And so, after decades of disintegration and decay, the northern kingdom of Israel finally collapses (v. 6):

In the ninth year of Hoshea, the king of Assyria captured Samaria, and he carried the Israelites away to Assyria and placed them in Halah, and on the Habor, the river of Gozan, and in the cities of the Medes.

These people eventually fade into the places to which they were exiled, the process hastened by years of covenant compromise, especially on the part of those who were meant to be guardians of the tradition.

What might this look like today? or is this already the fate of the church in the west — invisible in its cultural setting, after long years of compromise in which the social norms of the dominant culture have become the common values of the church as well?

These two chapters intertwine the famous “debate” of Abraham with God (Genesis 18), as well as the (in?)famous story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19). Several striking themes are woven through the narrative, but I want to follow just one thread for the moment.

In Genesis 18, the Lord’s revelation to Abraham of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 18:17-21) induced Abraham to intercede on behalf of the city. And, to an extent, his intercession was successful: the Lord agreed not to “sweep away” the righteous with the wicked, even for the sake of ten (Genesis 18:32). Clearly Abraham engaged with reverence and deference to the Lord, but … why stop at ten? Perhaps he was confident of Lot and his household being on the Lord’s side?

The fundamental problem, of course, is that there weren’t even ten righteous to be found. In fact, there wasn’t even one. In spite of that, as the story unfolds, God still goes on to rescue those who do not realize the danger they are in. And ultimately, there would come one righteous man, for whose sake wicked people could be counted righteous.

And so in Genesis 19 the scene changes to Sodom. Given the traumatic and thoroughly dehumanizing events, it is amazing that Lot and his family are so reluctant to leave the city. But this all the more clearly shows the roles of the destroying angels (Genesis 19:13) to be also angels of mercy (Genesis 19:12, 15-17). In this way God was both just and merciful in propelling the hesitant Lot and his family to safety (Genesis 19:16).

Genesis 19:23-29 completes this phase of the story, and embeds the experiences of Lot within the prayers of Abraham (Genesis 19:27; compare 18:22). In answer to Abraham’s heartfelt cry, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25), the clear answer is: Yes, he does what is just — and more: he extends mercy. Almost in an inversion of Sodom and Gomorrah, it would be the undeserved death of the “one righteous” that would make possible real hope for those who should justly stand under the judgment of God (Romans 5:6-11).

The after-effects of the ejection from the Garden echo into this chapter, and its closing verses also mark some narrative progression from ch. 4, although this chapter itself is a bit thin on plot (!). In fact, the development continues really from ch. 2.

Man/Adam was given a task in ch. 2 of tending the earth (a facet of the commission of 1:28, it seems). Although the distortions that man’s disobedience brought (ch. 3) introduced struggle and hostility into that task (3:17b-19), it was neither lost nor withdrawn. In the deepening sin of Cain, (ch. 4), the difficulties also deepened (4:14), as the curse which the ground itself received now rebounds and stains Cain himself, the first human being to be “cursed” (4:11).

But with ch. 5, we see the first glimmer of hope that the curse is going to be alleviated. That hope was first aroused in the curse on the serpent (3:15), with the announcement that the “seed” (or “offspring”) of the woman would defeat the enemy. Here, Noah is identified as the first “child of promise” who “shall bring us [rest] from our work and from the painful toil of our hands” (v. 29).

The days of Noah would see “rest” for that generation, but not in the terms which Lamech had in mind. However, the hope that he expressed certainly pointed in the right direction.

I have always enjoyed the Salvation Army classic hymn, “Send the Fire” (lyrics) by William Booth. But “fire” is one of those biblical metaphors which can bear more than one sense: blessing? or judgment?

So John the Baptist’s prediction in Matthew 3:11 that Jesus “will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” can also bear more than one sense.

It could simply be a foretelling of the manner of the Spirit’s coming on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2). On the other hand, John doesn’t stop there, but goes on in v. 12:

His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.

Given the role that fire plays in John’s own preaching (one only needs to look back to v. 10!), and the commentary-like quality of v. 12 on v. 11, I am inclined to see Jesus’ “baptizing” having the discriminating quality that he speaks of elsewhere in Matthew, and especially at the other end of the gospel, in 25:31-46.

Booth’s hymn catches well the sense of judgment that the baptism with fire implies. One can only hope and pray that it has the purifying and thus empowering quality he saw in it — otherwise, experiencing the “fire” is not the same as experiencing the Spirit, nor would it be something to seek.

John 21:7 …

When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he … threw himself into the sea.

I couldn’t help thinking of Jonah when I read this this morning. The Greek here runs: “καὶ ἔβαλεν ἑαυτὸν εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν” (kai ebalen heauton eis ten thalassan; “and he threw himself into the sea”), and in Jonah 1:15: “καὶ ἐξέβαλον αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν” (kai exebalon auton eis ten thalassan; “and they threw him out [i.e., overboard] into the sea”).

Is there a hint here that Peter was pulling a Jonah in going fishing?

Today is Easter Day. Jesus is risen!

Reading Ephesians 3 this morning, I was struck again by the way in which the church displays God’s wisdom and glory in the heavenly realm.  For the believer, the cross makes salvation possible (1 Corinthians 1:18), and all hope of spiritual blessing is found in Christ (Ephesians 1:3-14).

But here, in Ephesians 3, Paul offers a different vantage point on this miracle and mystery: “…through the church the manifold wisdom of God [is] made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places”  (v. 10). The church – this fellowship of redeemed yet fragile and even fractious creatures — seems such a poor thing to demonstrate the wisdom and glory of God in the heavenlies … yet so it is, says Paul.

So (again), the blessing, “Now … to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations…” (vv. 20-21). A good blessing for Easter Day.

One of the (several!) “problems” with the book of Job is that in the dialogues, as well as in Elihu’s speech, you can’t be exactly sure of the “truth” value of what is being said. The “friends” seem to espouse orthodox theology, and yet they are condemned in chapter 42; Job, who flirts with blasphemy, is commended for speaking “what is right” about God (Job 42:7-8).

And what about Elihu? He is satisfied neither with Job’s protestations of innocence, nor with the accusations hurled by the “friends” (Job 32:2-3). In the closing passage of his long soliloquy, comprised of chapters 36-37, it comes clear (to me, anyway!) what his function is … or at least, might be.

(Commentators vary dramatically on their assessment of Elihu’s contribution to the book. Some find the poetry here not up to the same standard as the rest of the dialogues, and the thought derivative and banal. Some find the poetry exquisite and the idea coherent with that of the “Yahweh” speeches to follow. Add to this the observation that Elihu is mentioned nowhere else in the book — and especially not in the “epilogue” in chapter 42….)

As the dialogues come to their rather fractured conclusion at the end of chapter 27, Job himself has become the focus of debate, and so he remains in the final Job speech of chapters 29-31. With Elihu’s intervention, the focus swings away from Job, and the problem of human morality, slowly but surely. In our chapters (36-37), attention is urged on God and on his righteousness as the grounds of certainty. The key phrase in chapter 36 seems to be v. 21: suffering (“affliction”) can turn one to God, or equally it can turn one away from God. It reveals what is in the depths of the human heart.

At 36:22, Elihu urges attention to God, for with God is the ground of certainty and hope (see 36:3b, 5a, 23b). The key observation here seems to be in 37:13, which provides the culmination to the reflection on God’s power and involvement in human affairs. The fixation on Job’s status has led to the disregard of God’s status and character. So Elihu concludes:

23 The Almighty—we cannot find him;
he is great in power;
justice and abundant righteousness he will not violate.
24 Therefore men fear him;
he does not regard any who are wise in their own conceit.

Elihu hasn’t quite hit the bullseye yet. But he has effectively refocussed a debate that had gone awry, and astray. With Elihu’s invitation to “stop and consider the wondrous works of God” (37:14), the stage is set for what Job least expected….

* * *

I notice, too, that in M’Cheyne’s diary of readings, this passage is partnered with 2 Corinthians 7, where in vv. 5-13a, Paul considers much the same dynamic as Elihu: that suffering can incline one to God or away from him. “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death” (v. 10).

If Job 8 represents Bildad’s “mechanical” approach to Job’s situation (“Since God does not pervert justice, you must be godless”), Job’s reply in chapter 9 takes the inverse approach — but still mechanical, and heading in some wrong directions.

The “hinge” of the argument (and, in one sense, the book) comes in vv. 17-20, although its broader context (roughly, vv. 14-24, although Job moves fairly fluidly from point to point in the quasi-legal reasoning of this chapter) also needs to be taken into account. But in v. 17 and 20, Job says “true” things about God, and about himself: v. 17a anticipates Job 38:2; 40:6; v. 17b unwittingly echoes God’s own statement in 2:3. Likewise, v. 20a will be borne out by Job’s confession(s) in 40:4-5 and 42:3, and his claim to be “blameless” (v. 20b, Hebrew tam) is precisely the same language as in 1:1, 8 and 2:3.

Meanwhile, Job’s conclusions are being driven by the same mechanistic assumptions as his friends. So, on the one hand, he misreads his own embittered state, attributing it to God (9:18) rather the choices he has made since chapter 3. And then, on the other hand, he draws a wrong conclusion about God’s attitude towards the “righteous sufferer” (9:23b), believing that human suffering is the occasion of divine mirth.

Clarity is still some ways off for Job. I fear it is often so: it is far easier to spot someone else’s mistakes than it is to confront one’s own, especially when a semblance of truth is present. Learning to trust wholly in God’s sovereign purpose and not to chafe under his hand is the project of a lifetime — fulfilled by the one perfect man whose “deeds and dreams were one”.

Although the “conversation” between Job and his friends gets off to a gentle start (Job 4:2-4), Bildad is not so sympathetic (8:2)!

One of the things that seems clear in this often enigmatic book is that the “mechanistic” assumptions of its characters are shaken to the core. They appear to work with some straightforward equations: (1A) those who are good receive blessing; (2A) those who are wicked are punished. If that is the way the universe works, then it is simple enough to turn those around: (1B) those enjoying blessing must be good; (2B) those experiencing suffering must be wicked.

Bildad has taken a long hard look at Job and decided, in light of his tragedies and infirmities, that he must fall into category 2B. It is not that everything he says is skewed: God is moral and just (8:3), the godless will perish (8:18), God will not reject the blameless (Hebrew tam; compare 9:20). For Bildad, this is traditional teaching (8:8-10) which he develops in eloquent fashion.

But this tidy, closed system linking divine action and human experience nonetheless fails, as it forces Bildad into making false accusations towards Job, and drawing false conclusions about God. God will rouse himself on Job’s behalf in dramatic fashion in chapters 38-41, but the presence of God is not necessarily for the material prosperity or physical well-being of the worshipper.

What Bildad has missed is that it is God himself who is the treasure; his miscalculation also leads to his false evaluation of Job’s moral state. What is important is not personal comfort and vindication (8:21-22), but integrity in the presence of the living God.

There are some typically rich resources for reflection in today’s Romans reading. This morning I was encouraged by this snippet on Abraham: “…but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God…” (v. 20b).

Abraham’s faith flourished as he glorified the God of power (“who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist” , v. 17) and promise (“he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told”, v. 18). To be sure, recognizing that this is the nature of his God would encourage faith in the first place: what God says he will do, God can do.

But just what does it mean that Abraham’s faith grew “as he gave glory to God”? In my experience, the phrase “Give God the glory” often (usually?) occurs in situations when something has gone particularly well, and to ensure that big-headedness (or worse) does not result, the saying is invoked: “To God be the glory!”, “Not to us, but to You…”, and so on. (Or is that just my experience?)

And further, how could any created being give glory to God? God has all the glory there is! So this cannot be about something rooted in the creature.

Paul is not talking about giving credit where credit is due, however, as important as that is. And he certainly is not suggesting that creatures bestow glory on the Creator God. So how did Abraham give glory to God? My sense is that this is answered in context by looking back to vv. 17-18, quoted above. We give glory to God when we look to him to do the things he has promised, and that we cannot do. As v. 19 points out, Abraham pondered the impossibility of the situation, “but no distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God” (v. 20a).

At that point, two things happened: Abraham’s faith grew, and God got glory. Since Paul is holding up Abraham as an example, this is something I ought to take to heart — and put into practice.