Even apostles hate passing the hat
Commentary
If you are like most pastors, then you probably dread preaching the annual stewardship sermon or (gasp!) stewardship sermon series. One of the widespread cultural stereotypes about ministers is that preachers are always asking for money, and mainline pastors are usually so afraid of falling into the stereotype that they hardly ever preach about money. Our concerns about stewardship sermons are legendary. Several years ago a television show was producing a segment on the training of preachers (imagine that!), and in interviewing one of the leaders in the field of homiletic continuing education it came out that preachers dreaded preaching stewardship sermons more than any other topic. We all have to do it ("The stewardship committee chair made me!"), and we all hate it.
For most pastors, stewardship season comes in the fall. It is a happy coincidence that the autumn is traditionally harvest time, when society is full of reminders of our great bounty and thanksgiving. Not a bad time to choose to promote stewardship as a faithful response to God's blessing, but if we were honest we would admit that it is just a coincidence. What really drives most of those fall stewardship sermons is the work on the annual church budget that must be approved before the start of the year. We keep telling our congregations (and ourselves) that stewardship is about thankfulness and faithfulness, but the timing betrays the unfortunate truth.
So if we hate preaching stewardship sermons so much -- and some of our congregants make no bones about expressing their hatred for listening to them -- and if we have managed to relegate them to the autumn stewardship campaign, then why am I bringing it up now? For many families school is just letting out, and almost everyone's mind is focused on getting away on vacation. Wouldn't a stewardship sermon now just reinforce the stereotype that preachers are always asking for money?
Well, one reason for preaching on stewardship now is to break that connection with annual church budget planning (unless, of course, your fiscal year begins July 1). It is the beginning of Pentecost season (or "Ordinary Time," depending on your tradition) when the liturgical emphasis is on growth in the Christian life. Another reason is that a group of church funding specialists gives as the number one way "to raise less money for your church" is to "preach stewardship once a year in the fall." But most importantly, now is the time because the lectionary presents us with one of the prime New Testament texts on stewardship. And take some comfort from this: the text suggests that even the Apostle Paul hated passing the hat!
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
The psalm of lamentation contained in the Old Testament lesson is different in form and purpose than the laments found in the psalter. There the lament psalms take the form of petitions for assistance during times of extreme distress. This lament is a mourning song, a funeral dirge if you will, that expresses both the national and personal sense of loss that David felt on the death of Saul and Jonathan in battle against the Philistines. It is one of two psalms in the Deuteronomic History drawn from a collection called the "Book of Jasher" (or, "Book of the Upright"; see Joshua 10:12-13). Many scholars believe that it may be an authentic psalm by David himself.
The note in verse 18 that David "ordered that The Song of the Bow be taught to the people of Judah" has been the subject of much scholarly debate. The Hebrew Masoretic text does not have the words "the song of," which translators have added because of the lament that follows. (The Greek version of the Old Testament reads simply, "he ordered [it] to be taught," omitting any reference to "the Bow.") Although it is possible that David might have ordered military training in the use of the bow in response to the renewed threat from the Philistines, the context makes it more likely that "the Bow" is either the title or musical genre of the lament itself.
Scholars also are divided on the connotation that is to be drawn from the references to Israel's "high places" as the location where Saul and Jonathan fell (vv. 19, 25). Clearly in the view of the Deuteronomistic Historian, the "high places" as the sites of worship of foreign deities were a major reason for the judgments on Israel and Judah. But since there is no reference to religious activity within the lament, the direct reference here is probably to "the heights" of Mount Gilboa (vv. 6, 21). That the "high places" lacked any cultic references in the original context of the Book of Jasher does not, however, rule out the possibility of a subtle sense of foreboding here in 2 Samuel. Just as Israel's first king fell on the heights of Gilboa, so the nation itself would ultimately fall on its high places for having turned away from God.
The lament divides into two stanzas. The first (vv. 19-24) is directed toward the people of Israel calling for them to mourn the loss of the king and crown prince. It is framed by references to improper and proper responses to this news. For the "daughters of the Philistines," word of their defeat and deaths would have been an occasion for exultation (v. 20); for the "daughters of Israel," it was a summons to weeping and mourning (v. 24). The psalm suggests two reasons for why Saul and Jonathan's deaths are to be mourned: first, because they had shown themselves to be valiant and effective warriors (vv. 22-23), and second, because Saul's reign had brought a measure of economic prosperity and political advancement to Israel (v. 24b). Given the protracted animosity that Saul demonstrated toward David (1 Samuel 18:6--28:25), what is amazing is the sincere respect that David held for Saul as "the Lord's anointed" through the time of his death (see especially 2 Samuel 1:2-16).
The second stanza of the lament (vv. 25-27) is much more personal, and directed to David's fallen comrade rather than to the surviving people. He refers to Jonathan as "my brother," and extols the love they shared for one another, "passing the love of women" (v. 26). Given all the concern with homosexuality and the church in recent decades, it is not surprising that some have seized on this description to suggest a sexual relationship between David and Jonathan. Bruce Birch (New Interpreter's Bible, 2:1208) has correctly observed, however, that the phrase probably reveals far more about the status of women in the society than about David and Jonathan's relationship. Love was not the basis for marriage in that culture; marriage was fundamentally about economic interests, most notably the supplying of heirs. "Love of women in such limited contexts might indeed pale in comparison to the deep and personal commitment" between men who had formed personal and political covenants between them (see 1 Samuel 18:1-5).
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
The composition history of 2 Corinthians is complex and difficult to reconstruct from the available evidence. Space does not permit even an overview of the issues here, but any recent critical commentary can familiarize you with the literary problems and proposed solutions. What is important to note from a homiletical standpoint is that this lectionary reading is part of a note written by Paul to the Corinthian church to encourage them to bring to completion a collection for Christians in Jerusalem (see 1 Corinthians 16:1-4). It is often asserted that this collection was specifically for famine relief (cf. Acts 11:27-30), but that connection is historically dubious. More likely the collection was conceived as a way of consolidating the relationship between the Gentile churches of the Pauline mission and the ethnically Jewish, apostolic congregations in Jerusalem (cf. Galatians 2:1-10, especially v. 10). That Paul respectively plays the churches in Macedonia and Achaia off against each other in 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 (compare 8:1-6 with 9:1-5) suggests that these chapters may have originated in separate letters dealing with the collection.
The correspondence in 2 Corinthians 8 serves specifically to commission Titus with the task of finalizing the collection (vv. 16-24). Paul is especially thankful that Titus is eager and willing to accept this responsibility, and he himself seems eager to have the matter completed by others before he arrives. Given the contentious relationship between Paul and the Corinthians at times (see for example 7:6-12) it is perhaps not hard to understand why.
The portion of the note giving Paul's reasons for urging the Corinthians to participate in the collection sets the limits of the lectionary reading. It is a prime example of Pauline rhetoric. He begins with the explicit statement, "I do not say this as a command" (v. 8a), but then proceeds to offer what is in essence a command because he himself characterizes it as a "test" (v. 8b; cf. Philemon 8-9, 21) of their love over against the generosity of Christians in Macedonia (see 2 Corinthians 8:1-6). The ultimate standard, however, has been set by Christ who gave up everything he had for their benefit (v. 9; cf. Philippians 2:6-8).
Having brought such a daunting challenge to bear, Paul again assumes a more modest stance; he will give his "advice" regarding what is "appropriate" (2 Corinthians 8:10). Nothing is to be gained by great intentions to give at the beginning if those intentions are not followed up with actions. The proper guide for measuring one's generosity is proportionality, a "fair balance between your present abundance and their need" (v. 13b). Paul even envisions the possibility that some future time there may arise circumstances when the Jerusalem Christians will need to reciprocate the process in order to maintain that "fair balance" during a time of need for the Corinthian Christians (v. 14).
The stewardship of material goods involves viewing them as resources rather than possessions. Just as Christ transferred spiritual "riches" to those who were spiritually "poor," so we are called to view our "abundance" as the means by which we meet both our own needs and the needs of others. Paul's proof text in v. 15 is drawn from Exodus 16:18, part of the report of the provisioning with manna in the Sinai. Like that "bread from heaven," our abundance is strictly the result of God's provision, and any attempt to hoard it will end in ruin.
Mark 5:21-43
One of Mark's characteristic literary devices is the intercalation of one story in the midst of another story. Other examples include the mission of the twelve that frames the story of the Baptist's beheading (6:7-13, 14-29, 30) and the cursing of the fig tree that frames the temple cleansing (11:12-14, 15-19, 20-25). One function of the technique can be to create time for events to unfold without slowing the rapid pace of Mark's narrative. Yet these inserted stories are not chosen haphazardly. There are clear connections between the paired stories (the end of John's ministry and the beginning of the disciples'; the fig tree as a symbol of Israel). The connection between the two stories in the lectionary text is forged by the two female characters who confront death apart from Jesus' healing touch.
A woman who had been hemorrhaging for more than a dozen years came looking for Jesus. She found him walking with a look of studied determination on his face, surrounded by a crowd of disciples, followers, and hangers-on. She needed to be healed, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. You see, her physical problem was bad enough, but it was its communal implications that no doubt were causing the greatest strain on her having survived for twelve years. People who were continually bleeding were ritually considered no different than the dead. The presence of life was in the blood (Leviticus 17:11), so those who were shedding blood were shedding life. No doubt weakened physically by the anemia, she had been drained in every other way as well by having been denied physical contact and life in the community.
She needed to be in contact with Jesus so she could be in contact with her community and whole in her body. She would not -- could not -- allow the mob to deter her. In the anonymity of the crowd she made her way through the tussle, came up behind Jesus, and managed to make contact with his cloak. Even in the midst of such jostling, Jesus "was aware that power had gone forth from him" and asked, "Who touched my clothes?" It was a stupid question given the circumstances. Who hadn't brushed up next to him? But the woman had felt the power as well, and "in fear and trembling" told Jesus what she had done. As Jesus told her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well," she could feel in her body, in her emotions, even in her mind, that Jesus was right. She was alive to her community once more.
Jairus, a leader of the local synagogue, had come looking for Jesus. His daughter was "at the point of death." He had to make a choice. He could either go to the undertaker and begin to make arrangements for her burial, or he could go in search of Jesus and make arrangements for her life. It was a "no-brainer" as far as he was concerned. With faith driven as surely by shear desperation as anything that he may have heard or seen of Jesus' miracles, this father asked Jesus to come and touch her so that she would live.
But Jairus and Jesus were detained, and so by the time they approached the house word came that she was already dead. It was still a "no-brainer" to this devastated father. He needed God to restore life to her, and through her to his home. But the decision to continue to impose himself on Jesus was a "no-brainer" to those who were crowding the house as well, playing dirges and ululating their cries of grief. The child had died, and the only way to get on with living themselves was through the catharsis of the rituals of mourning. Jesus tried to dismiss the crowd by telling them, "The child is not dead but sleeping." But to the mourners those words were a "no-brainer," but in a completely different sense. "Look, Jesus, we all know the common euphemism about 'sleep.' We too have shielded ourselves from the harsh realities of death by saying our loved one was only asleep. But, Jesus, you and this father have confused a figure of speech with reality." And they laughed.
Jesus, however, would not be deterred. Touching her now, as Jairus had requested from the beginning, would render Jesus ritually impure. Holiness demanded that the worlds of the living and the dead be kept separated. But the demand of a father that his daughter's need for life be heeded was the only demand that concerned Jesus. So he took her by the hand and told her to get up. And she did.
Application
It is interesting to compare the reasons Paul presents for giving in 2 Corinthians 8 with his argument for giving in chapter 9. In the earlier chapter Paul based his theology of stewardship on proportionality and balance. We are to use our abundance to meet both our needs and the needs of others. Paul's concern in chapter 9 is that the collection be prepared "as a voluntary gift and not as an extortion" (v. 5c, perhaps evidence that his earlier "test" [8:8] had not been well received?). In order to promote their will to give, then, Paul proposes a new "test" (9:13).
Paul challenges us to see our giving as akin to planting seeds. Those who are more generous with seeds reap a more bountiful harvest than those who are stingy. Because of some abuse that has been made of this analogy, it is important to stress that Paul is not arguing that God engages in a quid pro quo relative to our gifts; we cannot manipulate God into giving us even more by our generosity. Rather, since God is the source of whatever abundance we have in the first place, Paul asks why should we conclude that God will stop providing for us if we further God's generosity in the world (v. 8). Thus, in his planting analogy, Paul is suggesting that God is the one planting the seeds, not us (v. 9). Our abundance is proof that God "sows bountifully [and] will also reap bountifully," and our gifts for others are indeed a means by which God is doing this sowing. The new "test," then, is whether we will have the faith to share in this process, or whether by our unwillingness to give we will restrict the harvest by having restricted the sowing.
So why does the apostle hate passing the hat? Because he shouldn't have to in the first place. Paul did not want to issue commands, but he nevertheless felt compelled to because the Corinthians had not followed through on what they had started. If only they could see that their stewardship was the means by which God was bringing provision to everyone in this wilderness, was in reality God sowing seeds to assure an abundant harvest, then there would be no need to play Macedonians against Achaians, and Achaians against Macedonians. Sure, passing the hat can feel like extortion. The answer, however, is not to stop the collection but for people to give voluntarily and cheerfully as Christ has freely and graciously given to us. For the Corinthians it had been a year or more (8:10; 9:2). For your congregation maybe it's been six to nine months since pledges were made in the fall stewardship campaign. To both Paul's advice is "now finish doing it, so that your eagerness may be matched by completing it" (8:11).
Alternative Applications
1) 2 Samuel 1:17-27. As this article is being written, the United States is far along the road of making preparations for a military invasion of Iraq; by the time the Sunday with reference to which it is written arrives, almost certainly that arrow pulled back in the bow will have either been released on its target or returned to its quiver. What is uncertain is how many lives lost we will be mourning on both national and personal levels. Whatever the results of the confrontation with Iraq, this lamentation will speak to God's people. It may give voice to our lamentation for the deaths in battle of our service personnel. Yet even if Saddam Hussein is quickly dispatched, this psalm's revulsion at the celebration of "the daughters of the Philistines" will be a cautionary warning to those who might be inclined to exult in America's military prowess.
2) 2 Samuel 1:17-27; Mark 5:21-43. Like David who chose to sing a dirge rather than to compose a lament of petition, our first response to the presence of death in the midst of life is simply to cry out in our grief and mourning. But the message of the gospel is that God can restore life to those whose families have experienced death. God can make whole bodies that need healing and bring restoration to the life of the community. God does not fear being in contact with death and is able to restore life if we move past our grief and ask for God's touch.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 130
Since the lectionary scheme is that the psalm is supposed to be a meditation on the first lesson, we may be forgiven for puzzling about the pairing of 130 with 2 Samuel 1. The two readings match in neither subject nor tone. The 2 Samuel lection gives us David's lament over the death of Saul and Jonathan while Psalm 130 is a penitential prayer and a plea for help (and no, we don't buy that mourning over the death of a loved one is akin to mourning over one's sins).
Be that as it may, the psalm offers its own preaching possibilities. It comes as a prayer "out of the depths" (v. 1), which literally refers to Sheol, the place of the dead, but the psalmist is probably speaking metaphorically, thinking not so much of his physical death in the future as of his current separation from God, the source of life. This separation is the result of his "iniquities," which, if tracked by God scorekeeper fashion -- "If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities" (v. 3) -- would doom the psalmist to ongoing alienation from God.
But having asked for restoration and redemption, the psalmist "waits for the Lord more than those who watch for morning" (v. 6), that is, more than those who for whatever reason have been awake through the long hours of the night and look eagerly for the dawn.
Here's an opportunity to talk about what sin is. The psalm defines sin as separation from God. That's a useful definition, but let's put that in a modern context. Let's say you like to play golf. Nothing wrong with that. Certainly nothing sinful about the game as it stands. But now suppose you like to play golf so much that you abandon your family every Saturday, despite promising to participate in some activity with your spouse and kids. Under those circumstances, could playing golf become a sin?
Or let's suppose you enjoy sitting around a restaurant with a group of your buddies drinking coffee. No sin in that. But now let's say you do that when you are supposed to be working at a job where you work on your own recognizance. Is it quite as innocent an activity now? Even further, let's lay that scenario out in a real-life situation:
Back in 1981, an inside concrete and steel walkway in the Kansas City Hyatt Regency Hotel collapsed, killing 114 people and injuring many others. When the inevitable investigation took place, a large share of the blame fell on the two city building inspectors who'd overseen the Hyatt project. Investigators discovered that these two, along with many other Kansas City building inspectors, routinely falsified work logs, often bar hopping during working hours, and merely driving by sites they were supposed to be inspecting.
Were the actions of these inspectors sin? Yes -- but not just because they were factors in the deaths of many people. It was sin back on the days of the inspections when these men issued the certificates saying everything was safe -- without actually checking to see that it was. The sin was present in the attitude, not just in the consequences of the actions. Although they probably didn't think of it in so many words, their attitude said, "So I'm supposed to protect my fellow citizens. But I don't care about them. I don't love my neighbor as myself. What I want to do is more important to me. Forget about God's laws."
At the heart of sin is an attitude that fails to honor God or fails to love one's neighbor. Sinful acts are what follow from that attitude. "If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand?"
For most pastors, stewardship season comes in the fall. It is a happy coincidence that the autumn is traditionally harvest time, when society is full of reminders of our great bounty and thanksgiving. Not a bad time to choose to promote stewardship as a faithful response to God's blessing, but if we were honest we would admit that it is just a coincidence. What really drives most of those fall stewardship sermons is the work on the annual church budget that must be approved before the start of the year. We keep telling our congregations (and ourselves) that stewardship is about thankfulness and faithfulness, but the timing betrays the unfortunate truth.
So if we hate preaching stewardship sermons so much -- and some of our congregants make no bones about expressing their hatred for listening to them -- and if we have managed to relegate them to the autumn stewardship campaign, then why am I bringing it up now? For many families school is just letting out, and almost everyone's mind is focused on getting away on vacation. Wouldn't a stewardship sermon now just reinforce the stereotype that preachers are always asking for money?
Well, one reason for preaching on stewardship now is to break that connection with annual church budget planning (unless, of course, your fiscal year begins July 1). It is the beginning of Pentecost season (or "Ordinary Time," depending on your tradition) when the liturgical emphasis is on growth in the Christian life. Another reason is that a group of church funding specialists gives as the number one way "to raise less money for your church" is to "preach stewardship once a year in the fall." But most importantly, now is the time because the lectionary presents us with one of the prime New Testament texts on stewardship. And take some comfort from this: the text suggests that even the Apostle Paul hated passing the hat!
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
The psalm of lamentation contained in the Old Testament lesson is different in form and purpose than the laments found in the psalter. There the lament psalms take the form of petitions for assistance during times of extreme distress. This lament is a mourning song, a funeral dirge if you will, that expresses both the national and personal sense of loss that David felt on the death of Saul and Jonathan in battle against the Philistines. It is one of two psalms in the Deuteronomic History drawn from a collection called the "Book of Jasher" (or, "Book of the Upright"; see Joshua 10:12-13). Many scholars believe that it may be an authentic psalm by David himself.
The note in verse 18 that David "ordered that The Song of the Bow be taught to the people of Judah" has been the subject of much scholarly debate. The Hebrew Masoretic text does not have the words "the song of," which translators have added because of the lament that follows. (The Greek version of the Old Testament reads simply, "he ordered [it] to be taught," omitting any reference to "the Bow.") Although it is possible that David might have ordered military training in the use of the bow in response to the renewed threat from the Philistines, the context makes it more likely that "the Bow" is either the title or musical genre of the lament itself.
Scholars also are divided on the connotation that is to be drawn from the references to Israel's "high places" as the location where Saul and Jonathan fell (vv. 19, 25). Clearly in the view of the Deuteronomistic Historian, the "high places" as the sites of worship of foreign deities were a major reason for the judgments on Israel and Judah. But since there is no reference to religious activity within the lament, the direct reference here is probably to "the heights" of Mount Gilboa (vv. 6, 21). That the "high places" lacked any cultic references in the original context of the Book of Jasher does not, however, rule out the possibility of a subtle sense of foreboding here in 2 Samuel. Just as Israel's first king fell on the heights of Gilboa, so the nation itself would ultimately fall on its high places for having turned away from God.
The lament divides into two stanzas. The first (vv. 19-24) is directed toward the people of Israel calling for them to mourn the loss of the king and crown prince. It is framed by references to improper and proper responses to this news. For the "daughters of the Philistines," word of their defeat and deaths would have been an occasion for exultation (v. 20); for the "daughters of Israel," it was a summons to weeping and mourning (v. 24). The psalm suggests two reasons for why Saul and Jonathan's deaths are to be mourned: first, because they had shown themselves to be valiant and effective warriors (vv. 22-23), and second, because Saul's reign had brought a measure of economic prosperity and political advancement to Israel (v. 24b). Given the protracted animosity that Saul demonstrated toward David (1 Samuel 18:6--28:25), what is amazing is the sincere respect that David held for Saul as "the Lord's anointed" through the time of his death (see especially 2 Samuel 1:2-16).
The second stanza of the lament (vv. 25-27) is much more personal, and directed to David's fallen comrade rather than to the surviving people. He refers to Jonathan as "my brother," and extols the love they shared for one another, "passing the love of women" (v. 26). Given all the concern with homosexuality and the church in recent decades, it is not surprising that some have seized on this description to suggest a sexual relationship between David and Jonathan. Bruce Birch (New Interpreter's Bible, 2:1208) has correctly observed, however, that the phrase probably reveals far more about the status of women in the society than about David and Jonathan's relationship. Love was not the basis for marriage in that culture; marriage was fundamentally about economic interests, most notably the supplying of heirs. "Love of women in such limited contexts might indeed pale in comparison to the deep and personal commitment" between men who had formed personal and political covenants between them (see 1 Samuel 18:1-5).
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
The composition history of 2 Corinthians is complex and difficult to reconstruct from the available evidence. Space does not permit even an overview of the issues here, but any recent critical commentary can familiarize you with the literary problems and proposed solutions. What is important to note from a homiletical standpoint is that this lectionary reading is part of a note written by Paul to the Corinthian church to encourage them to bring to completion a collection for Christians in Jerusalem (see 1 Corinthians 16:1-4). It is often asserted that this collection was specifically for famine relief (cf. Acts 11:27-30), but that connection is historically dubious. More likely the collection was conceived as a way of consolidating the relationship between the Gentile churches of the Pauline mission and the ethnically Jewish, apostolic congregations in Jerusalem (cf. Galatians 2:1-10, especially v. 10). That Paul respectively plays the churches in Macedonia and Achaia off against each other in 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 (compare 8:1-6 with 9:1-5) suggests that these chapters may have originated in separate letters dealing with the collection.
The correspondence in 2 Corinthians 8 serves specifically to commission Titus with the task of finalizing the collection (vv. 16-24). Paul is especially thankful that Titus is eager and willing to accept this responsibility, and he himself seems eager to have the matter completed by others before he arrives. Given the contentious relationship between Paul and the Corinthians at times (see for example 7:6-12) it is perhaps not hard to understand why.
The portion of the note giving Paul's reasons for urging the Corinthians to participate in the collection sets the limits of the lectionary reading. It is a prime example of Pauline rhetoric. He begins with the explicit statement, "I do not say this as a command" (v. 8a), but then proceeds to offer what is in essence a command because he himself characterizes it as a "test" (v. 8b; cf. Philemon 8-9, 21) of their love over against the generosity of Christians in Macedonia (see 2 Corinthians 8:1-6). The ultimate standard, however, has been set by Christ who gave up everything he had for their benefit (v. 9; cf. Philippians 2:6-8).
Having brought such a daunting challenge to bear, Paul again assumes a more modest stance; he will give his "advice" regarding what is "appropriate" (2 Corinthians 8:10). Nothing is to be gained by great intentions to give at the beginning if those intentions are not followed up with actions. The proper guide for measuring one's generosity is proportionality, a "fair balance between your present abundance and their need" (v. 13b). Paul even envisions the possibility that some future time there may arise circumstances when the Jerusalem Christians will need to reciprocate the process in order to maintain that "fair balance" during a time of need for the Corinthian Christians (v. 14).
The stewardship of material goods involves viewing them as resources rather than possessions. Just as Christ transferred spiritual "riches" to those who were spiritually "poor," so we are called to view our "abundance" as the means by which we meet both our own needs and the needs of others. Paul's proof text in v. 15 is drawn from Exodus 16:18, part of the report of the provisioning with manna in the Sinai. Like that "bread from heaven," our abundance is strictly the result of God's provision, and any attempt to hoard it will end in ruin.
Mark 5:21-43
One of Mark's characteristic literary devices is the intercalation of one story in the midst of another story. Other examples include the mission of the twelve that frames the story of the Baptist's beheading (6:7-13, 14-29, 30) and the cursing of the fig tree that frames the temple cleansing (11:12-14, 15-19, 20-25). One function of the technique can be to create time for events to unfold without slowing the rapid pace of Mark's narrative. Yet these inserted stories are not chosen haphazardly. There are clear connections between the paired stories (the end of John's ministry and the beginning of the disciples'; the fig tree as a symbol of Israel). The connection between the two stories in the lectionary text is forged by the two female characters who confront death apart from Jesus' healing touch.
A woman who had been hemorrhaging for more than a dozen years came looking for Jesus. She found him walking with a look of studied determination on his face, surrounded by a crowd of disciples, followers, and hangers-on. She needed to be healed, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. You see, her physical problem was bad enough, but it was its communal implications that no doubt were causing the greatest strain on her having survived for twelve years. People who were continually bleeding were ritually considered no different than the dead. The presence of life was in the blood (Leviticus 17:11), so those who were shedding blood were shedding life. No doubt weakened physically by the anemia, she had been drained in every other way as well by having been denied physical contact and life in the community.
She needed to be in contact with Jesus so she could be in contact with her community and whole in her body. She would not -- could not -- allow the mob to deter her. In the anonymity of the crowd she made her way through the tussle, came up behind Jesus, and managed to make contact with his cloak. Even in the midst of such jostling, Jesus "was aware that power had gone forth from him" and asked, "Who touched my clothes?" It was a stupid question given the circumstances. Who hadn't brushed up next to him? But the woman had felt the power as well, and "in fear and trembling" told Jesus what she had done. As Jesus told her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well," she could feel in her body, in her emotions, even in her mind, that Jesus was right. She was alive to her community once more.
Jairus, a leader of the local synagogue, had come looking for Jesus. His daughter was "at the point of death." He had to make a choice. He could either go to the undertaker and begin to make arrangements for her burial, or he could go in search of Jesus and make arrangements for her life. It was a "no-brainer" as far as he was concerned. With faith driven as surely by shear desperation as anything that he may have heard or seen of Jesus' miracles, this father asked Jesus to come and touch her so that she would live.
But Jairus and Jesus were detained, and so by the time they approached the house word came that she was already dead. It was still a "no-brainer" to this devastated father. He needed God to restore life to her, and through her to his home. But the decision to continue to impose himself on Jesus was a "no-brainer" to those who were crowding the house as well, playing dirges and ululating their cries of grief. The child had died, and the only way to get on with living themselves was through the catharsis of the rituals of mourning. Jesus tried to dismiss the crowd by telling them, "The child is not dead but sleeping." But to the mourners those words were a "no-brainer," but in a completely different sense. "Look, Jesus, we all know the common euphemism about 'sleep.' We too have shielded ourselves from the harsh realities of death by saying our loved one was only asleep. But, Jesus, you and this father have confused a figure of speech with reality." And they laughed.
Jesus, however, would not be deterred. Touching her now, as Jairus had requested from the beginning, would render Jesus ritually impure. Holiness demanded that the worlds of the living and the dead be kept separated. But the demand of a father that his daughter's need for life be heeded was the only demand that concerned Jesus. So he took her by the hand and told her to get up. And she did.
Application
It is interesting to compare the reasons Paul presents for giving in 2 Corinthians 8 with his argument for giving in chapter 9. In the earlier chapter Paul based his theology of stewardship on proportionality and balance. We are to use our abundance to meet both our needs and the needs of others. Paul's concern in chapter 9 is that the collection be prepared "as a voluntary gift and not as an extortion" (v. 5c, perhaps evidence that his earlier "test" [8:8] had not been well received?). In order to promote their will to give, then, Paul proposes a new "test" (9:13).
Paul challenges us to see our giving as akin to planting seeds. Those who are more generous with seeds reap a more bountiful harvest than those who are stingy. Because of some abuse that has been made of this analogy, it is important to stress that Paul is not arguing that God engages in a quid pro quo relative to our gifts; we cannot manipulate God into giving us even more by our generosity. Rather, since God is the source of whatever abundance we have in the first place, Paul asks why should we conclude that God will stop providing for us if we further God's generosity in the world (v. 8). Thus, in his planting analogy, Paul is suggesting that God is the one planting the seeds, not us (v. 9). Our abundance is proof that God "sows bountifully [and] will also reap bountifully," and our gifts for others are indeed a means by which God is doing this sowing. The new "test," then, is whether we will have the faith to share in this process, or whether by our unwillingness to give we will restrict the harvest by having restricted the sowing.
So why does the apostle hate passing the hat? Because he shouldn't have to in the first place. Paul did not want to issue commands, but he nevertheless felt compelled to because the Corinthians had not followed through on what they had started. If only they could see that their stewardship was the means by which God was bringing provision to everyone in this wilderness, was in reality God sowing seeds to assure an abundant harvest, then there would be no need to play Macedonians against Achaians, and Achaians against Macedonians. Sure, passing the hat can feel like extortion. The answer, however, is not to stop the collection but for people to give voluntarily and cheerfully as Christ has freely and graciously given to us. For the Corinthians it had been a year or more (8:10; 9:2). For your congregation maybe it's been six to nine months since pledges were made in the fall stewardship campaign. To both Paul's advice is "now finish doing it, so that your eagerness may be matched by completing it" (8:11).
Alternative Applications
1) 2 Samuel 1:17-27. As this article is being written, the United States is far along the road of making preparations for a military invasion of Iraq; by the time the Sunday with reference to which it is written arrives, almost certainly that arrow pulled back in the bow will have either been released on its target or returned to its quiver. What is uncertain is how many lives lost we will be mourning on both national and personal levels. Whatever the results of the confrontation with Iraq, this lamentation will speak to God's people. It may give voice to our lamentation for the deaths in battle of our service personnel. Yet even if Saddam Hussein is quickly dispatched, this psalm's revulsion at the celebration of "the daughters of the Philistines" will be a cautionary warning to those who might be inclined to exult in America's military prowess.
2) 2 Samuel 1:17-27; Mark 5:21-43. Like David who chose to sing a dirge rather than to compose a lament of petition, our first response to the presence of death in the midst of life is simply to cry out in our grief and mourning. But the message of the gospel is that God can restore life to those whose families have experienced death. God can make whole bodies that need healing and bring restoration to the life of the community. God does not fear being in contact with death and is able to restore life if we move past our grief and ask for God's touch.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 130
Since the lectionary scheme is that the psalm is supposed to be a meditation on the first lesson, we may be forgiven for puzzling about the pairing of 130 with 2 Samuel 1. The two readings match in neither subject nor tone. The 2 Samuel lection gives us David's lament over the death of Saul and Jonathan while Psalm 130 is a penitential prayer and a plea for help (and no, we don't buy that mourning over the death of a loved one is akin to mourning over one's sins).
Be that as it may, the psalm offers its own preaching possibilities. It comes as a prayer "out of the depths" (v. 1), which literally refers to Sheol, the place of the dead, but the psalmist is probably speaking metaphorically, thinking not so much of his physical death in the future as of his current separation from God, the source of life. This separation is the result of his "iniquities," which, if tracked by God scorekeeper fashion -- "If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities" (v. 3) -- would doom the psalmist to ongoing alienation from God.
But having asked for restoration and redemption, the psalmist "waits for the Lord more than those who watch for morning" (v. 6), that is, more than those who for whatever reason have been awake through the long hours of the night and look eagerly for the dawn.
Here's an opportunity to talk about what sin is. The psalm defines sin as separation from God. That's a useful definition, but let's put that in a modern context. Let's say you like to play golf. Nothing wrong with that. Certainly nothing sinful about the game as it stands. But now suppose you like to play golf so much that you abandon your family every Saturday, despite promising to participate in some activity with your spouse and kids. Under those circumstances, could playing golf become a sin?
Or let's suppose you enjoy sitting around a restaurant with a group of your buddies drinking coffee. No sin in that. But now let's say you do that when you are supposed to be working at a job where you work on your own recognizance. Is it quite as innocent an activity now? Even further, let's lay that scenario out in a real-life situation:
Back in 1981, an inside concrete and steel walkway in the Kansas City Hyatt Regency Hotel collapsed, killing 114 people and injuring many others. When the inevitable investigation took place, a large share of the blame fell on the two city building inspectors who'd overseen the Hyatt project. Investigators discovered that these two, along with many other Kansas City building inspectors, routinely falsified work logs, often bar hopping during working hours, and merely driving by sites they were supposed to be inspecting.
Were the actions of these inspectors sin? Yes -- but not just because they were factors in the deaths of many people. It was sin back on the days of the inspections when these men issued the certificates saying everything was safe -- without actually checking to see that it was. The sin was present in the attitude, not just in the consequences of the actions. Although they probably didn't think of it in so many words, their attitude said, "So I'm supposed to protect my fellow citizens. But I don't care about them. I don't love my neighbor as myself. What I want to do is more important to me. Forget about God's laws."
At the heart of sin is an attitude that fails to honor God or fails to love one's neighbor. Sinful acts are what follow from that attitude. "If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand?"
