will rejoice in the LORD, my whole being shall exult in my God . . .ā€ (Isaiah 61:10a). Because this joy explodes with energy, it can only be described in terms of the fecundity of creation: ā€œFor as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the LORD will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.ā€ (Isaiah 61:11)

In much the same way, Psalm 126 gives voice to Jerusalem pilgrims (a ā€˜Song of Ascent’), who particularly wish to remember the return of exiles with poetry rich in natural metaphor. They recall, ā€œWhen the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy . . . .ā€ (Psalm 126:1-2a). Now they ask to be refreshed just as the dry watercourses of the Negeb region in the south run with water during the rainy season. Like Isaiah, the psalmist prays that the one who brought them back from Babylon will ā€œbring them home rejoicing, carrying the sheaves.ā€ (James L. Mays, Psalms, Louisville: John Knox, 1994, p. 400)

This week’s Second Lesson calls the community to rejoice with as much eloquence and passion as the Philippian correspondence. ā€œRejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for youā€ ( 1 Thessalonians 5:16-17). Likewise, John the Baptist in our Gospel Reading continues to point toward the Coming One as the ā€œtrue light which enlightens everyoneā€ as the locus of joyful new creation.

Ā Constitutive of this joy is living out the call to belong to this community of a renewed exodus and creation. This ā€˜new Isaiah’ (Trito-Isaiah), likely one of the circle of Second Isaiah’s disciples, clearly finds identity as ā€œan instrument of reconciliation and healing, passing those qualities on to others in the community open to God’s callā€ (Paul D. Hanson,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1995, p. 224). Belonging means far more than a simple fact of association. Just as the speaking of the prophetic word summons it into existence ( Claus Westermann,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969, p. 366), so it also moves the community to re-form. They do this as ā€œoaks of righteousnessā€ grown to display God’s glory. And how is this displayed? By building up the devastated cities and repairing the ruins (Isaiah 61:4).

That urban renewal will not take place overnight is underscored by the natural metaphors. What is described here is the steady process of blessing, imaged by ā€œoaks of righteousness (Isaiah 61:3) and the growth of a garden (Isaiah 61:11). This natural time frame requires a community of renewed vocation, one of the most important ā€œblessingsā€ (Isaiah 61: 9b) of Isaiah’s proclamation of ā€œthe year of the LORD’s favor (Jubilee), and the day of vengeance of our God . . .ā€ (Isaiah 61:2). It is absolutely crucialĀ Ā to note that ā€œvengeanceā€ here carries its original meaning as ā€œrestoration to wholeness!ā€ (Westermann, p. 367).

This connection to a community that ā€œsets its clockā€ to the rhythm of oaks and gardens is key to enjoying this healing renewal. The result of an artificial and technical culture divorced from creation’s ebb and flow is what Wendell Berry has called a ā€œwound that cannot be healed because it is encapsulated in loneliness, surrounded by speechlessness.ā€ That is, when the human body—singly and corporately—lives only by and from its own productions, when vast periods of time are spent in cubicles facing screens, we are confined by what we ā€œproduceā€ and our mode of production. Then, as Berry continues,

“our works do not liberate us—they confine us. They cut us off from access to the wilderness of Creation where we must go to be reborn—to receive the awareness at once humbling and exhilarating, grievous and joyful, that we are part of Creation, one with all that we live from and all that, in turn, lives from us “(The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture, San Francisco: Sierra Club,1977, p. 104).

Paul echoes this theme of living what our culture might call ā€˜holistically’ in a roundabout way. We have seen above how the final appeal in the structure of the letter has called the Thessalonian community to live in rejoicing, prayer, and thanksgiving (1 Thessalonians 5 16-18). In fact, Beverly Gaventa has called vv. 16-22 an ā€œearly form of church orderā€ preceding even the Didache (Beverly Roberts Gaventa, First and Second Thessalonians, Louisville: John Knox, 1998, p. 84).

To maintain this order requires a very strong sense of identity. We find this in Paul’s ā€œepistolary closingā€ (5: 23-28), which contains a prayer that the recipients be made ā€œwholly (ολοτελως) holyā€ and enjoyĀ Ā spirits, souls, and bodies that are ā€œsoundā€ (NRSV: ολοκλρον) or ā€œwholly functioningā€ (1 Thessalonians 5:23). Since it is difficult in 2014 to maintain the heightened awareness of the parousia that Paul calls for in 1 Thessalonians 4:1- 5: 11, perhaps we may be free to reinterpret playfully what it could mean for the community of faith to be ā€œcompletely soundā€ and ā€œfully functioning.ā€

Larry Rasmussen suggests ā€œwe must create ā€˜anticipatory communities’ as part of the successful negotiation out of the fossil fuel interlude.ā€ (Rasmussen,Ā Earth-honoring Faith: Religious Ethics in a New Key, Oxford, 2013, p. 183). As he concludes his book, Rasmussen calls for a community of ā€œsacred strangers in a secular societyā€ (Rasmussen, p. 364). Such a community or set of communities might take as its charter responsibility for keeping Earth with all its creatures ā€œcompletely soundā€ and ā€œwholly functioning.ā€ While this may seem like a tall order, Paul makes it clear that the One whose Advent we await ā€œis faithful, and he will do this;ā€ that is, he will keep the community faithful to the task (1 Thessalonians 5:24).

The author of John’s Gospel joins Mark in seeing the coming of Jesus as a new beginning (αρκη) for the whole creation. Like Mark, John begins this process with the work of John the Baptizer, whose role is abundantly clear: He is the one who comes to testify to the light coming into the world.

It is not long before his testimony begins. In a scene suggesting a courtroom trial, John is confronted by priests and Levites from Jerusalem asking him, ā€œWho are you?ā€ (John 1: 19). In answer to their examination, John makes it clear that he is neither Messiah, nor Elijah the forerunner, nor the prophet like Moses to come at the fulfillment. In the language of Isaiah, he is ā€œthe voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord.ā€ (John 1: 23).

It is likely that John’s response to this interrogation is designed not only to refute those who would see John as Messiah, Elijah, the Prophet, or even ā€œthe lightā€ and follow him, but also to clarify his significant, although subsidiary, role. He baptizes with water and testifies to the ā€œone who is coming after me,ā€ the ā€œone who stands among you whom you do not knowā€ (John 1:26-27). That John also functions as something of a ā€˜revealer’ in giving testimony to the light is shown when, on the next day, he declares, ā€œHere is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the worldā€ (John 1:29).

This is not the end of the courtroom drama in this gospel. As the testimony of John the Baptizer concludes, the Evangelist adds his evidence—as a community is formed, signs are enacted, and the passion drama is reached (Raymond Brown,Ā The Gospel According to John, I-XIII, New York: Doubleday, 1966, p. 45; see also Gerald Sloyan,Ā John, Louisville: John Knox, 1988, p. 19f.).

This drama continues for all who live in Advent expectation. The Prayer of the Day for Advent 3 puts it well:

Stir up the wills of your faithful people, Lord God, and open our ears to the words of your prophets, that anointed by your Spirit, we may testify to your light . . . . (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006, p. 19).

That is, through baptism we are called to join John the Baptizer in testifying to the light.

Let’s face it: light as metaphor is difficult for those of us who live in so-called ā€œdeveloped societies.ā€ Light is not only available twenty-four hours a day; we can hardly escape it even when we seek respite in the darkness. Sadly, those who live in urban areas without easy access to a planetarium can hardly teach children the wonder of constellations to help them appreciate the mystery of a starry night.

This has not gone unrecognized by environmental writers.Ā Ā As he toured the U.S. promoting his book,Ā The End of Night: Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial LightĀ (Boston: Little, Brown, 2013), Paul Bogard projected satellite maps of the U.S. from the late 1950’s, the mid 1970’s, 1997, and (as anticipated) in 2025, showing the spread of lighting. While the map from the late 1950’s shows a country mostly dark except for the Boswash conurbation, the Chicago area, and the Los Angeles basin, the map projecting 2025 light quotas reveals a country bathed in light with the exception of the mountain west. The ancient prayer, ā€œlighten our darkness,ā€ is harder to make sense of in this environment.

But the transformation of night affects more than the beauty of the night sky. It has become clear that so-called ā€œblue lightā€ from electronic devices reduces the production of melatonin necessary for sleep. Excessive light during the melatonin production cycle also correlates with increased rates of breast cancer among women (Bogard, 104-109). Now we need studies on the effects of lighting a continent on non-human plants and animals. We need to recognize that all this light, indeed, has become metaphorical ā€œdarkness.ā€

Therefore, while we continue to light Advent candles each week at home and in the assembly to demonstrate our joyful expectation of the Coming of God, we need to discover new images and metaphors to fit our call to be active and watchful, serving creation in way that is ā€œwholly soundā€ and ā€œfullyĀ Ā functioningā€ (1 Thessalonians 5:23). In the meantime, we celebrate our life together with its call to serve the whole creation and to let our lights shine—but perhaps not too brightly.

Originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2014.
St. Paul, MN
tmundahl@gmail.com

Third Sunday of Advent in Year B (Mundahl20)

Rejoice? Tom Mundahl reflects on joy in the midst of grief.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ 

Readings for the Third Sunday of Advent, Year B (2020, 2023)

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Psalm 126
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1:6-8, 19-28

The Third Sunday in Advent has traditionally been called ā€œGaudete Sunday,ā€ a Sunday to ā€œrejoiceā€ as we turn in hope and expectation toward the Coming One. While gaudete (ā€œrejoiceā€) originally comes from the Vulgate translation of Philippians 4:4, ā€œrejoice in the Lord alwaysā€, this week’s readings do not neglect this theme. Ā For example, this week’s Second Lesson calls Thessalonian community members to ā€œrejoice alwaysā€ (1 Thessalonians 5:16), while our First Lesson proclaims the ā€œthe year of the LORD’s favorā€ (Isaiah 61: 2). But how can we rejoice in the face of a quarter-million Covid-19 deaths, another record year of hurricanes and forest fires (during the hottest year recorded), while just a few miles from my home blocks of burned-out buildings stand empty in the aftermath of the Memorial Day murder of George Floyd.

Reflecting on this week’s readings, it is clear that the intended audiences for these writings did not spend their lives continuously doing the ā€œhappy dance.ā€ They are the oppressed, the broken-hearted, the captives, those who mourn, and those surviving with a faint spirit (Isaiah 61:1-3). Return from exile has not guaranteed comfort. In fact, arrival to a semi-destroyed Jerusalem apparently has led to renewed fissures in this wounded community. If the people had ā€œwept by the waters of Babylonā€ (Psalm 137), is being oppressed in one’s homeland any better? Into this painful situation comes the Isaiah prophet (or the students of the ā€œIsaiah schoolā€) with a message of intensified hope (Ellen Davis, Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture, Cambridge, 2009, p. 169).

Now all will be engaged in a process of rebuilding, a process that will be as slow as the growth of an oak tree. But because ā€œthe spirit of the Lord Godā€ (Isaiah 61:1) is the motive force, all that is necessary for renewed life will gradually be done. These ā€œoaks of righteousnessā€ will rebuild ancient ruins and repair essential services.Ā  While the strategy offered by the Ezekiel prophet was to focus on renewing the Temple priesthood, here the whole people ā€œshall be priests of the LORDā€ (Isaiah 61:6, Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic, Fortress, 1979, pp. 65-68). By sharing a calling to the priestly task of rebuilding the city, even theĀ  fog of collective grief will begin to disappear.

Now this wave of shared responsibility will bring so much joy, the prophet can only describe it in terms of a wedding party (hieros gamos) celebrating a deepening bond between the divine and all creatures. Because the gift of joy explodes with energy, it is best described in terms of the fecundity of creation: ā€œFor as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the LORD will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nationsā€ (Isaiah 61: 11). Is it any wonder that Jesus read just this text at his home synagogue (Luke 4:18-19 )?

At first glance, Psalm 126 seems only to celebrate the joy of temple pilgrimage by travelers, who on their way remember the return of exiles. ā€œWhen the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongues with shouts of joy….ā€ (Psalm 126:1-2a). But they cannot suppress a ā€œblue note,ā€ recalling weeping and asking to be refreshed, just as southern deserts are refreshed by spring rains. They pray that the one who brought exiles back from Babylon will ā€œbring them home rejoicing, carrying the sheavesā€ (James L. Mays, Psalms, Louisville, John Knox, 1994, p. 400).

In much the same way, Paul’s first letter to the assembly in Thessalonika appears to be little more than a friendly letter of warm support. That this is not the case is revealed by the apostle’s frustration that he cannot be with them as he continues his mission. In fact, this separation has made him feel like an ā€œorphanā€ (1 Thessalonians 2:17).Ā  That is a feeling that must be familiar to many of us during the many months of the current pandemic. Being cut off from family, friends, fellow worshippers, co-workers has created potentially dangerous isolation, making the call to ā€œrejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstancesā€ (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18) seem like a cruel joke.

Beverly Gaventa suggests Paul’s conclusion of this letter goes far beyond warm exhortation. Instead, it appears to be ā€œan early form of church order,ā€ preceding the Didache by decades (First and Second Thessalonians, John Knox, 1998, p. 84). Maintaining this order then and now requires a strong sense of identity. We find this in Paul’s ā€œepistolary closingā€ (5:23-28) which contains a prayer asking that the hearers be made, literally, ā€œwholly holyā€ and enjoy spirits, souls and bodies that are ā€œsoundā€ or ā€œwholly functioningā€ (5:23). Despite the threatening events of 2020, it is difficult to maintain Paul’s heightened awareness of the parousia, we are responsible for reinterpreting what it could mean for the community of faith to be ā€œcompletely soundā€ and ā€œfully functioning.ā€

One thing is sure: as faith communities we need to attend to the dying and the bereaved. At a time when too many have had to die alone, connected to the latest medical technology but disconnected from family, friends and faith community, we need every gift of the Spiritus Creator to affirm our ties with one another and keep them sound.Ā  On a public scale, we need to consider Kenneth Feinberg’s proposal to establish a ā€œnational office of bereavementā€ to provide emotional, community, and financial support, as the office he led did in the aftermath of 9-11 (NPR Report, Weekend Edition Saturday, Nov. 21, 2020). But congregations also need to compensate for the absence of public funerals by using all means consistent with health protocols to support the ā€œgrief workā€ of those suffering loss. Perhaps one good unintended consequence of the pandemic will be to recover and acknowledge the tearing separation of ā€œthe empty chair at the tableā€ and move away from naive and death-denying ā€œcelebration of lifeā€ services.

As we recover sensitivity to the power of loss in our lives, we also need to acknowledge our grief over damage to the earth.Ā  Whether it is the prohibition from eating Mississippi River fish that my brother and I caught for dinner more than 60 years ago, the housing development built through our former cross-country skiing trail, or the fact that urban children will never see the Milky Way and learn the constellations, the loss is real. Of course, this is nothing like the asthma and other health problems experienced especially by those in poverty and people of color, victims of environmental racism.

In 2003, Australian geologist, Glenn Albrecht coined the term solastalgia to denote this loss. Seeing ā€œthe existential melancholia experienced with the negative transformation of a loved home environment,ā€ he saw that new language was necessary. (ā€œThe Age of Solastalgia,ā€ The Conversation, August 7, 2012, p. 2). While we have all experienced this, no group has suffered as acutely as climate refugees from Central America and Africa who have been forced to find new homes at a time when they rarely find a welcome. When solastalgia and nostalgia (the ā€œlonging for homeā€) intersect, that is painful loss indeed. The UN conservatively estimates that each year 21.5 million people are added to this group. And this is not even to consider the loss of plants and animals during the current ā€œsixth extinction.ā€

How can we respond? Larry Rasmussen suggests developing a community of ā€œsacred strangers in a secular societyā€ (Earth-honoring Faith: Religious Ethics in a New Key, Oxford, 2013, p. 364). Such a network of communities might take as its charter responsibility for keeping the earth with all its creatures ā€œcompletely soundā€ and ā€œwholly functioning.ā€ Part of this must include attending to bereavement in all it forms, including solastalgia. While this seems like a tallĀ  order, Paul makes clear that the one whose Advent we await ā€œis faithful, and he will do this;ā€ that is, keep the community faithful to the task (1 Thessalonians 5:24).

John affirms this as he accepts his role as a witness who testifies to the light that comes in the midst of our darkness. This role becomes more than metaphor when he is ā€œput on trialā€ by Temple authorities from Jerusalem. Not surprisingly, the central question is, ā€œWho are youā€ (John 1:19)? Responding to their grilling, John makes it clear that he is neither Messiah, Elijah the forerunner, nor the Moses-like prophet to come. In the language of Isaiah, he is ā€œthe voice of one crying in the wilderness, ā€˜Make straight the way of the Lordā€™ā€ (John 1:23).

The evangelist confirms John’s importance by including additional testimony. When asked later in the gospel about his identity, John again denies that he is Messiah, but calls himself the bridegroom’s friend. ā€œThe friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. For this reason my joy has been fulfilled. He must increase, but I must decreaseā€ (John 3: 29-30). As the plot in the gospel moves from John’s baptizing in the wilderness to its climax, we recall that ā€œthe voiceā€ Isaiah describes sees the blooming of the wilderness (Isaiah 51:3). It is no surprise, then, that we move from forensic interrogation in the bleak desert to utter astonishment in the garden of resurrection (John 20), for when the Logos/Sophia is deeply incarnated, it brings a wedding feast for the whole creation (See the important work of Margaret Daly-Denton, John–An Earth Bible Commentary: Supposing Him to Be the Gardener, Bloomsbury, 2017, pp. 43-50).

Feasting hardly seems appropriate as 2020 comes to its brutal end.Ā  Perhaps we need to hearĀ  this week’s Prayer of the Day once again. ā€œStir up the wills of your faithful people, Lord God, and open our ears to the words of your prophets, that anointed by your Spirit, we may testify to your light….ā€ (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Augsburg-Fortress, 2006, p. 19). Through our baptism we are called to join John in testifying to the light. That testimony can be a challenge for it calls us to enter the deepest darkness with honesty and courage.

Facing exponential increases in Covid-19 cases, continued indifference to the climate crisis, and virulent racism, all too often we can only respond with lament.Ā  Yet as we share this lament together something happens. As we feel frozen in crises that have no clear pathways through, together we discover the dim light of new routes for response.. That is certainly the witness of the Black Church. It is also the teaching of blues singers, a message captured by African-American poet Nikki Giovanni:

We stirred the blues in our stews to give us the strength to go on
And Lord Have Mercy we used The Blues to give us joy to make us laugh
To teach us how to love and dance and run
Away
And so much more
Thank The Lord
How to stay until the next day
The Blues is our history
Our quilt
(ā€œThe Blues,ā€ Make Me Rain, William Morrow, 2020, pp. 28-29)

Perhaps learning to ā€œsing the bluesā€ will sharpen our eyes so that together we begin to see the light.

Originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2020.
Elm Cottage, St. Paul, MN
tmundahl@gmail.com

First Sunday of Advent in Year B (Mundahl14)

Stay Alert with Hope; and Beware the Consumers of Christmas. Tom Mundahl reflects on hope, watching, and serving.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ 

Readings for the First Sunday of Advent, Year B (2014, 2017, 2020, 2023)

Isaiah 64:1-9
Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
Mark 13:24-37

In a recent review of new books on climate change, BritishĀ Ā environmental writer Paul Kingsnorth shares his fear that stopping warming is nearly impossible; the very best that can be done is controlling how bad it will get. This pessimism is reinforced by a conversation Kingsnorth had with Nobel Prize winner Daniel Kahneman in a New York cafe. Because Kahneman, an economist and a lifetime student of human decision-making, is convinced that no amount of psychological awareness will overcome people’s reluctance to lower their standard of living, he concludes:Ā Ā ā€œSo that’s my bottom line: there is not much hopeā€ (London Review of Books, October 23, 2014, p. 18).

Despite that increasing consensus, the community of faith insists on calling Advent a season of hope. But this is not a naive hope. As William and Annabeth Gay wrote their annual Christmas letter in 1969—in the midst of the worst of the Vietnam War –as always they included a hymn, whose middle verse puts it best:

Yet I believe beyond believing that life can spring from death,
that growth can flower from our grieving,
that we can catch our breath and be transfixed by faith.
So even as the sun is turning to journey to the north,
the living flame, in secret burning,
can kindle on the earth and bring God’s love to birth.
(ā€œEach Winter as the Year Grows Older,ā€ No. 252,Ā Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Minneapolis: Augsburg-Fortress, 2006)

This hope is especially critical for those of faith called to serve a creation rent by the Ebola virus, drought from another record year of heat, water shortages, and rising oceans –all challenges met by paltry human response. As we begin a new church year, we look for signs of hope where they always have been, in our Advent readings from scripture.

It may be surprising that our first reading from Isaiah addresses those who have returned from exile in Babylon and have resumed a corporate life together. Yet things have not gone so well; the very promises of a New Exodus seem to have been empty. No wonder the people ask, ā€œWhere is the one who brought them from the sea…?ā€ (Isaiah 63:11) and why does this LORDĀ Ā ā€œharden our hearts, so that we do not fear you?ā€ (Isaiah 63: 17) (see the discussion by Paul D. Hanson,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, pp. 234-235).

Out of this sense of frustration and failure comes a desperate cry: ā€œO that you would tear open the heavens and come down….ā€ (Isaiah 64:1).Ā Ā While this image may call to mind the old tradition of the Divine Warrior, it goes even deeper to the Creator’s power to make new. Not only does this cry occasion a turning around –repentance—by the people, it roots what is to come in ā€œrememberingā€ God’s faithfulness. (Isaiah 63:11)

Even if the hopeful imagery of Second Isaiah (40-55) now seems to be fantasy, the prophet and people hold their broken dreams and defeated hopes together by remembering God’s action, the only power capable of healing what has been ā€˜dismembered.’ That memory does more than face backwards: it recalls that this is the God who clears the way for the new, capable of ā€œtearing open the heavens and coming down.ā€

In fact, now the prophet reminds listeners of the creative imagery from the earlier Isaiah.

Woe to you who strive with your Maker, earthen vessels with the potter!Ā Ā Does the clay say to the one who fashions it, ā€œWhat are you making?ā€ (Isaiah 45:7)

This earthy metaphor serves as a timely affirmation in spite of the freed peoples’ faithlessness: ā€œYet, O LORD, youĀ areĀ our Father: weĀ areĀ the clay and youĀ areĀ our potter; weĀ are all the work of your handā€ (Isaiah 64:8). It is this trust in the ā€˜maker of heaven and earth’ that is the source of hope in the midst of hopelessness. And this hope is justified, for the prophet goes on to share a ā€œdivine speechā€ in Isaiah 65 that offers a promise of radical newness and a vision ofĀ shalom. (see Ellen Davis,Ā Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible, Cambridge: 2009, p. 169)

For I am about to create a new heavens and a new earth….I will rejoice in Jerusalem and delight in my people….They shall build houses and inhabit them;Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit….for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be (Isaiah 65: 17, 19, 21-22).

Paul writes with just this sense of hopefulness to a Corinthian community faced with the challenge of cultural diversity and internal division. Even though our text comprises the formal thanksgiving in the letter, it is hardly formulaic. As Hans Conzelmann suggests, the very first word of this thanksgiving,Ā ĪµĻ…Ļ‡Ī±ĻĪ¹Ļ‚Ļ„Ļ‰ā€”ā€œI give thanksā€ā€”drives toward and includes everything in this section, culminating in the promise of strength to live out the community’s calling (Hans Conzelmann,Ā 1 Corinthians, Hermeneia Commentaries, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975, p. 25).

Clearly, this community is not without resources as it continues to serve under pressure. Nor are these resources self-generated. The Corinthian community has been ā€œenrichedā€ by God’s gifts.Ā Ā Despite the NRSV translation, the Greek word ā€œspiritualā€ does not appear in 1:7. The grace of God simply provides what is required for life and service.

These gifts, χαριςματι, could not differ more from the great hunt for holiday gifts in the race beginning on so-called ā€œBlack Friday.ā€Ā Ā Brueggemann deftly characterizes this ā€œholiday shopping spreeā€ as the ā€œachieved satiationā€ of a ā€œroyal theologyā€ aimed at sedating ā€˜consumers’ into thinking that everything is ā€œall rightā€ and that there are no problems that cannot be ā€œfixedā€ by economic exchange (Walter Brueggemann,Ā The Prophetic Imagination, 2nd Ed., Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001, pp. 36-37).

The gifts Paul refers to are given to empower this new servant body to nurture the mystery of hope, to ā€˜get its hands dirty’ as part of a community so inclusive it ā€˜comprehends’ all creation.Ā Ā No other scaling of community, κοινωνια, is comprehensive enough to do justice to the faithfulness of God. (1 Corinthians 1: 9)

Richard Hays, in his comment on this text, puts it nicely:

“We are apt to think of the church’s life and mission on a small, even trivial scale. We tend to locate the identity of our communities within some denominational program, or within local politics, or within recent history. But Paul urges us instead to understand the church in a cosmic frame of reference…. “(First Corinthians, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p.20).

Ironically, it is cosmic vision which frees us to see what is at hand locally with new eyes: every child, every one of Grandpa Ott’s ā€˜Morning Glories’ in the alley, every city council meeting, and even every diseased ash tree as holy, a gift of God.

Chapter 13 in Mark’s Gospel may provide us with more of the ā€œcosmicā€ than we bargained for.Ā Ā Description of ā€œwars and rumors of warsā€ (13:7), ā€œfleeing to the mountainsā€ (13:14), false messiahs, and astronomical irregularities combine to create an atmosphere of terror and anguish. Far from being otherworldly, this dramatic language seems to describe the life situation of the earliest community and its response to the Jewish Revolt of 66-70 CE.

If scholars Adele Yarbro Collins and Ched Myers are right, this chapter ā€œdocumentsā€ the struggle in the Markan community over what tack to take in this violent popular uprising.Ā Ā Collins suggests that ā€œwars and rumors of warsā€ and the warning that ā€œthe end is yet to comeā€ (13:7) fit best with the situation early in the Jewish War. ā€œIf the war were already over, it would hardly have been necessary to point out that the end had not yet comeā€ (Collins, The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context, Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992, p. 82).

Myers goes further, suggesting that this chapter is written for an audience in the resurrection community tempted to join forces with ā€˜Jewish patriots’ in rebel action. ā€œIn such a moment, there was only one voice that could match the persuasive call of the rebel recruiters: Jesus the living teacherā€ (Ched Myers,Ā Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Gospel, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1988, p. 330). This call is to say ā€œnoā€ to false messiahs, military violence, and predictions of the end of hostilities. It is a call to active watching and waiting, the call of the whole faith community during Advent.

ā€œBeware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will comeā€ (Mark 13:33). This strong imperative sentence could be heard as a threat that produces nervous foreboding. Instead, it is an invitation to faithful and attentive service within the web of creation. A community that no longer lives in anxiety about making the right eschatological ā€œcallā€ is freed for this very activity: watching and serving. The time of fulfillment will come; in the meantime, wakeful care is the watchword, as it indeed is for the season of Advent.

This attention and watchfulness is more than a strategy; it replaces the world of the temple cult with trust in the ā€œwordā€ of the Risen One. (Mark 13:31) The old fig tree (Mark 11:12 -14)—representing temple culture –no longer bears fruit. A new crop is coming to nourish this community of attentive care. This crop will provide the sustenance servants of creation need to carry out their calling (Mark 13:28-31). This is true for us as we are challenged by an economic culture that uses shopping and buying to sedate us so we cannot see the way things really are.

When Wendell Berry wrote, ā€œthe real names of global warming are Waste and Greedā€ (ā€œFaustian Economics,ā€ Harpers, May, 2008, p. 35), he could just as well be speaking of the North American celebration of ā€œthe holidays.ā€ Much as the earliest community was tempted to embrace military violence to easily solve the problem of Roman rule in Palestine, so we are tempted to forget any discipline of waiting and watching and, instead, to jump ā€œwhole hogā€ into the arena of ā€œgetting the goods.ā€ In this kind of culture there is no hope that ā€œconsumersā€ will cut themselves off acquiring the latest toy and risk social disapproval, little chance that steps to deal honestly with the causes of climate change will be taken. But when we ā€œkeep awakeā€ (Mark 13:37), who knows what new doors may open.

Originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2014.
St. Paul, MN
tmundahl@gmail.com

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany (February 4-10) in Year A (Mundahl)

We are Epiphany communities, being salt for the Earth and bearing light for the world.Ā Tom Mundahl reflects on Isaiah 58 and Matthew 5:13-20.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ  (originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2014)

Readings for the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, Year A (2014, 2017, 2020, 2023)Ā 

Isaiah 58:1-9a [9b-12]

Psalm 112:1-9 [10]

1 Corinthians 2:1-12 [13-16]

Matthew 5:13-20

There are few things more satisfying than baking good bread. But that bread depends not only on quality of flour and the skill of the baker; its quality also is related to the right balance of ingredients. I remember the time I forgot the salt. Not only did the dough rise too quickly, this visually lovely loaf had no taste whatsoever!

This week’s First Lesson from Second Isaiah teaches us a thing or two about religious practice that has the appearance of a fine, fresh loaf, but has no taste. The prophet takes a hard look at what Paul Hanson calls ā€œfaith in the subjunctive moodā€ (Hanson,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p. 204). As the prophet reveals, ā€œYet day after day they seek me and delight to know my ways,Ā asĀ ifĀ they were a nation that practiced righteousness and did not forsake the ordinance (mispat) of their Godā€ (Isaiah 58:2a).

Apparently, theĀ most religious had transformed what they considered ā€œreligionā€ into private acts of prayer and ritual ā€œleaving the entire realm of social relations and commerce under the domination of ruthless, self-serving exploitation. . . .ā€ (Hanson, p. 205). But the prophet stands firmly in the traditions of his guild, which reminded the people of their liberation from Egyptian slavery, their dependence on God’s sustenance in the wilderness, and the gift nature of their land. Because they had received these generous gifts, they were to be generous in sharing—especially with those in need.

This is the logic undergirding Isaiah’s definition of authentic religious practice. ā€œIs this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them and not hide yourself from your own kinā€ (Isaiah 58:6-7).

The results of practicing honest religion point to a healing that extends to the whole creation. Not only will ā€œyour light break forth like the dawnā€ (Isaiah 58:8), but bones—the structure of personhood—will be strengthened and ā€œyou shall be like a watered garden, like a spring whose waters never failā€ (Isaiah 58:11). This integrity will result in a marvel of urban planning, repairing a city whose foundations will nurture many generations with the lure of ā€œstreets to live inā€ (Isaiah 58:12).

In fact, this restoration will be a return to the very intention of creation, celebrated with the creation of Sabbath on the seventh day. Isaiah’s account of the effects of authentic repentance (ā€œfastingā€) culminates in a vision of ā€œlife’s fecundity and fresh potential. Once the bonds of oppression that maim and destroy life are removed, then life can flower into the diverse and beautiful forms that God planted in the first gardenā€ (Norman Wirzba,Ā Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating, Cambridge: 2011, p. 166). As a result of this renewal, all creation enjoys the interdependent harmony of ā€œSabbath delightā€ (Isaiah 58:13), where all creatures celebrate the memberships of life as they share their bread (Wirzba, p. 165).

Because this week’s Gospel Reading immediately follows a sobering account of what those who are ā€œblessedā€ to be joined to the ā€œkingdom of heavenā€ can expect—being reviled and persecuted as the prophets were (Matthew 5:11)—one wonders if ā€œdelightā€ is even remotely possible.Ā Ā But recall that the final beatitude concludes with a call to: ā€œRejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before youā€ (Matthew 5:12).

This joy is clearly stronger than any persecution the Roman Empire or the elite religious opponents will provide. But it requires this new community to live in harmony with its gracious identity. The parallel statements ā€œYou are the salt of the earthā€ (Matthew 5:14) and ā€œYou are the light of the worldā€ (Matthew 5:14) move them in this direction. While salt has many uses, its primary function has been to season food. As Ulrich Luz suggests, ā€œSalt is not salt for itself but seasoning for food. So the disciples are not existing for themselves but for the earthā€ (Ulrich Luz,Ā Matthew 1-7Ā (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989, p. 251). The purpose of the light metaphor is much the same, leading to the intended result (both with ā€œseasoningā€ culture and the earth and ā€œvisionā€) ā€œthat they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heavenā€ (Matthew 5:16).

Clearly, Matthew’s Jesus is not advocating a ā€œworks righteousnessā€ schema. For him, a person’s actions are integral to identity. Salt becomes effective only by salting. Light becomes valuable only when it shines. To indicate to the new community ā€œyou are the light of the worldā€ confers both identity and the sense that it cannot but be realized in action. ā€œMatthew speaks without embarrassment of good works, without meaning self-justification by worksā€ (Luz, p. 253).

More important for us may be that the predicates of these two statements: ā€œyou are the salt ofĀ the earthā€ (5: 13) and ā€œyou are the light ofĀ the worldā€ (5:14). For this new community embraced by a new kind of regime, the earth is the focus of its action. This is crucial, since Matthew’s narrative suggests that the kingdoms of the earth are under control of the devil, a nasty, but justified slap in the face for the Roman Empire (Matthew 4:8). It is this Empire that claimed to be able to provide ā€œbreadā€ for its people, but often gave them little more than ā€œbread and circuses.ā€

Why these powerful images of salt and light? As Warren Carter suggests: ā€œThey emphasize the missional identity and lifestyle of disciples. While participation in God’s empire is blessed, it mandates an alternative way of life that challenges the status quo. This is a costly demand for a minority and marginal community, vulnerable to being overpowered by, or accommodating itself to, the dominant culture. The two images strengthen that identity and direct its way of life in a hostile context.ā€ (Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000, p. 139)

We began this commentary with a consideration of bread baking, where I shared a failed attempt to bake bread without salt. Not only was it tasteless; the dough had risen so much and so quickly, the bread had no ā€œcrumb,ā€ no structure. To a faith community called to be ā€œsalt of the earthā€ (Matthew 5:13), this has important implications for care of creation.

Without a limiting factor, humankind seems much like bread dough that is intent on fermenting—rising with no end in sight. Whether it is emitting carbon and other greenhouse gases, wasting increasingly precious water, or continuing the collection of often unneeded consumer items that overwhelm disposal capacity of land and sea and are recycled at an unsustainably low rate, especially in the U.S., the absence of limiting discipline is frightening. Not only does this dishonor the ā€œmaterial gifts of creation,ā€ but it forgets, as William Rathje and Robert Lillienfeld have shown in their indispensable book,Ā Use Less Stuff, that recycling has always been a way to maintain consumption and has never historically solved the problem of excess (Rathje and Lillienfeld,Ā Use Less Stuff, New York: Ballantine, 1998, pp. 6-26).

Earth needs ā€œsaltā€ to limit all these dangerous increases. Wirzba suggests that faith directs our focus to being where we are and paying attention to community (including creation community!) needs. ā€œAs we dedicate ourselves to understanding our place in the wider world, we can learn something of a habitat’s or community’s limits and possibilities. . . . And we can draw upon the faculty of our imagination to envision possibilities for improvementsā€ (Norman Wirzba,Ā The Paradise of God, Oxford: 2003, p. 155).

Yet, Wendell Berry is right about the difficult balancing act that care of creation and sharing good bread involve. ā€œTo live, we must daily break the body and shed the blood of Creation. When we do this knowingly, lovingly, skillfully, reverently, it is a sacrament. When we do it ignorantly, greedily, clumsily, destructively, it is desecrationā€ (Wendell Berry, ā€œThe Gift of Good Landā€ inĀ The Gift of Good Land: Further Essays Cultural and Agricultural, San Francisco: North Point Press, 1981, p. 181). As an Epiphany community bearing necessary light, we must also be ā€œsaltyā€ enough to provide a vision of limits that will, at minimum, slow down the destructive forces threatening God’s creation.

Tom Mundahl, St. Paul, MNĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  tmundahl@gmail.com

Second Sunday after Epiphany (January 14-20) in Year A (Mundahl)

We Are Home.Tom Mundahl reflects on the community of creation.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common Lectionary
(originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2014)

Ā Readings for the Second Sunday in Epiphany, Year A (2014, 2017, 2020, 2023)

Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-11
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42

As we considered the prologue to John’s Gospel in our comments for Christmas 2, it was suggested that its communal nature not be forgotten. The evangelist makes it clear that this new divine venture is profoundly social: ā€œthe Word became flesh andĀ lived among us;ā€ ā€œweĀ have seen his gloryā€ (John 1:14). We claimed that because the Word became flesh, that Word is capable of continuing the process of creation, in part, by forming a new community of faith.

The assigned reading from John not only continues the baptismal theme, it describes the beginnings of this new community. The very newness of this movement is made embarrassingly clear by the response of two of John the Baptist’s disciples. After hearing John testify to the significance of Jesus for the second time in as many days, these disciples take their teacher at his word ā€œand followed Jesusā€ (John 1:37). When Jesus saw them following, he uttered his first direct speech in this Gospel: ā€œWhat are you looking for?ā€ (John 1:38).

Just as Jesus’ first words in Matthew revealed the obedience which shapes that evangelist’s understanding of new community, so this short phrase uncovers an important theme in John’s Gospel. The simple question, ā€œWhat are you seeking?ā€ underlines the basic need of humankind to turn to God. That is, human beings need to ā€œdwellā€ or ā€œabideā€ with God in order to escape the terrors of insecurity, always looking for something or someone that is trustworthy (Raymond Brown,Ā John, I-XII, New York: Doubleday, 1966, p. 78). If humans constantly seek a community to belong to, a secure home, a ā€œnest,ā€ we may reflect ā€œotherkindā€ more than we would admit.

And in this reflection, we may conclude one of the most important outcomes of faith is to learn to be at home. This should not surprise us. The author of Colossians describes Jesus this way:

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, visible and invisible . . . ” (Colossians 1:15 -16a).

Perhaps, then, to answer the question ā€œWhat are you seeking, or looking for?ā€ we need to be disarmingly honest and respond: ā€œWe are looking for a community to identify with, a community that can be part of making it possible for ā€œall things in heaven and on earthā€ to be ā€œat homeā€ (see Shannon Jung,Ā We Are Home: A Spirituality of the Environment, New York: Paulist, 1993, pp. 54-69)

But it is only when we are ā€œat homeā€ in God’s creation that we are free and secure enough to open our doors and make our ā€˜walls’ into windows. This is certainly the strategy of the community described in our reading from Second Isaiah. Even if many of its most important leaders remain in exile, the prophet delivers a startling message. Going home is not enough. The impact of this new word extends beyond traditional borders, from ā€œcoastlandsā€ to ā€œpeoples far awayā€ (Isaiah 49:1).

This places the prophet squarely in the center of the post-exilic debate between those who would build the walls high to prevent outside cultural influence (Ezra and Nehemiah) and those whose notion of God could not be so limited (Jonah and Ruth). This text makes it clear that Second Isaiah stands with those who would not limit the aspiration of this people only to becoming a ā€œsafeā€ and ā€œpureā€ religious enclave.

But this is not only the prophet’s view; it is the word of the LORD, a word that ā€œcalledā€ this people to servanthood before birth (Isaiah 49:1b). This is no half-cocked, vague internationalism, but divine purpose that has been determined beforehand (that is, before the foundation of Israel and/or the birth of the prophet). Since a sharp distinction between individual and community is alien to Second Isaiah’s thought, we can only conclude that the servant Israel (49:3), or the prophetic word bearer who becomes the ā€œheart of Israel,ā€ bears this task given in much the same language as the prophetic call of Jeremiah (Jeremiah 1:5).

Despite the language of lament with which people-prophet respond to this extraordinary universal charge (49:4), the call stands. Once more we have what amounts to a ā€œmessenger formulaā€ directed to the whole people: ā€œAnd now the LORD says, who formed me in the womb to be his servant . . . . ā€It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of the Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach the end of the earthā€ (Isaiah 49:5-6).

This task of being a ā€œlight to the nationsā€ is invested in a complaining, rather unreliable people. By going beyond parochial limitations, however, even this bunch ā€œglorifies Godā€ (49:3). And this seems to be, according to Isaiah, the way to build a strong community, by sharing the LORD’s ā€œcauseā€ (mispat) with the nations of the world. (Paul D. Hanson,Ā Isaiah 40-66Ā (Louisville: John Knox, 1995, p. 129).

This ā€œscandal of universalityā€ is completely understandable, however, when we recall that it ā€œstems from the inseparability of creation and redemption in the thought world of Second Isaiah.Ā Ā Since the compass of God’s redemptive activity is the entire created world and its scope is the restoration of all that exists to wholeness, the nations are included in God’s planā€ (Hanson, p. 130). And, of course, so is the whole of creation!

What makes a strong community of faith today? How are God’s people to be ā€œat homeā€ in creation? There are certainly those who would argue that getting ā€˜dirty hands’ from anything other than what we narrowly construe as ā€œreligious activityā€ is the only safe path. But that certainly is not the direction these Epiphany texts send us.Ā Ā This is not the way to reflect light for the world.

A local congregation I know well works very hard on caring for one another within the context of responsible worship and fine music. But hearing God’s word and sharing the meal in weekly assembly has strengthened this community to open its doors. Not only has it welcomed everyone regardless of background, race, or sexual orientation, it has given its land over to 24 community gardens, a restored prairie, and maintaining an urban micro-forest. This has created new friends in the neighborhood and helped to restore creation.

But the gifts of this community have not stopped there. Surprising connections have been made with Circle of Empowerment in southwestern Nicaragua, a health and education ā€œministryā€ that promotes bottom-up development. Whether it is financial sponsorship of students in the seven-village school, purchasing a new ā€œusedā€ bus to transport these students to school, or building a medical clinic, this has been a crucial part of ā€œbuilding communityā€ in this small congregation. The more that has been given away, the stronger this congregation has become!

Or, the more ā€œat homeā€ with itself a community can be, the freer it is to share. And the freer it is to share, the more ā€œat-homenessā€ it will experience. Wendell Berry calls this ā€œthe cultivation of a sympathetic or affectionate mindā€ (ā€œTwo Minds,ā€Ā Citizenship Papers, Washington, D.C.: Shoemaker and Hoard, 2003, pp. 90-91). This ā€œmindā€ differs from the ā€œeconomic mindā€ in that ā€œit refuses to reduce reality to the scope of what we think we know; it fears the mistake of carelessness more than it fears error; it seeks to understand things in terms of interdependent wholeness rather than isolated parts; it appreciates that a cultural landscape must grow up in faithful alignment with the natural landscape that sustains and inspires it . . . .ā€(Berry)

Tom Mundahl, St. Paul, MNĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  tmundahl@gmail.com

Baptism of Our Lord (January 7-13) in Year A (Mundahl)

Gentle justice for people and creation:Ā  Tom Mundahl reflects on Jesus’ baptism and the first Servant Song of Isaiah.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common Lectionary
(originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2014)

Readings for the Baptism of Our Lord (January 7-13), First Sunday after Epiphany in Year A (2014, 2017, 2020, 2023)

Isaiah 42:1-9
Psalm 29
Acts 10:34 -43
Matthew 3:13-17

As we celebrate the Baptism of Our Lord, we are reminded of the power of baptismal liturgy. As those called by the Spirit and trusting the grace of God gather around the font, the presiding minister invites the candidates and sponsors to affirm the responsibilities they are entrusted with. Among these gifts of responsibility is the charge ā€œto care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peaceā€ (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Minneapolis: Augsburg, 2006, p. 228). These words help us to understand that the gift of baptism is also a task, that ā€œonly those who obey believeā€ (Dietrich Bonhoeffer,Ā The Cost of Discipleship, New York: Macmillan, 1963, p. 76).

Perhaps it is confusing as to why ā€œthe more powerful oneā€ (Matthew 2:11) needs to be baptized by John the Baptist, who has freely admitted his inferiority. It certainly seemed to be incomprehensible to John, who ā€œwould have prevented him, saying, ā€œI need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?ā€ (Matthew 3:14). In response, we hear Jesus’ first words in Matthew’s Gospel: ā€œLet it be so now; for it is proper for us to fulfill all righteousnessā€ (Matthew 3:15).

Because this is the first direct speech in this Gospel from the one called Emmanuel, the words must have jumped out at readers and hearers. From the beginning, Matthew’s Jesus defines himself as the obedient one. He does this to ā€œfulfillā€ all righteousness or justice. And what does this ā€œfulfillmentā€ mean but to ā€œactualizeā€ that justice through obedience in the midst of the community (Ulrich Luz,Ā Matthew 1-7, Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989, pp. 178-179).

Far from isolating Jesus from the discipleship community, his baptism unites them in the service of a ā€œmeta-legalā€ righteousness that is integral to the call to make disciples of all nations, ā€œbaptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching themĀ to obeyĀ everything that I have commanded youā€ (Matthew 28:19-20). Next to the title Emmanuel, which serves as an inclusion for Christological identity (1:23 and 28:20), it is the obedient ā€œSon, the Belovedā€ who gives shape to Matthew’s story. Jesus’ identity consists not so much in pre-existence or in miraculous conception; rather, in Matthew, that identity is found in unique obedience (Luz, p. 180).

This obedience, then, colors the shape of the community. Members will share in this new life (ā€œbe called children of Godā€ā€”Matthew 5:9) when they ā€œactualizeā€ justice through peacemaking or, even care for God’s creation.Ā Ā The opening of the heavens not only responded to the cry of Isaiah, ā€œO, that you would tear open the heavens and come down . . . ā€ (63:15), but demonstrated that here is a greater prophet (ā€œa more powerful oneā€) than Moses or John, one whose New Exodus moves far beyond a mere parting of the seas. Now all that separates humankind from Creator andĀ creation is torn away. This freedom is now to be lived in the ā€œsimpleā€ obedience of everyday life.

How this freedom is lived is also suggested by the unfolding of Matthew’s baptismal narrative. As Jesus comes through the waters, the heavens opened, and the Spirit descends, a voice from heaven said, ā€œThisĀ is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleasedā€ (Matthew 3:17). While Mark (with Luke following) reports the voice as saying, ā€œYouĀ are my Beloved Son . . . ,ā€ Matthew uses the third person. Clearly, the voice does not speak for the benefit of the Son, but to John the Baptist (and all who might follow him), as well as to the crowds (which surely include the Christian community).

However, the meaning remains the same: here is one who is both royal figure (Psalm 2:7) and servant (Isaiah 42:1). For the community, this implies that living in free obedience is both a royal privilege and test of servanthood. It reminds us also of the richness of our first reading, the text that introduces this notion of servanthood.

It may be wise at the outset to assume that many layers of meaning are unleashed by this ā€œServant Song.ā€Ā Ā Westermann suggests that our understanding is impeded by the question, ā€œWho is this servant of God?ā€ Instead, more helpful is retaining a sense of mystery by focusing on how the identity of the servant is formed and what the servant is called to do (Claus Westermann,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969, p. 93). In much the same way, Hanson suggests that these servant passages fire the imagination of the community in exile so that a new self-understanding and life response is called forth (Paul D. Hanson,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1995, p.41)

If the identity of the servant cannot be pinned down, the servant’s task is clearer. This one is called ā€œto bring forth justice to the nationsā€ (Isaiah 42:1b). This very task has become ā€œan invitation to reflect on the responsibility of all those who acknowledge God’s sovereignty and recognize the dependence of all creation on God’s order of justiceā€ (Hanson). When this ā€œorder of justiceā€ is ignored, the result is chaos and oppression affecting both human history and the natural world. When Indonesian agricultural land traditionally farmed by small holders is expropriated in favor of large corporate plantations for the production of palm oil, not only are farm families displaced, but massive tree cutting causes soil erosion and removes vegetation capable of absorbing carbon.

But the servant brings forth this justice in a gentle, careful way.ā€œHe will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quenchā€ (Isaiah 42:2-3). This non-violent approach is the path to ā€œfaithfully bring forth justiceā€ (Isaiah 42:3b). With this approach, the ā€œendā€ does not justify the ā€œmeans.ā€ Instead, justice and peace are not only the goal; justice and peace are also the way. As Hanson suggests, ā€œTo live consistently in the service of the justice of God is to pattern one’s life on the nature of God. Only in this way is a mortal empowered faithfully to bring forth justiceā€ (Hanson, p. 46).

This is the way to bring ā€œlight to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darknessā€ (Isaiah 42:6b-7). Perhaps it is the deep connection with creation (Isaiah 42:5) that gives Second Isaiah a view of justice as light, light which cannot be contained by political or parochial religious boundaries. This Servant Song, then, is a description of the kind of ā€œservantā€ that all who are chosen and obedient to God are challenged to become. It is a helpful template for living our baptismal life.

Fred Kirschenmann has lived baptismal obedience through connecting farming and faith. As Director of the Aldo Leopold Center for Sustainable Farming at Iowa State University, he also took over management of his North Dakota family farm of more than a thousand acres. While neighbors warned him that moving to organic agriculture would result in lower yields, Kirschenmann persisted, knowing that in the long run it was the right thing. Imagine his surprise when, after five years, crop yields began to increase as the naturally enriched soil became more fertile (Interview with Peter Pearsall,Ā www.yesmagazine.orgĀ Ā February 22, 2013).

Kirschenmann acknowledges the pressure to become more ā€œefficientā€ through the use of herbicides, pesticides, and genetically-modified seeds. Yet, he also knows that the best chance for people throughout the Earth to achieve food justice is with a decentralized farming culture that invites people to stay on the land and learn ā€œlocal waysā€ of regenerative agriculture. And, there are surprising benefits of more traditional farming. At first, typical, relatively compacted farm soil will absorb a half-inch of rainfall per hour. But after five years of organic care, that same soil may absorb up to eight inches of rainfall per hour. That soil not only can handle drought better, but sends less runoff, including toxic chemicals, through the Mississippi watershed to the Gulf of Mexico (Pearsall interview). That is obedient gentle justice for the nations.

Tom Mundahl, St. Paul, MNĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  tmundahl@gmail.com

Sunday of the Passion (Palm Sunday) in Year A (Mundahl)

Offering Life for the World Tom Mundahl reflects on Christ’s suffering and death.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ (originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2017)

Readings for the Sunday of Passion, Year A (2017, 2020, 2023)

Matthew 21:1-11
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14-27: 66 or Matthew 27:11-54

The Sunday of the Passion begins the eight-day holy week, which culminates in the central celebration of the Christian faith: the passage of Jesus from death to life marked by the Three Days. Not only do the readings contain rich support for serving creation, but the gospel readings show the cosmic significance of the events—ranging from the donkey and tree branches of the entry into the city to the cosmic elements of darkness and earthquake in the passion story.

Norman Wirzba summarizes the connection between our readings and ecojustice concerns: ā€œWe discover that sacrificial offering is a condition for the possibility of the membership of life we call creation. Creation, understood as God’s offering of creatures to each other as food and nurture, reflects a sacrificial power in which life continually moves through death to new lifeā€ (Food and Faith, Cambridge, 2011, p. 126). While the very notion of sacrifice is uncomfortable to death-denying North Americans, it still is the way of the cross that leads to new life.

To grasp Isaiah’s Third Servant Song (Isaiah 50:4-9a), it is important to uncover the world of self-deception many exiles still embraced. In fact, one of the purposes of Second Isaiah is to convince the people that they were responsible for their condition; they had lost their freedom and land because they had convinced themselves that any wealth and status they enjoyed resulted from their own efforts, not as a gift of God. They had clearly forgotten the warning of the Deuteronomist: ā€œDo not say to yourself, ā€˜My power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealthā€™ā€ (Deuteronomy 8:17).

Yahweh responds to this arrogance with an indictment and trial immediately preceding our First Reading. Here the very notion that the LORD is responsible for breaking the covenant and selling the people off to the highest bidder is shown to be pathetic and self-serving (Isaiah 50:1-3). Since living in self-deception only leads to greater self-destruction, the verdict is a stiff dose of the truth. As Paul Hanson suggests, ā€œthe God of the Hebrew Scriptures is not dedicated to avoiding offense at all costs, but to dispelling the delusions that imprison human beingsā€ (Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1995, p. 137). As the prophetic word delivered by Isaiah has it, ā€œI the LORD speak the truth, I declare what is rightā€ (Isaiah 45:19).

This reminds us of nothing so much as the delusion of ā€œAmerican exceptionalismā€ that credits national wealth totally to a genius that forgets what once were seen as limitless natural ā€œresources,ā€ centuries of slave labor, and the genocide of native people. Like the exiles, advocates of eco-justice are called to be prophetic truth-tellers, awakening us to the fact that we, too, because of water depletion, resource waste, and climate change are also living in an illusion of prosperity containing the seeds of destruction.

This Servant Song reminds us that, in spite of human delusion, God does not give up on sending prophets as messengers to help the recovery of our senses. Whereas in Isaiah 42 it is the Spirit that emboldens the servant, in this Sunday’s text it is the power of the word itself: ā€œThe LORD has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a wordā€ (Isaiah 50:4). In fact, this Servant Song comes close to presenting a job description for prophets. The power of calling provides the endurance to confront those who meet the truth with ā€œinsults and spittingā€ (Isaiah 50: 6). The simple fact of persistenceā€”ā€œsetting the face like flintā€ (Isaiah 50:7)—in the face of constant ridicule is the key to prophetic effectiveness (Claus Westermann,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969, p. 229).

It is through the suffering of the servant that power to transform the whole community grows. One of the great mysteries of faith is that those with the greatest ability to encourage the distraught are often those who, far from being exempt from suffering , discover special gifts of empathy and empowerment precisely in their own valleys of personal suffering (Hanson, p. 141). Again. we see life emerging from death.

As we began these comments on Lenten season texts, climate activist and Methodist layperson Bill McKibben’s 2016 lecture to inaugurate the Jonathan Schell Memorial Lectures was referred to. We saw that McKibben took as his task applying the lessons of the anti-nuclear movement of the 1970’s and 80’s to the climate struggle. The first lesson McKibben mentioned was the power of ā€œunearned sufferingā€ (This lecture is available online atĀ www.fateoftheearth.org). Increasingly, it appears that McKibben’s prescience was uncanny. The courage to endure in seeking eco-justice in the face of opposition from the current presidential regime can only come from a source as strong as that described by Isaiah: in our case, the power of baptismal calling to give us strength ā€œto set our face like flintā€ in the quest for eco-justice, a quest that seems more likely with each passing day to require civil disobedience. This may be how we offer ourselves to one another ā€œto till (serve) and keepā€ the creation.

Few texts sing the melody of self-offering for the life of the world as clearly as our Second Lesson, Philippians 2:5-11. ā€œFor at the heart of the story of creation, from its origins through problem to resolution is the story of Christ, who enters the world to redeem it, and is raised to glory as the firstborn of the new creation. Paul summarizes this story most famously and tellingly in the Philippian hymnā€ (Horrell, Hunt, and Southgate, Greening Paul, Waco: Baylor, 2010, p. 172).

Named after the father of Alexander the Great, by the middle of the first century CE Philippi had become a retirement center for the Roman military, a city where loyalty to the emperor was highly valued. In the face of the dominant culture, this Christ hymn makes the subversive claim that believers are ā€œcitizens of an empire where Christ is Lordā€ (Michael J. Gorman,Ā Apostle of the Crucified Lord, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017, p. 499). Of course, the appellation, ā€œLord,ā€ was a commonplace when referring to the emperor. As Ovid wrote, the emperor is ā€œLord of the empire, no less mighty than the world he governsā€ (John Dominic Crossan,Ā God and Empire, San Francisco: Harper, 2007, p. 108). To send a letter featuring this Christ-hymn naming Jesus as Lord (Philippians 2:11) was surely crossing the line.

But the ā€œcareer trajectoryā€ of this lordship is unlike any sanctioned by Roman culture. Instead of a climb to the top, this lordship participates in the depths of life by obedient self-emptying (kenosis). Influenced by elements of the Fourth Servant Song (Isaiah 52:13-53: 12), the Genesis narrative of disobedience (Genesis 3), and the Roman cult of the emperor, this Christ-hymn concisely summarizes the story as one of incarnation (he emptied himself), death (he humbled himself), and glorification (Gorman, p. 506).

Although we are mindful of the final verses of the Christ-hymn, it is crucial to recognize on this day, formerly referred to almost exclusively as Palm Sunday, that it was not ā€œhosannasā€ all the way. To remind his audience (and all hearers) of this, Paul makes it clear that Jesus’ self-emptying is the pattern of faithful life: ā€œLet this same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus….ā€ (Philippians 2: 5).

Some years ago, Wayne Meeks suggested that the basic purpose of Philippians ā€œis the shaping of a ChristianĀ phronesisĀ (way of thinking) that is ā€˜conformed to Christ’s death in hope of resurrectionā€™ā€ (ā€œThe Man from Heaven in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians,ā€ in Birger Pearson, ed.,Ā The Future of Early Christianity: Essays in Honor of Helmut Koester, Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991, p. 333). As we recently celebrated the 500th anniversary of the Lutheran Reformation, perhaps we could see this ā€œway of thinkingā€ as shaping Luther’s theology, in particular his notion of the ā€œpriesthood of all believers.ā€

Early in his career as a reformer, Luther made it clear that ā€œeveryone who knows he is a Christian should be fully assured that all of us alike are priestsā€ (ā€œThe Pagan Servitude of the Churchā€ (1520), in Dillenberger, ed.,Ā Martin Luther—Selections from His Writings, New York: Doubleday Anchor, 1961, p. 349). That same year, in his ā€œAppeal to the German Nobility,ā€ Luther defines this priesthood, drawing from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians (12:12f.): ā€œWe are all one body, yet each member has his own work serving othersā€ (Ibid., p. 407). Surely this priesthood—offering life for the world in the name of the Christ—includes serving creation and securing eco-justice.

Even on the Sunday of the Passion, we ā€œleanā€ toward the culmination of this holy week at the Vigil. Therefore, we cannot ignore the glorification in the final part of the Christ-hymn. This, too, reflects the baptismal priesthood we share. We learn that ā€œwhat a priest does today is ā€˜lift our hearts’ to the place of heaven so that heavenly life can transform life on earth here and now . . . . When we ā€˜lift our hearts’ to God, what we are really doing is giving ourselves and the whole world to the new creation, ā€˜the new heaven and new earth’ (Rev. 21:1). As priests we begin to see the whole creation as an altar of God’s offering. This altar becomes the inspiration for our offering of the world and ourselvesā€ (Wirzba, p. 207).

We cannot neglect our gospel reading(s). The processional reading requires good participation from the congregation—energy is important (as are eco-palms that are widely available). Because it is important to begin this week being immersed in the passion story, my recommendation is reading the longer version. If it is a single reader, it should be done at an appropriate pace, unhurried. If there is a talented storyteller in the congregation willing to take this on, what a gift! Even better is a choral reading using resources that are widely available. However, the key to a good choral reading is recruiting good readers, all standing near the lectern, who have practiced together at least twice. If sound reinforcement is necessary, that should also be ā€œpracticed.ā€

Is a traditional sermon necessary? That is a local decision. While serving as a pastor, when I did preach I usually focused briefly on the Philippians Christ-hymn. In the last fifteen years of ministry, simply hearing the passion gospel read was more than enough. If this is done, it is particularly important to allow silence (more than a minute before and two minutes or more after the Passion Gospel) for reflection and prayer.Ā Ā While this may seem unusual and even uncomfortable for some, silence is a gift of life for this unique week and always in congregational worship.

Hymn Suggestions:

Processional: ā€œAll Glory, Laud, and Honor,ā€ ELW, 344
Hymn of the Day: ā€œA Lamb Goes Uncomplaining Forth,ā€ ELW, 340
Sending: ā€œWhat Wondrous Love Is This,ā€ ELW, 666

Tom Mundahl, Saint Paul, MN
tmundahl@gmail.com