Just in case…

WordPress’s “blog stats” tell me that from time to time people are showing up at this blog. (Whether anyone is reading it is another matter!) Just in case … I won’t be able to post any thoughts here until later in August, so expect things to go quiet for the next couple weeks or so.

Judges 14

Episode Two of the “Samson Saga”! My sense is that “devotional” reading is often a more difficult task than reading the Bible historically, or “as literature”, or any one of a myriad of ways of reading. The book of Judges as a whole is like that, and with the Samson stories the problem is felt sharply. (Not so sharply as the end of the book, but a challenge all the same.)

Recently, the preaching blogs have been airing the question of what it means to “preach Christ from all of Scripture”. (Sinclair Ferguson’s article on this issue at the Proclamation Trust website is a useful introduction.) This is a helpful question for devotional reading, too. When one hears it discussed, and examples given, I don’t recall anyone showing how this works for Samson!

In fact, Judges 13 might seem promising: a deliverer is needed: an angel announces a miraculous birth to the mother-to-be; there is a supernatural sign; the child is born, blessed, and prospers. Sounds like the beginning of Luke, but it’s also Judges 13 in a nutshell.

The summary demonstrates that a lot hangs on which features are picked out. The dominant features of Samson’s courtship (!) and marriage in chapter 14 are not promising, and his weakness for women seen here will come back to haunt him. On the other hand, this is the “saviour” provided by God for that moment (see 13:5). And these untidy and unsettling events do not happen without divine superintendence (see 14:4, 6, 19).

So is Jesus the “true and better” Samson? It seems ridiculous, and to start one’s reading here is to miss what is going on in this dysfunctional society with a “deliverer” who has been studied in terms of social deviance. Why does God send this “judge” at this time? There is something fit-for-purpose about Samson.

But at another level, it is so. Samson makes the reader yearn for a deliverer who did not see women as objects, whose riddles were not pointless games but true wisdom, who did not pick fights in order to overcome.

Obviously, there is more to be said, and more reflection required. But seeing how the people need saving, and observing the one who God sends to save them, launches two lines of thought: it opens a window on Samson and his times (and the need for a “better” saviour), and points to the time when God would send his own Son to do the saving.

Acts 16

The circumcision of Timothy in verses 1-5 is another surprise (following on the rupture of the Paul-Barnabas partnership) after the decision of the Jerusalem council in Acts 15. But it needs to be remembered that, for Paul, the law in itself was no bad thing. It was a very good thing, in fact — it just couldn’t save you. And if you were a Gentile, rather than a Jew, it could be a deadly snare. But Timothy, like Paul, was himself a Jew, and to be a good Jew meant keeping the law….

(Barnabas and his team fade from view. It is easy to forget that there was more than Pauline mission going on in these years, even if Acts does not narrate it. God is always doing more than we think he is.)

The bulk of this chapter is taken up with the journey to Philippi, which was “a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony” (v. 12, although the meaning of these words in Greek is notoriously difficult). Three intertwined episodes unfold: the conversion of Lydia, a rich business woman, and her household (vv. 11-15, 40), the “power encounter” with the slave girl and its aftermath (vv. 16-24), and the midnight earthquake and the conversion of the jailer and his household (vv. 25-39).

I can do no better than to point to Tim Keller’s excellent sermon on this text, “Changed Lives”, which can be found in MP3 format here.

Acts 15

Michael Spencer (a.k.a. “Internet Monk”) posted some typically insightful thoughts on Acts 15 and early church leadership just recently. (His comment crowd were typically vociferous, too!) I’ll leave that side of things for now.

What struck me on reading Acts 15 today was this great irony: just at the moment when Paul and Barnabas are instrumental in bringing the Jerusalem council to a momentous decision that will ensure the future of the Gentile church … they have a falling out.

It’s hard to imagine the depth of relationship that Paul and Barnabas shared, and what a debt in human terms Paul owed Barnabas. It was Barnabas who stood by him when Paul as a recent convert first came to Jerusalem (Acts 9:26-27). It was Barnabas who sought him out to help disciple the burgeoning church in Antioch (Acts 11:25-26). Just prior to Acts 15, they had been missioners together, often in great hardship and persecution. Then they faced the charge that the gospel they preached together was inadequate (Acts 15:2) — but they were vindicated (Acts 15:22-29).

Perhaps it was that very intensity that put the relationship under pressure. Whatever the underlying factors, when they disagreed over John Mark’s membership of the next missionary team, they split (Acts 15:36-41). Even these greatest of saints fell out. God, guard my heart! Amen.

Jeremiah 24

13 In the prophets of Samaria
I saw an unsavory thing:
they prophesied by Baal
and led my people Israel astray.
14 But in the prophets of Jerusalem
I have seen a horrible thing:
they commit adultery and walk in lies;
they strengthen the hands of evildoers,
so that no one turns from his evil;
all of them have become like Sodom to me,
and its inhabitants like Gomorrah.

Jeremiah is constructing an escalating scale of prophetic crime here. The prophets of the old northern kingdom (Samaria) were bad enough (v. 13), but the prophets of the south (Jerusalem) are worse (v. 14)! My assumption would have been that, in Jeremiah’s view, deserting the Lord as the Samaritan prophets did would have been worse than “mere” bad behaviour, which seems to be the charge against the Jerusalem prophets.

The key here is to recognize that the accusations against the Jersalem prophets are metaphorical. It is like Nathan’s accusing David by means of a parable (2 Samuel 12:1-15), or like Ezekiel’s development of this theme in his preaching (Ezekiel 16, 23).

My hunch is that we incline to a literal reading because sexual sin looms so large in human experience, and ours is a sexually charged society. So when we read “the land is full of adulterers” already in v. 10, we limit our imagination to the literal level. This is a limitation, though, for (a) at the very least v. 10’s statement is certainly hyperbole, and (b) it leaves vv. 13-14 (quoted above) a bit skewed.

Certainly literal warnings against adultery should be sounded and heeded. But we need, here, to see how the metaphor (as found in Hosea 2, as Jeremiah uses it elsewhere, especially in chs. 2-3, and as Ezekiel was to develop it) deepens the charge against the Jerusalem prophets.

The prophets of Samaria had gone “Baalistic” — overtly, and openly devoted to Baal rather than Yahweh (see 2 Kings 16:30-31; 18:18-19; etc.). This was wicked, and led Israel into apostacy and destruction. So how were the prophets of Jerusalem worse? In this way: they continued to prophesy in Yahweh’s name, but the relationship was a sham. And because of this, their words were misleading and failed to turn the people to the true and living God.

The rest of the chapter spells out this failure in detail, and we will see it enacted in Jeremiah 28 (see especially 28:2, 11!). Literal adultery is heinous enough; spiritual adultery is even worse, says Jeremiah.

Acts 12

Recently, I heard a fairly prominent Christian leader declare that God treated all believers the same, was not a “cosmic sadist”, and so would not intend the suffering of believers. This, I believe, was misleading the flock; Acts 12 is only one of the passages that suggests why.

In the growth of the early church, we arrive at the first organized and “official” persecution of believers. Up to this point, it had been local and sporadic. In Acts 12, “Herod the king” (= Herod Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great, held power from 37-44 A.D.), a friend of Caligula and no friend to Christians, finds that killing Christians makes him popular with his subjects. Jesus’ intimate trio of friends — Peter, James, and John — are all mentioned in 12:2-3, although John only by way of identifying which James is meant.

James’s death is briefly narrated, and does not even occasion comment (v. 2). That surprises me! James was one of the three young men that Jesus had invested most in, and at this point early in the life of the church (no more than 14 years after Jesus’ death and resurrection), he is killed. But Luke does not pause to reflect.

Peter is the next target (v. 3). Much of the rest of the chapter tells the amazing story of his miraculous escape (not without the whimsical touch of noting Rhoda’s reaction, v. 14!). Peter fled (v. 17), and survived to remain one of the most significant leaders of the early church.

Now, does God treat his children the same? Apparently not, if the stories of James-brother-of-John and Peter are anything to go by. And what of James’s suffering? Was that one that Herod Agrippa managed to sneak past the Almighty? Or was it rather, tragic as it seems, God the Father calling his child home? My rhetoric obviously suggests I am inclined to the latter view.

God is not a “cosmic sadist”, but neither does God have a one-size-fits-all parenting scheme, even if his ways are higher than my ways, and his thoughts higher than mine (compare Isaiah 55:9).

Mark 4

I love the little story of Jesus calming the storm (Mark 4:35-41). Mark’s version is particularly vivid (the parallels are in Matthew 8:23-27 and Luke 8:22-25).

The day is spent, and Jesus makes the suggestion to sail to the opposite shore (v. 35). V. 36 is especially suggestive:

• “leaving the crowd”: who must have been pressing in, perhaps the situation that gave rise to the suggestion to escape by sea rather than by land;
• “they took him with them in the boat”: did the disciples have to manhandle Jesus out of the crowd? was Jesus’ physical strength failing? else why add the detail…
• “just as he was” (ὡς ἦν): a curious note — does it simply mean “as he was (already in the boat)”? or “in the state he was in” (i.e., exhausted!)?
• “and other boats were with him”: either making the withdrawal by ship yet that much more difficult, or perhaps adding to the flotilla?

And the violent storm arose (v. 37). The little detail about “just as he was” implying his “state” in v. 36 (if that is how it should be understood) would make sense of v. 38, where we see Jesus “in the stern, asleep on the cushion”. All of Mark’s narrative details converge on this moment: the end of the day, the press of the crowd, the escape by boat. The scenario points to Jesus at the end of his strength, “rescued” by his disciples, and having no energy left, being bone-tired, falling so deeply to sleep that even the wind, noise, and water whipped up by the storm could not rouse him.

Of course, the disciples wake him. He immediately speaks (“rebukes” [ἐπετίμησεν] the storm, v. 39), and stills the storm. Only then does he turn to speak to the disciples. His two questions (“Why afraid? Have you no faith?”, v. 40) are met by a question from the disciples in response (“Who then is this…?”, v. 41).

Embedded within this vignette is a “lion-and-lamb” scenario (Revelation 5:5-6): the exhausted Jesus simply speaks, and the forces of nature obey. This answers the disciples’ question. This tired friend is also the Son of God. There is no need for fear — as long as there is faith, and Jesus is in the boat.

Jeremiah 17 // Mark 3

The “prose sermon” in the latter part of Jeremiah 17 (vv. 19-27) focuses attention on the Sabbath. The Sabbath was not prominent in the preaching of the Hebrew prophets although it occasionally surfaces. This is its only appearance in the book of Jeremiah.

By contrast, “sabbath” is a frequent theme in all four gospels (about 43x in the synoptics, 13x in John). The first of Jesus’ miracles recorded by Mark is a healing on the sabbath (Mark 1:21-28 — also the first mention of the sabbath in Mark), although its timing is not subject to comment. This quickly changes, and today’s sabbath healing (Mark 3:1-6) follows on from the criticism of the disciples’ plucking grain to eat on the sabbath which culminates in Jesus declaring “So the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath” (Mark 2:28).

Set beside each other (as they are today, as we “read with M’Cheyne”), a clear tension arises between the Jeremiah and Mark readings. In Jeremiah, sabbath breaking is the problem; in Mark, sabbath keeping is the problem! How is this tension to be understood?

In Jeremiah, it seems that perpetual commerce and labour had displaced the observance of the command to rest one day in seven for God’s sake (“keep the Sabbath day holy”, vv. 22, 23, 27). The sermon makes the plea to protect the sanctity of the sabbath day in the strongest terms (in the evocative phrasing of the New Jerusalem Bible, “As you value your lives…”, v. 21). Both carrot and stick are put to use. Vv. 24-26 give a lengthy description of the good things that follow from obeying the command given to their ancestors: it ensures succession to the throne of David, the viability and prosperity of Jerusalem, enhances its fame, and adds to the worship offered there. V. 27 weilds the stick: failing to keep the sabbath results in Jerusalem’s destruction.

For Jeremiah, then, ignoring the sabbath was a symptom of ignoring God. The sermon declares that ignoring this divine command imperilled the life of the whole community.

The context in Mark could not be more different. As mentioned, the grain-plucking episode of Mark 2:23-28 is the immediate context for the story of 3:1-6, in which a man’s withered hand is healed in the synagogue on the sabbath. No wonder “they” watch him (v. 2), for they have by now seen Jesus in action already (1:21-28). We get one of our rare psychological comments on Jesus’ inner thoughts in this vignette: “…he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart…” (v. 5). It is already clear that religious observance of the sabbath is well and truly in hand (compare 2:24). The danger here, and what angers Jesus, is that rigid application of the rule has obliterated the divine intent of sabbath observance. What was meant to provide a rest which pointed towards the Lord of life had become the reason for denying life in its fulness.

At root, then, both Jeremiah’s sermon and Jesus’ act of healing identify the same problem in regard to the sabbath: it had ceased to honour the Creator, and instead served only the interests of the creature. This worked itself out in opposing tendencies: in Jeremiah’s day, by ignoring the command in favour of “business as usual” (thus ignorning God); but in Jesus’ day by rigid oberservance of the command so as to ensure “religion as usual” (thus ignoring God).

Put differently, Jeremiah’s audience thought their toil ensured their well-being (rather than God); Jesus’ audience thought their legal observance ensured their well-being (rather than God). As Tim Keller so neatly describes it, both are a form of idolatry. Their overt features may be polar opposites, but idoltary is the axis that holds them together.

Acts 6

Well, Acts 6:7b, to be precise: “…a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith.”

I wonder if that was a partial trigger, eventually, for the “Epistle to the Hebrews”?

Judges 2

The downward spiral that is the narrative thread of the book of Judges begins already in chapter 1, but takes particular shape in chapter 2.

In 2:6-10, Joshua dies (again — as it were, see // Joshua 24:29-31), and with him the knowledge of God’s mighty acts. The consequence is spelled out in vv. 11-15 and 19. An even deeper problem then emerges: that of inter-generational faithfulness,* or rather, faithlessness.

The “judges” of vv. 16-18 play a role similar to Joshua’s, as under their leadership the ways of the Lord are observed, and the provision of a “judge” brought also the presence of God (v. 18a). But it does not last — in fact, with the death of each succeeding leader, things only get worse (v. 19).

The “divine reflection” on this in vv. 20-22 almost seems to “telescope” this downward spiral, so that in v. 23 the summary statement appears: “… [the Lord] did not give [those nations] into the hand of Joshua.” (Who had already died, generations ago, it seemed, in v. 8!)

What could break this grace-punctuated but, nevertheless, deadly pattern? Looking at the apparent causes, certain remedies suggest themselves: (a) a complete conquest by “Joshua”; (b) direct knowledge of God in each generation (see v. 10); (c) a perpetually present “judge” who bears the presence of God. I don’t think it too much of a stretch in Christian interpretation to see here pointers to the new covenant (see Jeremiah 31:31-34; 32:36-41; compare Ezekiel 36:26-27) and on to Jesus who did conquer completely (see, e.g., John 16:33), mediates knowledge of God (see John 16:25-27), and provides for a perpetual divine presence with his people (see John 16:7).

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* On “Multi-Generational Faithfulness”, these two sermons from Voddie Baucham are well worth a listen.