Tag Archives: Richard B. Hays

Third Sunday of Lent in Year B (Mundahl18)

Breathe in the Fragrance of Creation’s Renewal – Tom Mundahl reflects on faith and courage for the renewal of creation.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ 

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

Exodus 20:1-17
Psalm 19
1 Corinthians 1:18-25
John 2:13-22

The first sentence of the appointed Prayer of the Day for the Third Sunday in Lent, Series B, sets the tone for our reflections. ā€œHoly God, through your Son you have called us to live faithfully and act courageouslyā€ (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006, p. 28). Our texts not only show how faithful and courageous living is enhanced by the gift of torah, especially the Sabbath. They also describe the challenges of living this out in a faith community that often forgets its very purpose in favor of factionalism and protecting institutions.

Although terms like ā€œcommandmentā€ and ā€œlawā€ carry a coercive tone to modern ears, our First Lesson frames the ā€œTen Wordsā€ as liberatory. ā€œI am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slaveryā€ (Exodus 20:2). Because God frees from bondage, this new instruction is aimed at enhancing life in a renovated community. As much as opening the sea, this torah is an act of saving liberation.

Even though eight of the commands (ā€œwordsā€) are apodictic, framed negatively, they function to open up life by focusing on those behaviors which destroy community rather than providing a detailed set of ā€œrulesā€ for life. That is, the commandment about ā€œnot bearing false witnessā€ also suggests the freedom to speak well of neighbors and strangers in order to enhance and build relationships (Terence Fretheim, Exodus, Louisville: John Knox, p. 221). The two positive ā€œwordsā€ regarding honoring parents and the importance of Sabbath guarantee identity for persons and community by providing both a sense of heritage and time to celebrate the unity of creation.

It is significant that the ā€œwordā€ given the most space in both this reading and in Deuteronomy 5 is ā€œinstructionā€ concerning the Sabbath. Far from being based on the need of the Creator for a ā€œbreatherā€ after six days of ā€œheavy lifting,ā€ the Sabbath is a celebration of the ā€œcompletionā€ of creation. Moltmann finds it curious that, especially in the Western Church, ā€œcreation is generally only presented as the six days of work. The completion of creation is much neglected, or even overlooked altogetherā€ (Jurgen Moltmann, God in Creation, San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1985, p. 277).

While we usually think of creation in terms of origins, Wirzba suggests that we should rather think more in terms of the character of creation defining both the cosmos and God’s people. ā€œThe world becomes creation on the seventh day. In like manner, the nation of Israel testifies to its religious identity . . . as it keeps the holy day of rest, ā€˜the feast of creation.’ Humanity and earth become most fully what they are to be in the celebration of the Sabbathā€ (Norman Wirzba, The Paradise of God, Oxford, 2003, p. 35). He continues, ā€œIf we understand the climax of creation to be not the creation of humanity but the creation of menuha (rest), then it becomes possible to rethink the character of creation and its subsequent destruction in a more profound manner. How does our treatment of creation and each other reflect the menuha of God?ā€ (Ibid.).

Sabbath, then, is a gift calling all creatures to live in harmony with God’s shalom. Fretheim suggests, ā€œEven more, sabbath-keeping is to participate in God’s intention for the rhythm of creation. Not keeping the sabbath is a violation of the created order; it returns one aspect of that order to chaos. What the creatures do with the sabbath has cosmic effects.ā€ (Fretheim, 230) For example, ā€œkeeping the Sabbath calls one to a hospitality that makes room for others to flourish and be themselvesā€ (Wirzba, Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating, Cambridge, 2011, p. 45). To do this requires careful observation and study of the variety of creation, the kind of discipline characteristic of gardening. It also suggests that, rather than finding identity in consumption, humans develop the ability to nurture kinship among all the ā€œcitizensā€ of creation.

Psalm 19 could be considered a Sabbath festival in honor of the interdependence of creation. As ā€œthe heavens tell the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiworkā€ (v. 1), the psalmist echoes the notion common to biblical thinking that everything created shares the capacity to participate in praise of the creator. In this way, the non-human creation joins the worshipping assembly in praise. The power of this participation by non-human creation is all the more impressive because: ā€œThere is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out throughout all the earth, and their words to the end of the worldā€ (vv. 3-4). As Mays writes, ā€œIt is all very mysterious and marvelous. The visible becomes vocal. Seeing is experienced as hearing. The imagination is in the midst of an unending concert sung by the universe to the glory of Godā€ (James L. Mays, Psalms, Louisville: John Knox, 1995, p. 99).

This concert is augmented by the words of the torah, which are metaphorically connected to creation as ā€œsweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycombā€ (v. 10). While the familiar conclusion of the song (psalm) may remind us of prayer beginning or concluding a homily, the words fuse the divine role of creator of the natural world and pattern-maker for the human community. For the lyric ā€œLet the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O LORD, my rock and my redeemerā€ (v. 14) is much more. The powerful images of ā€œmouth/heartā€ and ā€œrock/redeemerā€ suggest the warp and woof of weaving together the intimate connection of humankind, creation, and creator.

But Paul writes to a Corinthian community where that fabric has been dangerously frayed by factionalism. To remedy this tragedy for those ā€œcalled to be saintsā€ (1 Corinthians 1:2), he calls his respondents to move beyond the cunning of human wisdom which has become a major obstacle to unity. As Hans Conzelmann suggests, ā€œCommon to the parties is the demand for proof of divine truth. In this way they set themselves up as the authority to pass judgment upon God . . . . They expect God to submit to their criteriaā€ (First Corinthians, Philadelphia: Fortress Hermeneia, 1975, p. 47).

Paul strips away the illusory power of these human criteria. ā€œFor Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of Godā€ (1:22-24). It is precisely this god-project, setting leaders, institutions, and governments up as ā€œultimate authorities,ā€ that even today has led to division, economic inequality, war, and ecological distress. For human ā€œstandards and criteriaā€ are all too often partial, reflecting only self-interest. They seem to always benefit only ā€œus,ā€ however that ā€œin-groupā€ is construed.

It should be no surprise, then, that our pretense to have discerned the necessary ā€œsignsā€ and gained sufficient ā€œwisdomā€ has opened the door to the anthropocene epoch. Embracing our own selfish standards, we have wantonly used technological power to bring the earth to the brink of ruin. ā€œThe very cultivation of our powers has left us exposed to a nature that refuses to be tamed and is increasingly unsympathetic to our interestsā€ (Clive Hamilton, Defiant Earth: the Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene, Cambridge: Polity, 2017, p. 37). The claim to pursue policies and economic activity to meet what we call ā€œneedsā€ has resulted in a techno-industrial system of monstrous anthropocentrism threatening the equilibrium of the earth. And, because we are slow to acknowledge this (that is, we are not anthropocentric enough because we do not accept responsibility and act on it), we foster a situation of chaos on this planet not unlike the disorder in the Corinthian church.

But, according to Paul, there is another way. This is demonstrated by the obedient one whose concern for renewing all things was not limited even by the instinct for self-preservation. The Roman Empire responded to this new form of servant-leadership with their most persuasive threat—death, a shameful, public death on a cross. This time, even the ultimate sanction was not enough. ā€œRather than proving the sovereignty of Roman political order, it (cross and resurrection) shatters the world’s systems of authority. Rather than confirming what the wisest heads already know, it shatters the world’s systems of knowledgeā€ (Richard Hays, First Corinthians, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p. 31).

Just as the Christ event shatters the imperial ideology, so entering the anthropocene exposes the failure of the techno-industrial system we live in, with, and under. What does it mean for us today to hear: ā€œFor God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength?ā€ (v. 25). If we have crossed this barrier, will not our responses seem weak and foolish? Wind power and solar instead of blowing the tops off mountains for coal and drilling like technological ā€œprairie dogsā€ for fracked oil? Conservation, simpler living, and reuse instead of finding our identity as ā€œconsumers?ā€ Sharing and learning from indigenous people instead of robbing their land and its riches? Relearning the ā€œold technologiesā€ and discovering contentment rather than worshipping at the altar of ā€œmore?ā€ Finding a way of increasing cooperation as we refuse to ā€œswim with the sharksā€? We have shredded the fabric of the world; now we can only trust that God’s foolishness and weakness of the Risen One and his call to a new sabbath of all life will show us a ā€œwayā€ that will be a faithful and courageous response.

Perhaps the way will be as difficult as moving from the festivities at Cana to the Jerusalem Temple. In Cana, it was a time to celebrate—and not only the joy of the newly-married couple. Even deeper was the celebration of Jesus’ arrival ā€œon the third dayā€ (John 2:1), the day of creation when the Creator made earth appear and with it growing plants of every kind, including the grapevine! (Margaret Daly-Denton, John—An Earth Bible Commentary: Supposing Him to be the Gardener, London: Bloomsbury, 2017, p. 65). Just as the Hebrew Scriptures pictured ā€œmountains dripping with wineā€ (Amos 9:13) as evidence of Israel’s restoration, so Jesus’ actions evidence nothing less than new creation. Here is the Wisdom of God appearing on Earth, inviting us to the banquet where we enjoy the wine she has prepared (Proverbs 9:5).

What a contrast between this celebration of the free gift of creation and the deterioration of the Temple precincts into an emporium—strip mall, where currency was exchanged and a great variety of sacrificial animals was made available. Of course, by this time in history Passover was a very big and important celebration in Jerusalem. Even if Josephus exaggerates in claiming a crowd of three million, it must have strained every resource of the city. And the resources of the many pilgrims, all of whom found themselves under the obligation to sacrifice a lamb (or a dove, if circumstances required). While we often look askance at animal sacrifice, as Wirzba observes, ā€œThe costliness of the offering expressed the recognition that even though human beings work hard to rear and cultivate the food on which their lives depend, it is still the gift of the creating Source of all life, growth, and fertilityā€ (Food and Faith, p. 118).

For people who lived close to the agricultural and animal sources of life, this seven day festival of unleavened bread recalled the seven days of creation. ā€œPassover was thus widely understood at the time of Jesus as a celebration of the renewal of creationā€ (Daly-Denton, p. 71). This helps us understand the Jesus’ anger. As the center of worship, the Temple was intended to symbolize the cosmos as God’s creation, the hub from which ā€œrivers of lifeā€ flowed to the world (Ezekiel 40-42). Instead, it had become a mercantile center. ā€œWith its storehouses and treasuries, it had degenerated into a repository of large quantities of money and goods extracted from the surplus product of the peasant economy.ā€ (Ibid., p. 72) The temple had become both an ideological support and a financial ā€œcash cowā€ of the Roman colonial system and its local collaborators.

Essentially, the governing authorities and Temple elite were already desecrating it by turning it into a financial institution instead of a house of prayer for all people. Raymond Brown suggests that when Jesus says, ā€œDestroy this templeā€ (v. 19a), he means, ā€œGo ahead and do this and see what happensā€ (The Gospel According to John, i-xii, New York: Doubleday, 1966, p. 115). Brown continues, ā€œJesus is insisting that they are destroying the Temple, even as the disobedience of their ancestors provoked the destruction of the Tabernacle at Shiloh and of Solomon’s Templeā€ (Ibid., p. 122). This Temple will shortly be replaced by the Risen One.

But the meaning here is far richer. After the resurrection event, the disciples began to understand that Psalm 69:9, ā€œZeal for your house will consume me,ā€ was more than a warning to ā€œlighten up.ā€ This passion cost Jesus his life. And the ā€œraising upā€ of the Temple (v. 19b) is hardly reference to a new architectural project; it is a new bodily temple (naos) that becomes the axis of new creation. This accounts for the positioning of this ā€œsignā€ at the beginning of John’s Gospel: to make it clear that the one who is ā€œWord made fleshā€ (1:14), who on the cross, ā€œdraws all things to himselfā€ (12:32), and brings the creation its ā€œwedding celebrationā€ (hieros gamos) in the form of a living and life-giving Temple, is the center of all creation.

Just as Mark describes the ā€œripping openā€ of the traditional Platonic cosmology which provided security, so the Johannine writer acknowledges the destruction of the Temple, the ā€œhomeā€ of traditional worship. Now the ā€œWord made fleshā€ invites followers to ā€œcome and seeā€ in all the places where ā€œsignsā€ are performed and makes even the house of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus in Bethany a proper place to breathe in the fragrance of creation’s renewal (John 12:3). So wherever we gather around this fragrance, we are at home because he is present both as host and servant of creation (John 13:1-38) to nourish faith and courage.

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

Originally written by Tom Mundahl in 2018.

First Sunday of Advent in Year B (Mundahl20)

Let’s Just Start Over! Tom Mundahl reflects on the start of Advent in the midst of pandemic, climate crisis, and racial violence.

Care for Creation Commentary on the Common LectionaryĀ 

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

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

Advent marks a new beginning, entry into a new church year.Ā  What a luxury it would be to face the future by erasing the challenges of the last year as easily as a child does by shaking her Etch-a-Sketch. Unfortunately, as we restart the liturgical year — our framework for telling and living the story of faith — the persistent challenges of the coronavirus pandemic,Ā  the climate crisis, and the raw wounds of systemic racism will not let go. Any naive hope for exemption from these is dampened by what the psalmist calls ā€œthe bread of tearsā€ (Psalm 80:5).

That we are not the first generation to face such intractable problems is revealed by one of the earliest Advent collects which begins, ā€œLighten our darkness.ā€ This prayer dates at least to the Fourth Century C.E. when it was described by St. Basil as ā€œthe candle-lighting hymnā€ (liner notes for the CD ā€œLighten Our Darkness,ā€ various artists, Hyperion, 2006). It should come as no surprise, then, that during this season of new hope, we light candles.

Because we cannot ā€œjust start over,ā€ we light another candle each week, not for aesthetic reasons or even to help find our way through this inconvenient season, but so we can take a new look at ourselves and our surroundings, away from the false illumination of a still powerful, but collapsing culture. During this season of darkness when we navigate by candlelight, we remember German theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who, reflecting on a decade of resistance to the Nazi regime, celebrated the surprising discovery that ā€œwe have for once learnt to see the great events of world history from belowā€ (Letters and Papers from Prison, Macmillan, 1971, p. 17). No longer can we take the clinically-detached view embodied by a gorgeous shot of our planet from space. Because our hands are ā€œdirtiedā€ by our responsibility for climate, pandemic, and racial violence, we must refocus our attention and, with Bonhoeffer, ā€œdig in.ā€

As we advance into the murkiness of all that makes us anxious, we come to rely even more on the word of hope we hear from the scriptures, a word that has provided mooring during troubled times throughout the history of God’s people. The candles we light point precisely to this strong narrative. Because I was privileged to live near St. John’s University and Abbey during my pastoral service, I was able to see the Saint John’s Bible as it was crafted by Donald Jackson and his team. As the first handwritten Bible authorized by a monastic community in 500 years, the displays of the first sections with illuminations were breathtaking. But, as an advocate of frugality, I was taken aback by what I saw as the profligate use of gold leaf. Then one of the project’s directors explained that the gold leaf was used to catch candlelight so that reading scripture was possible–by reflective illumination. During the darkness of our time also, the Advent candles illuminate the scriptures so that we can rediscover the confidence and courage they provide. As weĀ  consider the readings for the season of Advent we will be on the hunt for clues and surprises that will ā€œlighten our darkness.ā€

Despite a gracious ā€œNew Exodusā€ providing return from captivity in Babylon, hopes for a resurgence of a just and vibrant corporate life in Judah had dimmed. The people began to ask, ā€œWhere is the one who brought us from the sea…?ā€ (Isaiah 63:11) and why does this God ā€œharden our hearts…?ā€ (Isaiah 63:17) It is out of this frustration that the desperate people cry, ā€œO that you would open the heavens and come down….ā€ (Isaiah 64:1). While this image calls to mind the Divine Warrior tradition, it drives even deeper to the Creator’s power to make new. Renewal includes both the ā€œturning aroundā€ of repentance and ā€œrememberingā€ divine faithfulness (Isaiah 63: 11), especially in the Sinai event.

Even if the hopeful imagery of Second Isaiah seems to have weakened, the prophet and people hold their broken dreams together by that very act of recalling God’s faithfulness, the only force capable of renewing what has been ā€œdismembered.ā€ That memory does more than face backwards; it recalls that this is a God who makes way for the new, one who is capable of ā€œtearing open the heavens and coming down.ā€

Here, the prophet returns toĀ  creative imagery from the earlier Isaiah. ā€œWoeĀ  to you who strive with your Maker, earthen vessels with the potterā€(Isaiah 45:7). Recalling this earthy metaphor, the prophet goes on to affirm divine reliability. ā€œYet, O LORD, you are our Father: we are the clay and you are the potter; we are all the work of your handā€ (Isaiah 64:8). It is this trust in the ā€œmaker of heaven and earthā€ that provides a way through even in the midst of despair. This hopefulness is amplified as the prophet adds divine assurance of restoration and harmony to the land (Ellen Davis, Scripture, Culture and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible, Cambridge, 2009, p. 169). These promises encourage us as we struggle with issues of justice, threats of political violence, and pandemic fears during the twilight of Advent. Just as the thin gold foil in an illuminated Bible gives clarity to a text, so our thin threads of hope weave together the sturdy fabric of confidence and expectation.

With the foundation of this promise of re-creation, we are energized to take part in restorative ecojustice ourselves, whether that means resetting the climate-driven human-wildlife imbalance that has led to Covid-19 and prospective deadlier viruses (see Rachel Nuwer, ā€œNature is Returning,ā€ Sierra, November- December 2020, pp. 28-33), or learning from soil scientists such as Walter Jehne about the role of hydrology in the climate crisis.

Not only do we need to continue study of the role of excess atmospheric carbon on biodiversity; we need also to study the restorative effects of biodiversity.Ā  Jehne estimates that restoring one percent of the planet’s cooling capacity through repairing hydrological cycles (preserving marshy areas, forests, uncovering urban streams and planting in the riverbank areas they need), increasing regenerative agriculture that minimizes or eliminates plowing, composting everything…would offset the effects of current anthropogenic carbon gasesā€ (Rob Lewis, ā€œWalking to the Restoration, Dark Mountain, 17, Spring 2020, p. 11). Of course, this is all the more reason to reduce greenhouse gas emissions to ā€œlighten our darknessā€ by continuing to learn from our terroir.

While these steps to restore a regenerative creation and human resilience must all be community-based, moving beyond denominational ā€œsilosā€ to maintain a deeply-rooted theological foundation is essential.Ā  We learn this from Paul, who writes to the Corinthian assemblies in order to confront the challenge of internal division. As Hans Conzelman suggests, the very first word of the formal thanksgiving comprising our text, eucharisto, ā€œI give thanks,ā€ drives toward the assurance that all the gifts necessary to live out the community’s calling, including the strength to persevere, will be provided (1 Corinthians, Hermeneia, Fortress, 1975, p. 25).

Because these gifts are freely-given, there is absolutely no basis for status differential or discrimination: all are called to serve. Of course, this is the time of year when the word ā€œgiftā€ often carries quite different meanings. It has been suggested that some may compensate for virus-produced anxiety by ā€œdoubling downā€ on holiday gifts. Walter Brueggemann counters that such shopping sprees provide a false ā€œachieved satiationā€ that sedates us into thinking that everything is just fine and that there are no problems that cannot be ā€œfixedā€ by more consumption (The Prophetic Imagination, 2nd Ed., Fortress, 2001, pp. 36-37).

The gifts Paul refers to are given to empower a servant community to nurture the mystery of hope, to build a community so inclusive it comprehends all creation. No other scaling ofĀ  koinonia is comprehensive enough to do justice to the faithfulness of God (1 Corinthians 1:9). Commenting on this text, Richard Hays warns: ā€œWe are apt to think of the church’s life and mission on a small, even trivial scale.Ā  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 to understand the church in a cosmic frame of reference….ā€ (First Corinthians, Louisville, John Knox, 1997, p. 20).

We may conclude that chapter 13 of Mark’s Gospel provides us with more of the cosmic than we bargained for. Description of ā€œwars and rumors of wars (v. 7), ā€œfleeing to the mountainsā€ (v. 14), false messiahs, and astronomical irregularities combine to create an atmosphere more suited to bad Halloween horror movies. But far from being otherworldly, this dramatic language seems to describe the life situation of the earliest community and its response to the Jewish RevoltĀ  of 66-70 CE.

If scholars Adele Yarbro Collins and Ched Myers are right, this chapter documentsĀ  the struggle within the early community over which tack to take responding to this violent popular uprising.Ā  Collins suggests that ā€œwars and rumors of warsā€ and the warning that ā€œthe end is yet to comeā€ (Mark 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 comeā€ (The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context, 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 Zealots in military action. “In such a moment, there was only one voice that could match the persuasive call of the rebel recruiters: Jesus the living teacherā€ (Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Gospel, 2nd Ed., Orbis, 2008, p. 330).Ā  This is a strong call toĀ  embrace nonviolence in response to the climate crisis and the healthcare and racial justice reforms while we wait and watch during Advent.

This gospel offers no passive appeasement of Roman imperialism. The evangelist makes this clear in the first verse of the gospel. Historians remind us that emperors considered themselves great benefactors of their subjects as is made clear in the documents and pronouncements detailing their activities.Ā  For example, the Priene Calendar Inscription found near Ephesus, dating from the early first century CE, claimed that the birth of the emperor, considered a ā€œson of God,ā€ ā€œsignaled the beginning of good news for the world because of himā€ (Gordon Lathrop, The Four Gospels on Sunday, Fortress, 2012, p. 18). Contradicting this imperial arrogance, our gospel writer starts: ā€œthe beginning of the good news (ā€œgospelā€) of Jesus Christ, son of Godā€ (Mark 1:1). In fact, Lathrop suggests that this clear statement should be considered the title of this anonymous gospel.

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 producing nervous foreboding. Instead, it is an invitation to faithful and attentive service. A community that no longer lives in anxiety about making the right eschatological call is freed for helpful response to whatever assails us. A time of fulfillment will come; in the meantime ecojustice, feeding the hungry, and caring for the sick are seasonal watchwords.

Alertness and watchfulness are more than a strategy; they replace the world of temple cult with trust in the word of the Risen One (Mark 13:31). The old fig tree (Mark 11:12-14) representing temple cultureĀ  no longer bears fruit. A new crop is coming to nourish this community of attentive care, a fig tree-tree of life that will sustain servants of creation in carrying out what is necessary (Mark 13: 28-31).

As we approach Advent 2020, we know our task is daunting–almost unthinkable. Epidemiologist Michael Osterholm has said that the next months of the pandemic will be by far the darkest (Osterholm Update Podcast, Episode 29). ā€œLighten our darknessā€ continues to be our prayer. And, when we are able to, we will join together in song.

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,ā€Ā No. 252, Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Augsburg-Fortress, 2006)

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

Sixth Sunday after Epiphany (February 11-17) in Year A (Mundahl)

Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth.Ā Tom Mundahl reflects on our need to trust in God’s creation.

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

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

Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Psalm 119:1-8
1 Corinthians 3:1-9
Matthew 5:21-37

Even healthy memories can be buried deeply. It was only yesterday that what surely is a foundation of my creation faith ā€œbubbled upā€ into consciousness. At every worship service I attended as a child, the pastor would intone: ā€œMy help is in the name of the LORD,ā€ and the congregation would respond: ā€œWho made heaven and earthā€ (Psalm 124: 8, ā€œConfession,ā€Ā Service Book and Hymnal, Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1958, p. 15).

If I missed that important foundational statement, it is easier to see why writers of the Hebrew Bible felt compelled to emphasize in a host of creative ways the centrality of creation and its blessings. More recently, the church has had to break through the superstructure of a theology that has been aggressively anthropocentric, focusing primarily on ā€œGod’s mighty actsā€ and ā€œhuman authenticityā€ (cf. Paul Santmire,Ā The Travail of Nature: the Ambiguous Promise of Christian Theology, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985, ch. 10, pp. 189-218).

This is especially important as we turn to our First Reading, the conclusion of Moses’ ā€œThird Discourse.ā€ Paging through Deuteronomy makes it clear that Brueggemann is right when he reminds us: ā€œAnd if God has to do with Israel in a special way, as he surely does, he has to do with landĀ as an historical place in a special way. It will no longer do to talk about Yahweh and his people but we must speak about Yahweh and his peopleĀ and his landā€ (Walter Brueggemann, The Land, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977, p. 6).

Deuteronomy is filled with the humming fertility of the gift of land, the gift of creation: ā€œFor the LORD your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, or vines and fig trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing. . . .ā€ (Deuteronomy 8:7-9a). As Westermann argues: ā€œWe can no longer hold that God’s activity with his people is to be found only in his ā€˜mighty acts.’ In addition to these acts, experienced in events, God’s work with his people includes things manifested not in deeds but in processes that are usually regarded as unhistorical—the growth and multiplying of the people and the effects of the forces that preserve their physical life. . . . No concept of history that excludes or ignores God’s activity in the world of nature can adequately reflect what occurs in the Old Testament between God and his people. . . . The activity of God that determines these events is not primarily deliverance butĀ blessingā€ (Claus Westermann,Ā Blessing, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978, p. 6).

Most characteristic of Deuteronomy is a series of ā€œblessings and curses.ā€ For example, in Ch. 28, the writer describes the results of harmony with God’s gracious instruction (torah). ā€œBlessed shall you be in the city, and blessed shall you be in the field.Ā Ā Blessed shall be the fruit of your womb, the fruit of your ground, and the fruit of your livestock, both the increase of your cattle and the issue of your flock. Blessed shall be your basket and your kneading bowlā€ (Deuteronomy 28:3-5). That these blessings are synergistic—they multiply as they are lived out and received—is suggested by the notion that ā€œthese blessings shall come upon you and overtake you, if you obey the LORD your Godā€ (Deuteronomy 28:2).

But living out of harmony with God’s template results in curse, a ā€œforceā€ that carries its own negative synergy, bringing downhill spiral. In fact, the ultimate result of continuing to live lives of self-interested greed and obsession with control is a reversal of the Exodus itself! Should this reach critical levels, Israel will experience all the plagues the Egyptians suffered. (Deuteronomy 28:59-61). They shall be brought back in ships to Egypt ā€œby a route that I promised you would never see again; and there you shall offer yourselves for sale to your enemies as male and female slaves, but there will be no buyerā€ (Deuteronomy 28:68).

The conclusion of ā€œMoses’ Third Discourseā€ā€”our appointed reading—summarizes the two diverging paths God’s people face. ā€œSee, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversityā€ (Deuteronomy 30:15). Even though the choice is clear and available, the Deuteronomist relies on a strong Wisdom tradition (a kind of ā€œsophic hortatory imperativeā€) to call on everyone, ā€œChoose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the LORD swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacobā€ (Deuteronomy 30:19b-20). It is as if the covenant promise pulls the people forward into the power of blessing.

While the language of blessing and curse may seem strange to us, their reality is not. For example, the psychologist, Erik Erikson sees the characteristic developmental challenge defining adulthood as the tension between ā€œgenerativityā€ā€”using one’s gifts to care for the earth and each other—and ā€œstagnationā€ā€”living as ā€œone’s own only childā€ focused on self (cf. Erikson,Ā The Life Cycle Completed, New York: Norton, 1982). These psychological terms certainly remind us strongly of ā€œblessingā€ and ā€œcurse.ā€

Seen more broadly, the whole panoply of reports describing the environmental crisis contain more than a little suggestion of ā€œcurse.ā€ When we read about the need for Charleston, West Virginia, residents to use only bottled water because of a chemical spill, we cannot help thinking of ā€œcurse.ā€ The recent spate of fires on freight trains carrying oil from North Dakota’s ā€œBakken Playā€ unveils a new kind of inferno-like consequence for our desire to extract oil at any cost. When we consider these consequences, we can understand why Philip Sherrard suggests that we look more closely at the basic technological environment we ā€œswimā€ in. ā€œThere is . . . a price to be paid for fabricating around us a society which is as artificial and mechanized as our own, and this is that we can exist only on condition that we adapt ourselves to it. This is our punishmentā€ (Philip Sherrard,Ā The Eclipse of Man and Nature, West Stockbridge, MA: Lindisfarne, 1987, pp. 70-71).

Confronted with a Corinthian community that is rapidly falling into factionalism, Paul employs a somewhat different dichotomy than blessing and curse—that of ā€œfleshā€ and ā€œspirit.ā€ This should in no way be taken to devalue that which is created. Rather, Paul uses the term ā€œfleshā€ to uncover the pretense that some in the community are ā€œspiritual superstars.ā€ What makes Paul confident of his assessment? ā€œFor as long as there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not of the flesh and behaving according to human inclinations?ā€ (1 Corinthians 3:3). Being ā€œof the fleshā€ means living with the self-assertion that becomes more important than God’s gift of unity (Richard B. Hays,Ā First Corinthians, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p. 48).

But there is a way to ā€œspiritualā€ unity that is described very concretely. Because the community, in fact, belongs to God (1 Corinthians 3:21-23), the way toward reconciliation is a matter of finding each one’s role within it. Using the familiar image of a garden, Paul writes, ā€œI planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growthā€ (1 Corinthians 3:6-7.Ā Ā Not only do they now have a ā€œcommon purpose,ā€ but, in fact, the literal translation of v. 8 is ā€œthey are one.ā€ This is simply the end of factionalism.

It is significant that this garden metaphor is used to promote healing imagination. As factional leaders and members begin to think of themselves as ā€œworking togetherā€ (v. 9– literally,Ā synergoi, the root of ā€œsynergyā€), they embark in a creation-connected project that is amazingly ā€œsynergistic.ā€Ā Ā For example, corn kernels produce up to 200 ā€˜seeds’ apiece. Sunflower seeds multiply by a factor of 50, while lentils only multiply by a factor of 30. Even though gardening here is ā€œonlyā€ a metaphor (Hans Conzelmann,Ā First Corinthians, Philadelphia: Fortress Hermeneia, 1975, p. 73), the tremendous ā€œincreaseā€ that may occur in growing things together suggests a kind of blessing that provides hope not only for the Corinthian assembly, but also for those called to creation care.

For God’s earth is divided into an almost incomprehensible array of ā€œfactionsā€ when it comes to commitment to care for the earth. To adopt a version of Paul’s call to unity, where each person relinquished narrower interests in favor of the health of the whole, would be, at minimum, a kind of ā€œspiritual breakthroughā€ that could hardly help bringing ā€œblessingā€ to this earth and all its creatures.

If Corinthians believers were tempted to see themselves as ā€œspiritual superheroes,ā€ this week’s text from the Sermon on the Mount provides an antidote. In this section outlining the relationship between this new creation community and theĀ torah, Jesus demonstrates how the law is fulfilled through finding its intention. At the heart of this section is the realization that both the new community and all of creation are made up of relationships that must be nurtured.

This can be seen in Jesus’ reconsideration of murder (Matthew 5:21-22) If vital relationships are to be maintained, murder must be stopped at its source—anger, insult and slander. Much the same could be said of the ā€œlustā€ (Matthew 5:28). These are quite clearly both behaviors that betray insecurity that call for a deeper foundation of relationship.

Of course, one might argue that ā€œswearing oathsā€ moves toward finding a firmer base for safety—the appeal to God to undergird messages. But as Carter reveals: ā€œThe practice, intended to guarantee reliable human communication and trustworthy relationships, ironically undermined them through evasive or deceptive uses of oaths and by creation a category of potentially unreliable communication not guaranteed by oathsā€ (Warren Carter,Ā Matthew and the Margins, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000, p. 149)

Even though oath-taking is not as prevalent in current public communication, much the same thing occurs when statements are legitimated by appeals to ā€œscientific ā€˜fact.ā€™ā€ Here science takes the place of the divine as a source of legitimacy. For example, a series of radio programs in the late 1940’s featured ads for R. J. Reynolds’ Camel cigarettes that claimed, ā€œMore doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.ā€ This was allegedly based on a survey of 113,597 physicians!Ā Ā Journalists did find, however, that those few doctors that were contacted had, the week before, all received complimentary cartons of Camels (Martha N. Gardner, ā€œThe Doctors’ Choice is America’s Choice,ā€Ā American Journal of Public Health, Feb. 2006, p. 223). Of course, much the same misuse of ā€œscientific oathsā€ has gone on among so-called ā€œexpertsā€ casting doubt on the effects of greenhouse gases on climate change.

The solution is ā€œLet your word be ā€˜Yes, yes’ or ā€˜No, noā€™ā€ā€”a call to simple truth telling that requires profound security, security that often comes from a strong sense of belonging to a community and a basic trust in creation. Perhaps this comes most powerfully in the Sermon on the Mount in Jesus’ teaching about prayer: addressing God as ā€œOur Fatherā€ (Matthew 6:9) and asking with confidence for ā€œdaily breadā€ (Matthew 6:11). Not only does this provide the courage ā€œnot to worry about tomorrowā€ (Matthew 6:25-34), but it sends us back to durable worship forms from more than 50 years ago: ā€œOur help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earthā€ (Psalm 124:8).

Tom Mundahl, Saint 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  tmundahl@gmail.com

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany (January 28 – February 3) in Year A (Mundahl)

When we turn around, we receive the unanimous approval of the mountains, the hills, and the foundations of the Earth. Tom Mundahl reflects on what God asks of us.

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

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

Micah 6:1-8
Psalm 15
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
Matthew 5:1-12

This week’s texts do nothing less than turn the world upside down. Their power stems from the gracious outpouring we call creation: ā€œThe earth is the LORD’s and all that is in it . . . .ā€ (Psalm 24:1). For God to create is to open a place in the triune life for others, to offer hospitality in a circle dance of community which has no boundaries.

We can see the profound respect for creation in our First Lesson from Micah. Here, this late eighth-century prophet acts as ā€œprocess serverā€ delivering the indictment of a divine lawsuit (rib) to the people of Jerusalem. And ā€œwhoā€ acts as the ā€œGreek chorusā€ or ā€œjuryā€ witnessing this bill of particulars? The LORD, as prosecuting attorney, tries this case before the mountains, hills, and the foundations of the earth (Micah 6:1-2).

This is a ā€œjuryā€ that cannot be bought. Here are witnesses that cannot be tampered with. Understandably, in a court this open and honest, Jerusalem cannot avoid responsibility for the centralization of land ownership (Micah 2:2) and judicial corruption described as ā€œtearing the skin off my peopleā€ (Micah 3:2). No wonder the people cry in despair: ā€œWith what should I come before the LORD . . . ?ā€ (Micah 6:6).

Naturally they suggest all sorts of ways in which they can placate the court without changing basic attitudes—low bowing, burnt offerings, offering of yearling calves, or even first-born children (Micah 6:6-7).

These suggestions are at once too manipulative and too simple. The prophet puts it plainly in a way that summarizes a century of prophetic faithfulness and creativity: ā€œHe has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your Godā€ (Micah 6:8). Although there is nothing new about these words (e.g. ā€œkindnessā€ is hesed, covenant loyalty and care) except their beautiful crystallization of faith, moving from a culturally approved set of norms to practicing justice changes everything! It defines repentance: turning around and getting a new mind. When that happens, the approval of mountains, hills, and the foundations of the earth is unanimous!

Paul’s message to the community in Corinth calls for a reorientation similar in scope. After his ā€œindictmentā€ for falling into factionalism, he offers a primer describing the very basis of the life of those ā€œcalled to be saintsā€ (1 Corinthians 1:2). This foundation is not the cunning of human judgment.

In fact, it is self-interested human judgment which has gotten in the way of unity. As Hans Conzelmann suggests, ā€œCommon to the parties is the demand forĀ proofĀ of divine truth. In this way they set themselves up as an authority that can pass judgment upon God . . . . They expect God to submit to their criteriaā€ (Hans Conzelmann,Ā First Corinthians, Philadelphia: Fortress Hermeneia, 1975, p. 47). Like the religious elite Micah confronted, Paul calls his audience to ā€œgive it up,ā€ to relinquish expecting God to meet their standards!

Paul strips away the illusory power of human criteria. ā€œFor Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of Godā€ (1 Corinthians 1:22-24). It is precisely this god-project, setting people, institutions, and governments up as ā€˜ultimate authorities,’ that has led to discrimination, violence, economic inequality, war, and ecological distress. For ā€œour standards and criteriaā€ are always partial and can never include the whole of creation. They always benefit only ā€œusā€ā€”however that ā€œusā€ is construed.

But there is another way, according to Paul, a way beyond the self-concern of people, communities, or institutions. This is demonstrated by the obedient One whose concern for renewing creation was not limited even by self-preservation. ā€œFor God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom (standards and criteria), and God’s weakness is stronger than human strengthā€ (1 Corinthians 1:25).

The Roman Empire and Jesus’ religious opponents responded to the threatening newness he brings with all they had—specifically, the cross. A recent ā€œbotchedā€ execution by ā€œlethal injectionā€ in Ohio took nearly half an hour and caused the victim of this torture to gasp several times. Crucifixion involved a much longer public humiliation before death—from many hours to several days. It was the most persuasive argumentĀ Pax Romana had that no one should defy the powers that be. Yet, Paul’s message is that this act of violence failed miserably. The compassionate and just God triumphed over those powers. As Richard Hays suggests: ā€œRather than proving the sovereignty of Roman political order, it (cross and resurrection) shatters the world’s systems of authority. Rather than confirming what the wisest heads already know, it shatters the world’s systems of knowledge.ā€ (Richard B. Hays,Ā First Corinthians, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p. 31).

Now Paul turns to his audience and asks them to consider their calling. None of them were called because they met adequate divine standards and criteria. That makes it clear that, using the logic of the cross, despite their membership in this motley assembly and their checkered histories, they have been made part of a new and unified community. It is nothing to ā€œboast about!ā€ For that reason, self-assertion or factional promotion have no place. Like the sheer graciousness of creation, belonging to this new community that lives by standards considered ā€œfoolishā€ by the kingdoms of the world is a gift. A gift full of promise and consequences.

These consequences become clearer in the introduction to the Sermon on the Mount—the Beatitudes. Now, Jesus, whom Matthew has introduced over his prologue as Emmanuel (Matthew 1:23), the ā€œone who is more powerfulā€ (Matthew 3:11), the Beloved Son (Matthew 3:17), and, later, one who brings the new counter empire, ā€œthe kingdom of heavenā€ (Matthew 4:17), climbs the mountain to teach. In Micah, the hills and mountains served as witnesses to the trial of God’s people (Micah 6:1-2). In Matthew’s temptation narrative (Matthew 4:1-11), the tempter offered Jesus control over ā€œall the kingdoms of the worldā€ with the proviso that Jesus worship the one making the offer (Matthew 4:10). Here the mountain continues to serve as a major character drawing both teacher and learners away from the demands of daily life in order to allow Jesus to act as composer whose ā€œfirst movementā€ sounds the major themes that will shape this new community infecting all that Pax RomanaĀ stands for.

Beatitudes are not unique to the Sermon on the Mount. They go beyond describing personal qualities and emotions (ā€œhappy are…ā€) to declaring God’s favor for specific human behaviors and often declare ā€œGod’s future transformation or reversal of present dismal circumstancesā€Ā Ā (Warren Carter,Ā Matthew and the Margins, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000, p. 130). What’s more, ā€œThey . . . mark out features of a faithful and favored or blessed and honorable group.Ā Ā They constitute, affirm, and challenge a community’s distinctive identity and practicesā€ (Carter).

ā€œBlessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heavenā€ (Matthew 5:3), then, becomes a thematic melody coursing through this entire ā€œSermon.ā€ They are ones who are literally poor, ill, marginalized and outcast. They are victims of the power structure, much like the fishermen called to be the first disciples, whose trade was hampered at every turn by Roman regulations. They certainly do not set standards or criteria for acceptance in their worlds! Their very ā€œspiritsā€ are suppressed by the Roman Imperial System, and are poorly served by much of Jerusalem’s religious elite. Yet, they are named ā€œblessedā€ because now that the status quo is fading; ā€œtheirs isā€ the kingdom of heaven.ā€ Poverty and hopelessness are ending. ā€œThe beatitude blesses the ending of current imperial structures through God’s actionā€ (Carter, p. 132).

The consequences of God’s action in bringing a ā€œnew order and communityā€ are vividly described in the third beatitude, ā€œBlessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earthā€ (Matthew 5:5). While ā€œmeeknessā€ has been caricatured as passive incompetenceĀ Ā and laughable mildness, it actually suggests a combination of courage and patient hope that trumps all the attention-getting antics of the power elite. Perhaps more appropriate translations would be ā€œhumble,ā€ with its connection toĀ humusĀ or ā€œkindā€ with its suggestion of commonality and its relationship toĀ hesed, covenant consideration for all (cf. Micah 6:8, see Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1-7, Minneapolis: Augsburg: 1989, p. 236). ā€œTo be meek is to renounce retribution and to live faithfully and expectantlyā€ (Carter, p. 133). Perhaps Paul’s ā€œChrist Hymnā€ in Philippians 2:5-11 describes the power of this humble meekness best.

ā€œHumilityā€ fits well because ā€œthe humble meekā€ are promised that ā€œthey will inherit the earth.ā€ (Matthew 5:5)Ā Ā ā€œGod, not the meek, will overthrow the elite so that all may use the earth. The present inequitable access to land, based on exploitative societal relationships, will endā€ (Carter). Why? The earth and all its creatures belong to God.Ā Ā With this new ā€œhumble empireā€ it will be nurtured and cared for. Certainly the sabbatical and jubilee traditions suggest ways forward.

But even though the promise is sure, this is not the end of struggle. The final beatitude, ā€œBlessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account,ā€ makes that clear (Matthew 5:11). That has always been the fate of the prophets (Matthew 5:12). But as disciples called to be ā€œfishers for peopleā€ (Matthew 4:19), that is, those who follow in the tradition of the prophets shining a light on injustice and corruption that the powerful want concealed, they can this expect in this ā€œnot yetā€ time no less.

Recently, the President of the United States spoke to the concern of NSA surveillance, an issue that would surely not have been addressed had not Edward Snowden focused a huge beam of light on the scope of U.S. information gathering and its implications. During this Epiphany season, all those who live in the concrete hope of the Beatitudes are called to ā€œlet their lights shineā€ so that the creation damage that we do, and often are complicit in, is uncovered. We do this in confidence that the ā€œcriteria and standardsā€ that have allowed Freedom Industries in Charleston, West Virginia, to avoid responsible care of toxic materials will disappear, and that a new and humble world, community, and neighborhood will emerge spearheaded by God’s people.

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

Third Sunday after Epiphany (January 21-27) in Year A (Mundahl)

Christian care for creation will address chemical spills. – Tom Mundahl reflects on mending torn nets, community, and creation.

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

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

Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 4-9
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23

It was not long ago that we heard the more extended Christmas version of Isaiah’s words, ā€œThe people who walked in darkness have seen a great light . . . .ā€ (Isaiah 9:2a). As we have moved through the season of Christmas and entered Epiphany, we have followed the journey of the one named Emmanuel back to Egypt, where, like Moses, he escapes the slaughter of innocent children. After his ā€œexodusā€ from Egypt and return to Palestine, we have marveled at his obedience in ā€œgoing through the watersā€ of baptism by John, a baptism which led him to forty days in the wilderness (reminding us of Moses’ 40 years of exile in Midian), where Jesus demonstrates the power of this obedience. Now, as he relocates in Capernaum, he prepares to unleash this light in teaching, proclamation, and healing. (Matthew 4:23)

The startling power of this eruption of light is best described in Jesus’ words, ā€œRepent—get a new mindset, change your ways—for the Empire of God is drawing nearā€ (Matthew 4:17, Warren Carter,Ā Matthew and the Margins, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000, p. 119). This new order begins to be actualized in the calling of the first group of disciples, recruits chosen not from among a privileged elite trained for leadership, but from the fishing trade. News of a new ā€˜order of things’ must have been welcome to these fishermen, who had struggled for years to pay heavy license fees to Roman minions simply to retain the privilege of putting themselves at the mercy of the elements as they sought to provide food for their neighbors (Carter, p. 121). Even though fisherman were accounted the very lowest status among free workers, they become the core of the community that will serve as an alternative to theĀ Pax Romana.

They are now called with the familiar words, ā€œFollow me, and I will make you fish for peopleā€ (Matthew 4:19). Likely, there are few phrases more misunderstood than ā€œfishing for people.ā€ While we automatically assume that the reference is to traditional evangelism, ā€œfishing for peopleā€ has a quite different biblical history, especially in prophetic literature.

Eighth century prophet, Amos, delivers words of warning to God’s people in Samaria because of their neglect of the poor and needy. ā€œThe time is surely coming upon you, when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you with fishhooksā€ (Amos 4:2). Jeremiah writes to warn the people of Judah not to imagine that they will escape Babylon. ā€œI am now sending for many fishermen, says the LORD, and they shall catch them . . .ā€ (Jeremiah 16:16). Far from the ā€œsaving of souls,ā€ ā€œfishing for peopleā€ seems to carry the meaning of uncovering that which is concealed, just as fish seem to be concealed in the water until they are netted or hooked. This is surely one result of ā€œgreat light.ā€

All that has served to ā€˜cover up’ massive injustice in this Roman-Judean politico-economic system will be stripped bare. The corruption of the temple-based religious system will not be spared. As Ched Myers suggests: ā€œThe point here is that following Jesus requires not just the assent of the heart, but a fundamental re-ordering of socio-economic relationships. The first step in dismantling the dominant social order is to overturn the ā€œworldā€ of the disciple: in the kingdom the personal and the political are oneā€ (Mark, Maryknoll, NY: Orbis: 1988, p. 132). ā€œFishing for people,ā€ then, is using the light to uncover that which oppresses and to illuminate the possibilities from this new community for ā€œmendingā€ and ā€œhealingā€ (Matthew 4:21, 23).

It is as James and John are ā€œmendingā€ the fishing nets with their father that Jesus calls them. Not only was mending the nets a constant necessity for fisher folk; it is a powerful image for care of creation. Feminist theologian Letty M. Russell has consistently spoken of the need to uphold this biblical critical principle of the mending of ā€œGod’s world house.ā€ She relates: ā€œI first heard this simple expression of eschatological hope from Krister Stendahl, who said that theology is worrying about what God is worrying about when God gets up in the morning: the mending of creationā€ (Letty M. Russell,Ā Household of Freedom: Authority in Feminist Theology, Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1987, p. 71).

Recently, people in nine West Virginia counties, located on the banks of the Elk River, have been threatened by a highly-toxic chemical spill which has temporarily poisoned the local water supply. People of faith, called to be ā€œfishers,ā€ certainly have the responsibility to provide emergency help and temporary assistance to those affected.Ā Ā But, as the ā€œcrisisā€ and journalistic attention recedes, there is an even more important responsibility to shine the light of attention on the long-term impact of this situation. Why were there no inspections of the massive Freedom Industries facility from 1991 until 2010, when nearby residents complained about foul odors, which called attention to the plant? What are the long-term consequences of exposure to 4-methylcyclohexane methanol (MCHM) to humans andĀ all of God’s creatures?Ā That is, can ā€œfishā€ even live in this river? And why do we not use the ā€œprecautionary principleā€ which holds that a chemical must be proven safeĀ beforeĀ use, instead of relying on vague ā€œrisk assessmentā€ criteria? Finally, what other chemicals are stored by Freedom at that site? And what is the condition of storage tanks and the risks of spills?

It is only after the ā€œtearsā€ in the net of ā€œGod’s world houseā€ (Russell) are examined that they can be effectively mended. But when they are mended—and through the very process—the light of hope will shine to provide the vision to imagine new options in ā€œmaking a livingā€ in a way that mends and honors creation. Then the healing that is part of this new ā€œempire of peaceā€will be experienced.

But this process is not easy for any community. As we wrestle with Paul’s first letter to the new community in Corinth, we see how easily unity can be dissolved. Paul apparently writes before it is too late. As Conzelman suggests: ā€œThe split into groups has not yet led to the dissolution of the community; they still celebrate the Lord’s Supper together, and Paul can address the letter to the whole communityā€ ( Conzelman,Ā First Corinthians, Philadelphia: Fortress Hermeneia, 1975, p. 32).

That address follows the salutation (vv. 1-3) and the thanksgiving (vv. 4-9) with an appeal ā€œthat you be united in the same mind and the same purposeā€ (1 Corinthians 1:10 b). It may be surprising that the Greek verb ā€œbe unitedā€ is the very same word Matthew employed for ā€œmendingā€ nets, namely, katartizo. Clearly, there is mending needed in this community. Factions have developed around important leaders. Members look to those who have baptized them as special benefactors, a result that moves down the path toward schism. Even those who claim ā€œI belong to Christā€ (1 Corinthians 1:12) ā€œmust have been claiming Christ in an exclusivistic wayā€ (Richard B. Hays,Ā First Corinthians, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p. 23).

Paul does not counsel faction members to stop bickering because it is inexpedient or looks bad; he points to the center of their faith, Jesus Christ, the bringer of new creation, as the common ground of unity. This source of unity will be tested further, because it is clear that Paul earlier failed to deal with problematic status distinctions and economic inequality, issues that reared their ugly head around the Lord’s Supper (cf. 1 Corinthians 11:17-34; Hays, p. 24).

One can imagine similar congregational conflict emerging over responses to the chemical spill in the Charleston, W. Va. area. Some may call for serious investigation of Freedom Industries and suggest a new economic basis for the area. Others in the congregation, fearful of losing jobs during a weak economic recovery, may insist that the church ā€œstick to religionā€ and not be involved in matters involving ā€œmending creation.ā€ Following Paul’s template is the only way to a unity that still may be difficult to achieve. But if church leaders have planned worship that encourages creation care and have modeled environmental stewardship in action, there may be the beginning of a consensus. But that consensus still must be based on what unites us at the deepest level. As the ā€œprologueā€ to the ELCA Social Statement, ā€œCaring for Creation: Vision, Hope, and Justiceā€ (1993), states it:

Christian concern for the environment is shaped by the Word of God spoken in creation, the Love of God hanging on a cross, the Breath of God daily renewing the face of the earth.

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

The Second Sunday After Epiphany in Year C

Ecojustice Commentary on the Revised Common Lectionary

By Tom Mundahl

Second Sunday After Epiphany, Year C (2016, 2019, 2022)

Isaiah 62:1-5

Psalm 36:5-10

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

As we continue the Season of Epiphany our festivity does not abate. This week’s readings point us toward an even greater focus on celebration. Perhaps an appropriate theme for our worship and preaching is suggested by the antiphonal verse for the appointed psalm: ā€œThey feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delightsā€ (Psalm 36:8). Despite the power of self-interest and deceit described in 36:1-4, God’s steadfast love (hesed) carries the day (Psalm 36:5-10). And it is clear that this abundance is not limited to those who have mastered temple liturgy: ā€œAll people may take refuge in the shadow of your wingsā€ (Psalm 36:7b).

In fact, the scope is even wider: humans and animals ā€œmay take refuge in the shadow of your wingsā€ (Psalm 36: 6, 7). This abundance of steadfast care has its source ā€œin the fountain of lifeā€ so bright that ā€œin your light we see light.ā€ The creator is the one who makes the very notion of epiphany—the manifestation of God’s glory and steadfast love– possible.Ā Ā Not surprisingly, the language (ā€œthe river of delights,ā€ v. 8) points us to Eden and creation itself. (James L. Mays,Ā Psalms, Louisville: John Knox, 1994, p. 157) No wonder feasting is central.

This week’s reading from Isaiah (62:1-5) reminds its audience of festive joy in an oblique way. If Third-Isaiah (chapters 56-66) confronts the problem of a community that has returned from exile and is sagging in its efforts at rebuilding and renewing core religious practices, we are reminded that the prophetic poetry of the earlier Isaiah is still in play. Feasting and celebration are clearly integral to the community’s new beginning. For example, Second Isaiah alerts the freed exiles, ā€œAwake, awake, put on your strength, O Zion!Ā Ā Put on your beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, holy cityā€ (Isaiah 52:1). The prophet continues, ā€œSing, O barren one who did not bear; burst into song and shout, you who have not been in labor! . . . for your descendants will possess the nations and will settle the desolate towns.ā€ (Isaiah 54:1, 3)Ā Ā ā€œFor your maker is your husband, the LORD of hosts is his name . . . .ā€ (Isaiah 54:5). As a result, the prophet calls all to a festive celebration: ā€œHo,Ā everyoneĀ who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy, and eatā€ (Isaiah 55:1) (Paul D. Hanson,Ā Isaiah 40-66, Louisville: John Knox, 1995, pp. 148-150).

Clearly the message of this week’s reading from Isaiah depends and builds on the power of this earlier tradition to support a community engaged in the tough work of rebuilding. Remember who you are: ā€œMy Delight Is in Her, and your land Married. For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your builder marry you; and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.ā€Ā Ā (Isaiah 62:4-5)Ā Ā No longer, suggests the prophet, will foreigners drink your bread and wine. That is surely reason for the feasting described with such energy in the final chapter of Isaiah. ā€œRejoice with Jerusalem, and be glad for her, all you who love her; rejoice with her in joy, all you who mourn over her—that you may nurse and be satisfied from her consoling breast; that you may drink deeply with delight from her glorious bosomā€ (Isaiah 66:10-11).

As we consider this week’s reading from 1 Corinthians (12:1-11), we hear a cautionary note seemingly unsuitable for festivity. Yet, Paul’s critique of a community infected by competition among spiritual superstars, where adepts boast of their spiritual gifts, is a necessary corrective leading to the restoration of wholeness. This competitive spirituality destroys any possibility of community cohesion.

To counter this dangerous tendency, Paul contrastsĀ charismataĀ (gifts of the Spirit) withĀ pneumatikaĀ (alleged manifestations of the Spirit)) that create community tension. In a beautiful example of primitive functional trinitarianism, Paul writes: ā€œNow there are varieties of gifts but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but the same God who activates them all in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common goodā€ (1 Corinthians 12:4-7).

For Paul it is not a matter of achievement and recognition, but service resulting in the common good. This is no simple totalitarian unity; it is based on the amazing diversity of gifts (charismata) distributed by the Spirit. As Hays writes, ā€œPaul is emphasizing the importance of diversity in the church. The creative imagination of God is so many-faceted that God’s unitary power necessarily finds expression in an explosion of variegated formsā€ (Richard B. Hays,Ā First Corinthians, Louisville: John Knox, 1997, p. 210).

As we learn more about the mutual interdependence of the faith community, we cannot help but think of the ecological mutuality of the wider creation. One is reminded of Aldo Leopold’s description of the natural community as he develops a ā€œland ethic.ā€ Leopold writes: ā€œ . . . quit thinking about decent land use as solely an economic problem. Examine each question in terms of what is ethically and esthetically right, as well as what is economically expedient. A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community.ā€ (A Sand County Almanac, San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1966, p. 262)

This suggests that the Pauline notion of community must be extended to the non-human world since . . .humans are undoubtedly and inalienably dependent not only on each other but also on a whole range of other organisms. It has become increasingly evident that these networks of interdependence include not just our intestinal flora, the crops we might grow, and the animals we might keep, but relationships at great distances. To breathe we depend upon photosynthesis for our oxygen, to eat protein we are dependent ultimatelyĀ Ā on the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen by legumes, but far less obviously, for example, we are dependent also on the recycling of atmospheric sulfurĀ Ā by marine algae.ā€ (Horrell, Hunt, and Southgate,Ā Greening Paul: Rereading the Apostle in a Time of Ecological Crisis, Waco: Baylor University Press, 2010, p. 212)

This interdependence based on a life of self-offering that uses the gifts of the Spirit for the building of the commons—human and biotic—frees us for festivity. Ironically, as we look farther ahead to Lent, it is also the basis for fasting. As Norman Wirzba suggests, ā€œPeople should feast so they do not forget the grace and blessing of the world. People should fast so they do not degrade or hoard the good gifts of God. In short, we feast to glorify God and we fast so we do not glorify ourselvesā€ (Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011, p. 137). This is ā€œthe manifestation of the Spirit for the common goodā€ (1 Corinthians 12:7).

We see this common good boldly affirmed in John’s narrative of the Wedding at Cana. It may be as Raymond Brown suggests that provision of wine was one of the obligations shared by guests at a Jewish wedding. Since Jesus and his followers had totally failed in this requirement, Jesus’ mother’s chiding may be understandable (The Gospel According to John, I-XII, New York: Doubleday Anchor, 1966, p. 102).

While the narrator does not share Jesus’ mother’s reaction when the water for purification becomes the choicest wine in prodigious quantity, we are able to share the joyful surprise of the steward of the marriage feast: ā€œEveryone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until nowā€ (John 2:10). The celebration of new creation in the Word made flesh (John 1:14) goes beyond calculation and represents a first step (ā€œsignā€) in the evangelist’s project to reveal Jesus replacing the Temple as the center of worship and meaning. (Brown, p. 104)

The Russian novelist, Dostoevsky, was so taken by this Johannine story that he devoted a chapter to it in his final novel,Ā The Brothers Karamazov. As the Elder Zossima lies on his bier during the monastery’s period of mourning, the monks are shocked that his body has begun to evidence the stench of decay, something not expected from such a holy man. Novice monk, Alyosha Karamazov, is initially in despair. But as he returns to the funeral vigil he hears Father Paissy reading scripture, this time the story of the Marriage at Cana. Suddenly Alyosha’s heart lifts as he understands, ā€œAh that miracle, that lovely miracle! Not grief, but human joy Christ visited when he worked that first miracle, he helped bring joy . . . . He loves us, loves our joy . . . .ā€ And how many times had the Elder taught just this? (The Brothers Karamazov, Pevear and Volokhonsky translation, San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990, p. 360).

Young Alyosha now recalls that his mentor had shocked him by revealing that Alyosha’s calling was to bring joy by serving as a monk in the world. Suddenly all became clear. As he embraced his new vocation, he left the monastery and ran into the forest, joyfully falling to his knees to embrace the earth with its fecundity and decay. Dostoevsky writes, ā€œHe fell to the earth a weak youth and rose up a fighter, steadfast for the rest of his life . . . . Three days later, he left the monastery, which was also in accord with the words of his late elder, who had called him to ā€˜sojourn in the worldā€™ā€ (Pevear and Volokhonsky, p. 363).

In a sermon given on this text at St. Andrews University, Richard Bauckham claims that this sign reminds us that salvation is more than healing; it is also enlivening. He goes on: ā€œTo live life more fully is to love all life, to care for all living beings against the threats to life: against poverty, sickness, enmity, deathā€ (St. Salvator’s Chapel, January 15, 1995). Kierkegaard’s scathing critique of the church allegedly included this aphorism: ā€œChrist turned water into wine, but the church has succeeded in doing something even more difficult: it has turned wine into water.ā€ But Jesus’ enlivening sign remains and points toward the source of all life and celebration.

This theme of joyful festivity is picked up by Pope Frances inĀ LaudatoĀ Si’. In the context of reflecting on being at home in creation, he suggests that the integrity of the ecosystem needs to be reflected in home and community. ā€œAn integral ecology includes taking time to recover a serene harmony with creation, reflecting on our lifestyle and ideals, and contemplating the Creator who lives among us and surrounds usā€ (Laudato Si’, 225). Perhaps this may move us to a more festive embrace of the Earth!

Hymn suggestions:

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Gathering: ā€œRise, shine, you peopleā€Ā Ā ELWĀ 665

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Hymn of the Day: ā€œJesus, Come! For We Invite Youā€Ā ELWĀ 312

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Sending: ā€œThe Spirit Sends Us Forth to Serveā€Ā Ā ELWĀ 551

Petition for Prayers of Intercession:

Creator God, you enlivened the celebration at Cana with the gift of wine. TeachĀ us to love one another and all that you have made so that this shared joy may be of the richest vintage.

God, in your mercy;Ā Hear our prayer.

Tom Mundahl, Saint 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 tmundahl@gmail.com