The grateful dead
Commentary
(Dr. Foster R. McCurley has had a distinguished career as St. John's Professor of Old Testament and Hebrew at Lutheran Theological Seminary, Philadelphia. He has written numerous books and articles and is currently the Theologian-in-Residence of Tressler Lutheran Services, LSS of South Central PA and LutherCare.)
Driving behind a car that was blanketing the highway with black smoke, I decided for the sake of vision and lungs to pass the culprit as quickly as possible. As I sped by, I noticed the sticker on the somewhat dilapidated bumper, a black sticker with white lettering: "The Grateful Dead." Even at my age I know those words make up the name of a rock group, but for the first time the name made me ponder the implications. I was actually returning from the funeral of my uncle, and so, leaving the rock group far behind along with the car bearing its name, I wondered what would make the dead grateful.
As I played my mental games over the question, my mind focused on All Saints' Sunday. I recalled how many sermons I have heard and given about how grateful we are for many of those saints who had influenced our lives, our faith, our values. Gratitude for the dead is certainly appropriate, and we express appreciation for their lives as we remember aloud those who have entered the church triumphant during the previous twelve months.
In a larger sense, however, the name of the rock group brought me back to the question: Why are the dead grateful? On one level, as I considered my uncle's illness over the previous two years, I thought he would be grateful for the cessation of his suffering. He would also be grateful for relieving his family of the burden of caring for him during that time. Yet the lessons for All Saints' Sunday provided a more significant answer to the question.
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
The Book of Daniel was written between the time of the desecration of the Jerusalem Temple by the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes in 167 B.C. and the death of Antiochus in 164 B.C. The years between these two dates were times of testing, persecution, and war. Antiochus' act, "the abomination of the desolation," led to such an uprising among the Jewish people that the Maccabean War was the result. The Book of Daniel was written in these precarious times in order to give hope to those who were despaired and those who were tempted to give up the faith in order to ride the tide of Antiochus' attempt to universalize his own pagan religion. The first half of the book consists mostly of stories that demonstrate the rewards given to those who are faithful. The second half conveys the vision and dreams that offer hope in terms and images of an apocalyptic bent. Our lesson opens the second part of the book, and on so doing begins to provide an answer to the reason the dead are grateful.
The Book of Daniel is unusual in that portions of the book are written in Hebrew and other portions are written in Aramaic. (The vision in this pericope was written in Aramaic.) The book also carries a certain strange air about it (strange for modern readers at any rate) because of its apocalyptic nature. As apocalypse the book "unveils" the secrets about the end time and about when it will occur.
In verse 1 we find mention of Belshazzar, the son of, and apparently coregent with, Nabonidus, the last king of Babylon who ruled from 555 to 539 B.C. The Neo-Bablyonian Empire ended at that point, for Cyrus the Great, King of Persia, conquered Babylon in 539 B.C. Cyrus' successors ruled the Near East for about 200 years. The historical allusion here, as is true throughout the book, thus sets the story of Daniel in the sixth century B.C., even though its composition occurred in the second century B.C. as a series of sermons for the people of that later time.
In the same verse we read that the dream is written down, a characteristic that illustrates a difference between apocalyptic and prophecy: in apocalyptic, work is written down where prophetic material is usually spoken. Because apocalyptic developed in menacing times, usually times of persecution, the written message provided more safety than oral delivery, especially when the story line focused on characters and evens that occurred 400 years earlier.
While both apocalyptic and prophetic proclamations use vision as a major source of inspiration, the visions of apocalyptic tend to be more bizarre. Here Daniel reports a nocturnal vision about four beasts that arise from the sea. While our pericope jumps from this point in verse 3 to the interpretation of the dream in verses 15-18, the four beastly figures appear to represent four succeeding empires: the Neo-Babylonian, the Median, the Persian, and the Greek -- all of which shall pass away before the Ancient of Days on the throne grants the kingdom to the "one like a human being" who comes before him.
In a sense, the elimination of verses 4-14 avoids the problem of identifying the "one like a human being." In the context of the vision this image, like the other figures -- the beasts -- seems to represent a community, for in the interpretation of the dream at verse 18 the kingdom is given to "the holy ones of the Most High." Later in the chapter, the recipients of the kingdom are described as "the people of the holy ones of the Most High" (v. 27). These people would appear to be those who have lost their lives, that is, the Maccabean martyrs, in the war against the Seleucids.
The interpretation offered to Daniel in verses 15-18 provides for us interpreters today a significant lesson. While we might conjecture all kinds of possibilities to answer such questions as the identity of the beasts, the identity of the "one like a human being" (or "like a son of man"), or the identity of the "little horn" on the fourth beast, the Bible will often interpret itself if only we read another paragraph or two further.
In this case, the interpretation answers the questions about why the dead can be grateful. Those who have died in faith are the heirs of the kingdom of God.
Ephesians 1:11-23
The author of the Epistle to the Ephesians pushes the gratitude of the dead at least one step more. It also asserts in bold terms the gratitude for the new life we have already begun to live as the church.
This epistle, actually more like a treatise than an epistle, appears to address the church in general rather than a specific congregation. The primary purpose of the author, probably a devoted follower of Paul, is to define the unity of the church under the lordship of the cosmic Christ. Several themes important for that purpose appear in our pericope.
The first part of our lesson, verses 11-14, actually belong to the preceding material beginning at verse 3. Indeed, the NRSV incorporates verses 3-14 into a single paragraph under the heading "Spiritual Blessings in Christ." The verses might better be considered a hymn that begins by blessing God and moves immediately to the blessings we receive from God. Our section of this opening hymn focuses our attention, as does Daniel 7, on the inheritance God has pledged to us.
These verses draw our attention to three issues. First, the inheritance we have obtained in Christ expresses the fullness of spiritual blessings to which we can look forward. In sum, it refers to our participation as heirs in the kingdom of God which is promised to the faithful but denied those who continue their pagan ways (cf. 5:5). Second, the guarantee of that inheritance is the Holy Spirit, who was promised in the prophecy about the Day of the Lord as far back as Joel 2:28-29 and who was poured out on the Day of Pentecost (according to Luke-Acts) or on the evening of Easter Day (John 20:22). While the readers to whom this epistle was directed were probably not present on either of those occasions, the same Spirit sealed the promise of God for them at their baptisms (see Paul's understanding of this role of the Spirit at 2 Corinthians 1:22). Having heard the word of the gospel and having come to believe, the Christians there were marked with God's Spirit. Throughout this epistle that same Spirit plays a vital role, especially as the one Spirit calls all the church to one faith. Third, those who have received the Spirit and who hope in Christ "live to the praise of his glory" (v. 12). The verse brings the church back from a vision about inheriting the kingdom of God to consider how Christians live out their lives in the meantime. The future determines the present. Hope for the kingdom enables and directs the church here and now to live for the praise and glory of Christ. The lesson is clear: against those who would devote their entire attention on the apocalyptic unveiling of the end time and live in fear in the meantime, God calls us to allow the vision of the kingdom to come to live until then "to the praise of his glory" (v. 14).
The issue is how we live out our identity as baptized children of God. Managing our identity is nothing less than the stewardship of who we are as we await the fulfillment of all we shall be. The people who have spent their lives as such faithful stewards are those dead for whom we are grateful on this All Saints' Sunday.
The author now moves in verses 15-23 into a moving thanksgiving. He rejoices in their confession of faith in Jesus Christ and in their acts of love toward one another. His joy lies in their obedience to the two great commandments that Jesus taught: love God and love the neighbor. Here, a confessing faith is an active faith, putting energy where the mouth is.
As a result of his thanksgiving over their faith active in love, the author prays for their continuing enlightenment through the spirit of wisdom and revelation. That "the eyes of your heart" may be enlightened indicates not that they see with rose-colored glasses but rather than they possess a spirit-endowed vision. Such vision, not sight, will enable them to know (1) the hope of their calling, (2) the riches of the inheritance among the saints (recall Daniel 7), and (3) the immeasurable greatness of God's power for us.
Think of it in this way. When we operate on the basis of sight, power takes on the dimensions of size and demonstration and unambiguity. Sight leads us to yearn from God's power to solve all the world's problems, and failing to see any resolution of war and pain and sorrow, many people despair of hope in God and in God's loving care. Functioning on the basis of vision, however, enables us to look beyond the chaos of the world to a hope for the kingdom, a life with God that has been accomplished already for us by the power of God in raising Jesus from the dead and setting him at the right hand of the kingdom's throne. Vision defines power not on the basis of empirical evidence but through the gift of faith and its accompanying hope. Only "the eyes of the heart" can see the power of God at work for us.
The reference to the resurrection and ascension of Christ introduces the reader to the doxological conclusion of this thanksgiving. Verses 20-23 ring out in liturgical fashion a praise to God for having raised Jesus to sit in power over the entire cosmos, focusing that reign in and over the church. This assertion about the cosmic role of the church expands our own vision to look beyond the structures and hierarchies and divisions of the church to an understanding that the church is nothing less than Christ's body. Christ, both the lifeblood and the head, fills the church's being and makes it live.
What an expression of praise, especially when we consider praise of God is the reason for our lives (v. 12)! Those who are alive and those who are dead can be grateful for the opportunity to participate in such an eternal doxology.
Luke 6:20-31
Our pericope begins with the words, "Then he looked up at his disciples and said ..." What follows is the Sermon on the Plain, the counterpart to Matthew's Sermon on the Mount. The location would explain why Jesus does not look down, as we would assume he did in Matthew 5. The place of delivering the sermon, however, is more significant than looking up or looking down.
To determine the significance of the topography, let us back up to verse 12. There Luke reports that Jesus went up "to the mountain to pray." Having spent the night on the mountain in prayer, Jesus invited his disciples to join him there, and out of their midst he chose twelve to be apostles. While we are accustomed to noting the role of prayer in Luke's Gospel, the important issue here is the location of the prayer and the following actions. When Luke has Jesus invite others to the mountain and there commissions people to serve a particular purpose, Luke is continuing a tradition about theological topography from the Old Testament. Recall how God invited Moses to the top of Mount Horeb by means of the burning bush and there commissioned him to bring the people of Israel out of bondage (Exodus 3). Remember, too, how God invited Moses, Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu and seventy elders of Israel to the mountain (Exodus 24:1-2, 9-11). The invitation went out to all Israel to appear three times each year at Mount Zion, and the primary commissioning that occurred on that mountain was the installation of the Davidic king (Psalm 2:6).
According to the tradition, people had access to "the mountain" only through divine invitation, for the mountain, Horeb or Zion, was the home of God. The invitation list was limited to a select few. Luke and Mark were consistent with this topography, as we can see also in the story of the Transfiguration (Mark 9:2-
7; Luke 9:28-36).
Immediately following the commissioning and the list of the names of the twelve, Luke tells us that Jesus and the others came down and "stood on a level place." The Greek word for place here is topos. It is a word that Luke uses to set the stage for all the functions that are opposite those of the mountain. While the mountain required an invitation, the place was open to the public. While on the mountain God set the agenda for the invitees, in the place God allowed people to interrupt Jesus' plans and to set a different agenda, usually by the expression of their needs. Take a look at the stories that occur in such "places" as Luke 9:10-17 ("a deserted place"), 11:1-13 ("a certain place"), 19:1-10 ("the place"), 22:39-54 ("the place"), and then, of course, 23:32-49 ("the place that is called The Skull"). In each of these places Jesus allows himself to be vulnerable, and as the crowds set the agenda, Jesus performs his public acts of ministry.
So it is in our pericope. Down from the mountain, Jesus stands in a "level place" where not only a group of his disciples but also "a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon" set the agenda. "They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases" (v. 18). Immediately prior to our verses, Jesus responded to their need for healing. Now he ministers to those who had come to hear him.
The Sermon on the Plain bears a number of similarities with, as well as a number of differences from, Matthew's Sermon on the Mount. (Matthew does not adhere so strictly to the mountain/place ideology, and so he allows the mountain to be saturated with "the crowds" by the time the sermon is over, Matthew 7:28.) Matthew has more beatitudes, but Luke includes woes as well. Matthew has blessings announced on "those who," while Luke has Jesus speak directly to "you." Matthew's version tends to spiritualize the needs of people, that is, "the poor in spirit," "hunger and thirst after righteousness," while Luke, typical of his Gospel throughout, focuses on the poor and the hungry. Matthew has Jesus addressing both the disciples and the crowds, while Luke tells that Jesus "looked up at his disciples" to deliver the teaching specifically to them.
The announcement "Blessed are" was known in the ancient Greek world, but the way in which it is used here smacks more of a Jewish or Old Testament flavor. Particularly in that literature of the Old Testament we call Wisdom does the beatitude rise to the surface. Often the blessings followed the premise in Wisdom teachings that the good are rewarded and the wicked punished, and so those who experienced blessings could attribute their fortune to their behavior, especially their trust in the Lord (Psalm 34:8). Sometimes the attainment of wisdom itself is the reason that a person is "happy" (Proverbs 3:13). Most often these blessings are experienced here and now by prosperity and posterity.
In the beatitudes attributed to Jesus by Matthew and Luke, however, the announcement "Blessed are ..." introduces future, even eschatological blessings on those who at the moment experience the opposite. They are truly ETs -- not extraterrestrial beings but eschatological transformations. These beatitudes address people who are poor, who hunger, who weep, and who are persecuted; they promise to turn life upside down. That was the hope the people who came to Jesus on the level place came to hear.
The future gift over against the present experience is especially evident in the second through the fourth beatitudes. Let us ponder them one at a time. "Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled." The blessing calls to mind the line from Mary's Magnificat: "he has filled the hungry with good things." Surely the provision of food was an essential part of the vision of the kingdom to come. Food played a key role in the creation stories of Genesis 1 and 2, and God provided that nourishment for all humans. The vision of the new heaven and new earth in Isaiah 65:17-25 likewise focuses on labor resulting in the nourishment of the laborer. Fittingly, then, the day of salvation from the Babylonian exile will be one of nourishment, for as the people return home, they "shall feed along the ways...; they shall not hunger or thirst" (Isaiah 49:9-10). The kingdom to come will be nothing less than festive as "all peoples" will dine on rich food and well-aged wine (Isaiah 25:6-
8). Now Jesus was not unaware of the need for food here and now, for he taught the disciples to ask, "Give us each day our daily bread" (Luke 11:3). The reading might actually mean "Give us each day our bread for tomorrow," that is, provide us daily with what you promise for the kingdom to come. Moreover, Jesus acknowledged both the eschatological vision and the present need as he fed the multitudes on several occasions.
The hungry in our day, of whom there are many throughout the world, likewise look to the twofold expression of the promise: a scrumptious meal in the kingdom to come and at least nourishment that will sustain them in the present time. Among them are those who live with lingering illnesses, even those who are nourished by feeding tubes. What good news that they shall be sated!
"Blessed are you who are weeping now, for you will laugh." If we cannot find ourselves among the poor in any of the other beatitudes, none of us escapes the agony of this one. In each of the communities in which we live, the mortality rate is the same as in the towns from which Jesus' audience came: 100 percent. The beatitude parallels that of Matthew: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (5:4). Matthew's version more specifically connects the sorrow with grief and in the process picks up the common biblical theme of God's comfort (virtually a synonym for salvation in Second Isaiah; cf. Isaiah 40:1; 50:3; then, cf. Isaiah 61:2). Luke, on the other hand, connects the future hope with the eschatological laughter of God. God will laugh on the Day of the Lord at the wicked who think they have control of things (Psalm 37:11). God laughs every time nations conspire against his Davidic king, supposing they can actually unseat the one God has appointed to rule the people (Psalm 2:4). And God shares that eschatological laughter with the people when the Lord restores their fortunes (Psalm 126:1-2). It is that laughter that Luke's Jesus promises to all who at the present time are weeping.
"Blessed are you when people hate you ... on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for your reward is great in heaven...." The problems Jesus addressed here were not simply the ones people face now and then; rather the issue is "on account of the Son of Man." It is persecution for being Christian that led to this beatitude, and it was indeed to "his disciples" (v. 20) that the entire series was addressed. Jesus had not promised a bed of roses but a cross (Mark 8:34-38) and the same kind of trouble the world gave to God and to himself (John 15:18-23). Nevertheless, Jesus does provide a specific beatitude for all those who suffer persecution, defamation, and ostracism on his account: they will receive their reward in heaven.
Now we return to the first beatitude. "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God" (v. 20). In contrast to the way the world operated then -- as well as now -- where the poor are considered to be the cursed of God, Jesus gave them the kingdom. In contrast to the future expressions in all the other beatitudes, this one points to the kingdom as a present possession for the poor. Perhaps the purpose of the tense differentiation is to maintain the distinction between the "already" and "not yet" of the kingdom. In his ministry, especially his healing and feeding miracles, Jesus announced in deed the beginning of the kingdom even though he announced in his teaching that the kingdom was still to come. Announcing the kingdom as a present gift to the poor assured them even now of their participation in the blessings to come which follow immediately.
Having announced the blessings for the poor, Luke's Jesus, unlike Matthew's, announces woes on those who are well off here and now. Perhaps taking a clue from the Old Testament, Luke lists those "woes" in a series (see Amos 15:18--16:7). The woes stand as precisely the opposite of the blessings, indicating that the eschatological transformations go both ways. That reversal of fortune for rich and poor alike goes back to the Magnificat once again, for there God exalts the humble and brings down the mighty, feeds the hungry and sends the rich away empty. That the rich "have received your consolation" is consistent with the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus; there God announced to the rich man sweltering in hell, "Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony" (Luke 16:25).
Following the woes, Jesus brings the vision of blessings back into the present. He commands that his disciples go beyond the old commandment to love the neighbor to the point of loving the enemy. Those enemies would probably be the ones who persecute, ostracize, and defame Christians (vv. 22-23) and who hear nothing but praises heaped on them now (v. 26). As the instructions continue here in the final verses, we readers get the impression that such love, generosity, and submission are possible only because the disciples are granted a vision that turns the present into its opposite.
Is it any wonder the people came to the level place to be taught by Jesus, as well as healed? His teachings here enabled them, as they enable us, to know why the dead are grateful and then to realize how such a vision of the kingdom calls us to live lives that are grateful here and now.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Do you ever feel like giving up on your Christian faith? It is never easy to lead a Christian life -- never let anyone tell you differently. But perhaps in our time, it seems even more difficult than ever. We are surrounded by a society in which all truth seems to have been lost, and everything is relative, depending on individual opinion. Selfishness and commercialism rule the day. Right and wrong are no longer remarked. Power and pleasure have become the goals. And God can be anything someone imagines. Indeed, even some of our churches seem to have lost their bearing, with no agreement on their theology and ethics and their worship infected with pagan rituals.
To withstand all of that, to cling to the worship of the one true God, to shape our lives according to his commandments, and to defy the scorn of a secular society is no easy task. After all, even the media has characterized evangelical Christians as ignorant, misguided, and easily led. Faithful Christians are a minority in our world, and like all minorities, sometimes they have to suffer for what they are.
There are Christians around the world who are still dying for their faith and practice -- in China, in Central America, in Africa. And while we comfortable Americans rarely suffer because we easily accommodate ourselves to the culture around us, those who try to be faithful to the Lord know that it is no easy task.
It was no easy task in the second century B.C., when the Book of Daniel was written. The remnant of what had been the people of Judah lived in the Hellenistic Empire, under the thumb of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. And that ruler was so tyrannical that he persecuted the Jews and deliberately defiled their temple by sacrificing a pig on its altar.
Daniel therefore was written to strengthen those Jews in their faith in a time of persecution and to assure them that if they held fast to their faith to the end, their reward would be great in heaven. The first six chapters of the book recount stories of faithful courage and obedience that could give examples of perseverance in the face of suffering to those who were being persecuted. Chapters 8 through 12 are visions of the overthrow and judgment of the persecuting tyrants, and of the glory that awaits the faithful. Chapter 7, with our text for the day, forms the heart of the book.
Daniel is given the vision in Chapter 7 of four great beasts rising out of the sea. They symbolize the Babylonian, Median, Persian, and Hellenistic Empires, to which the Jews have been subject since the sixth century B.C. The eleventh little horn that grows up from the fourth beast is Antiochus.
Verses 9-14 of Chapter 7 portray the Day of Judgment at the end of history, when the beasts are judged by God, who is called "the Ancient of Days," and who appears in his fiery chariot (cf. Ezekiel 1:15-28). He opens the heavenly books and decrees the death of the eleventh little horn, while the rest of the beasts are stripped of their rule and held in captivity. Then comes "one like a son of man," to whom is given everlasting "dominion and glory" and the rule over all "peoples, nations, and languages" in a kingdom that will not pass away.
Finally, in verses 15-28, an angel interprets the vision for Daniel, and from our particular text, verses 15-18, we learn that the "one like a son of man" is a corporate figure representing "the saints of the Most High" (vv. 18, 22, 17), that is, the faithful Jews who persevere under persecution to the end. In a short time, the book is saying (v. 25), dominion will be taken away from the hands of the tyrant and given to the saints in the faith, who will rule forever.
What are we to make of all of that? Certainly we are not to use Daniel to try to predict events in our future. Daniel is an apocalypse, written in a particular time to strengthen and encourage those being persecuted in its own age. Its bizarre language is intended to mislead the governing authorities. But its principal purpose is directed toward its own time and place.
Nevertheless, the message of Daniel is pertinent for all Christians everywhere. God is the Ruler over all of the tyrants and evils of history, Daniel proclaims. And those who cling to God, no matter what their circumstance, and who hold fast to their faith in the Lord to the end, will receive a glorious reward from their God. They will become members of that heavenly company of faithful -- the communion of saints -- who reign on high with the Lord God.
The New Testament's use of Daniel alters its understanding to a certain extent. During his ministry, Jesus repeatedly uses the title Son of Man to refer to himself, drawing on the use of that term in later Jewish apocalypticism (1 Enoch; 2 Esdras), probably for the purpose of obscuring his identity as the Messiah. But our Lord does, like Daniel, assure those who are faithful in this life that their reward will be great in eternity.
Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you and revile you, and cast out your name as evil, on account of the Son of Man! Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets. -- Luke 6:22-23
Matthew even mentions that the faithful will share in the rule of Christ (Matthew 19:28). And Paul sees a glorious future for the saints in heaven (Romans 8:7; 1 Corinthians 1:12; cf. 2 Timothy 2:11-12; Ephesians 1:18; Acts 26:18).
Whatever language the New Testament writers borrow to describe eternal life -- and they seem to strain at the boundaries of language -- their assurance is that the life of the communion of saints will be glorious. Those who remain faithful to their Lord Jesus Christ will be with him, sharing in his good eternity, recipients of his everlasting love and life.
So the message of Daniel endures and, like the entire Old Testament, finds its final formulation and fulfillment in Christ for those who trust in him. As Jesus taught us, "In the world you may have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world" (John 16:33). And his cheer, his joy, his victory, his kingdom will be given to those who hold fast to him.
Driving behind a car that was blanketing the highway with black smoke, I decided for the sake of vision and lungs to pass the culprit as quickly as possible. As I sped by, I noticed the sticker on the somewhat dilapidated bumper, a black sticker with white lettering: "The Grateful Dead." Even at my age I know those words make up the name of a rock group, but for the first time the name made me ponder the implications. I was actually returning from the funeral of my uncle, and so, leaving the rock group far behind along with the car bearing its name, I wondered what would make the dead grateful.
As I played my mental games over the question, my mind focused on All Saints' Sunday. I recalled how many sermons I have heard and given about how grateful we are for many of those saints who had influenced our lives, our faith, our values. Gratitude for the dead is certainly appropriate, and we express appreciation for their lives as we remember aloud those who have entered the church triumphant during the previous twelve months.
In a larger sense, however, the name of the rock group brought me back to the question: Why are the dead grateful? On one level, as I considered my uncle's illness over the previous two years, I thought he would be grateful for the cessation of his suffering. He would also be grateful for relieving his family of the burden of caring for him during that time. Yet the lessons for All Saints' Sunday provided a more significant answer to the question.
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
The Book of Daniel was written between the time of the desecration of the Jerusalem Temple by the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes in 167 B.C. and the death of Antiochus in 164 B.C. The years between these two dates were times of testing, persecution, and war. Antiochus' act, "the abomination of the desolation," led to such an uprising among the Jewish people that the Maccabean War was the result. The Book of Daniel was written in these precarious times in order to give hope to those who were despaired and those who were tempted to give up the faith in order to ride the tide of Antiochus' attempt to universalize his own pagan religion. The first half of the book consists mostly of stories that demonstrate the rewards given to those who are faithful. The second half conveys the vision and dreams that offer hope in terms and images of an apocalyptic bent. Our lesson opens the second part of the book, and on so doing begins to provide an answer to the reason the dead are grateful.
The Book of Daniel is unusual in that portions of the book are written in Hebrew and other portions are written in Aramaic. (The vision in this pericope was written in Aramaic.) The book also carries a certain strange air about it (strange for modern readers at any rate) because of its apocalyptic nature. As apocalypse the book "unveils" the secrets about the end time and about when it will occur.
In verse 1 we find mention of Belshazzar, the son of, and apparently coregent with, Nabonidus, the last king of Babylon who ruled from 555 to 539 B.C. The Neo-Bablyonian Empire ended at that point, for Cyrus the Great, King of Persia, conquered Babylon in 539 B.C. Cyrus' successors ruled the Near East for about 200 years. The historical allusion here, as is true throughout the book, thus sets the story of Daniel in the sixth century B.C., even though its composition occurred in the second century B.C. as a series of sermons for the people of that later time.
In the same verse we read that the dream is written down, a characteristic that illustrates a difference between apocalyptic and prophecy: in apocalyptic, work is written down where prophetic material is usually spoken. Because apocalyptic developed in menacing times, usually times of persecution, the written message provided more safety than oral delivery, especially when the story line focused on characters and evens that occurred 400 years earlier.
While both apocalyptic and prophetic proclamations use vision as a major source of inspiration, the visions of apocalyptic tend to be more bizarre. Here Daniel reports a nocturnal vision about four beasts that arise from the sea. While our pericope jumps from this point in verse 3 to the interpretation of the dream in verses 15-18, the four beastly figures appear to represent four succeeding empires: the Neo-Babylonian, the Median, the Persian, and the Greek -- all of which shall pass away before the Ancient of Days on the throne grants the kingdom to the "one like a human being" who comes before him.
In a sense, the elimination of verses 4-14 avoids the problem of identifying the "one like a human being." In the context of the vision this image, like the other figures -- the beasts -- seems to represent a community, for in the interpretation of the dream at verse 18 the kingdom is given to "the holy ones of the Most High." Later in the chapter, the recipients of the kingdom are described as "the people of the holy ones of the Most High" (v. 27). These people would appear to be those who have lost their lives, that is, the Maccabean martyrs, in the war against the Seleucids.
The interpretation offered to Daniel in verses 15-18 provides for us interpreters today a significant lesson. While we might conjecture all kinds of possibilities to answer such questions as the identity of the beasts, the identity of the "one like a human being" (or "like a son of man"), or the identity of the "little horn" on the fourth beast, the Bible will often interpret itself if only we read another paragraph or two further.
In this case, the interpretation answers the questions about why the dead can be grateful. Those who have died in faith are the heirs of the kingdom of God.
Ephesians 1:11-23
The author of the Epistle to the Ephesians pushes the gratitude of the dead at least one step more. It also asserts in bold terms the gratitude for the new life we have already begun to live as the church.
This epistle, actually more like a treatise than an epistle, appears to address the church in general rather than a specific congregation. The primary purpose of the author, probably a devoted follower of Paul, is to define the unity of the church under the lordship of the cosmic Christ. Several themes important for that purpose appear in our pericope.
The first part of our lesson, verses 11-14, actually belong to the preceding material beginning at verse 3. Indeed, the NRSV incorporates verses 3-14 into a single paragraph under the heading "Spiritual Blessings in Christ." The verses might better be considered a hymn that begins by blessing God and moves immediately to the blessings we receive from God. Our section of this opening hymn focuses our attention, as does Daniel 7, on the inheritance God has pledged to us.
These verses draw our attention to three issues. First, the inheritance we have obtained in Christ expresses the fullness of spiritual blessings to which we can look forward. In sum, it refers to our participation as heirs in the kingdom of God which is promised to the faithful but denied those who continue their pagan ways (cf. 5:5). Second, the guarantee of that inheritance is the Holy Spirit, who was promised in the prophecy about the Day of the Lord as far back as Joel 2:28-29 and who was poured out on the Day of Pentecost (according to Luke-Acts) or on the evening of Easter Day (John 20:22). While the readers to whom this epistle was directed were probably not present on either of those occasions, the same Spirit sealed the promise of God for them at their baptisms (see Paul's understanding of this role of the Spirit at 2 Corinthians 1:22). Having heard the word of the gospel and having come to believe, the Christians there were marked with God's Spirit. Throughout this epistle that same Spirit plays a vital role, especially as the one Spirit calls all the church to one faith. Third, those who have received the Spirit and who hope in Christ "live to the praise of his glory" (v. 12). The verse brings the church back from a vision about inheriting the kingdom of God to consider how Christians live out their lives in the meantime. The future determines the present. Hope for the kingdom enables and directs the church here and now to live for the praise and glory of Christ. The lesson is clear: against those who would devote their entire attention on the apocalyptic unveiling of the end time and live in fear in the meantime, God calls us to allow the vision of the kingdom to come to live until then "to the praise of his glory" (v. 14).
The issue is how we live out our identity as baptized children of God. Managing our identity is nothing less than the stewardship of who we are as we await the fulfillment of all we shall be. The people who have spent their lives as such faithful stewards are those dead for whom we are grateful on this All Saints' Sunday.
The author now moves in verses 15-23 into a moving thanksgiving. He rejoices in their confession of faith in Jesus Christ and in their acts of love toward one another. His joy lies in their obedience to the two great commandments that Jesus taught: love God and love the neighbor. Here, a confessing faith is an active faith, putting energy where the mouth is.
As a result of his thanksgiving over their faith active in love, the author prays for their continuing enlightenment through the spirit of wisdom and revelation. That "the eyes of your heart" may be enlightened indicates not that they see with rose-colored glasses but rather than they possess a spirit-endowed vision. Such vision, not sight, will enable them to know (1) the hope of their calling, (2) the riches of the inheritance among the saints (recall Daniel 7), and (3) the immeasurable greatness of God's power for us.
Think of it in this way. When we operate on the basis of sight, power takes on the dimensions of size and demonstration and unambiguity. Sight leads us to yearn from God's power to solve all the world's problems, and failing to see any resolution of war and pain and sorrow, many people despair of hope in God and in God's loving care. Functioning on the basis of vision, however, enables us to look beyond the chaos of the world to a hope for the kingdom, a life with God that has been accomplished already for us by the power of God in raising Jesus from the dead and setting him at the right hand of the kingdom's throne. Vision defines power not on the basis of empirical evidence but through the gift of faith and its accompanying hope. Only "the eyes of the heart" can see the power of God at work for us.
The reference to the resurrection and ascension of Christ introduces the reader to the doxological conclusion of this thanksgiving. Verses 20-23 ring out in liturgical fashion a praise to God for having raised Jesus to sit in power over the entire cosmos, focusing that reign in and over the church. This assertion about the cosmic role of the church expands our own vision to look beyond the structures and hierarchies and divisions of the church to an understanding that the church is nothing less than Christ's body. Christ, both the lifeblood and the head, fills the church's being and makes it live.
What an expression of praise, especially when we consider praise of God is the reason for our lives (v. 12)! Those who are alive and those who are dead can be grateful for the opportunity to participate in such an eternal doxology.
Luke 6:20-31
Our pericope begins with the words, "Then he looked up at his disciples and said ..." What follows is the Sermon on the Plain, the counterpart to Matthew's Sermon on the Mount. The location would explain why Jesus does not look down, as we would assume he did in Matthew 5. The place of delivering the sermon, however, is more significant than looking up or looking down.
To determine the significance of the topography, let us back up to verse 12. There Luke reports that Jesus went up "to the mountain to pray." Having spent the night on the mountain in prayer, Jesus invited his disciples to join him there, and out of their midst he chose twelve to be apostles. While we are accustomed to noting the role of prayer in Luke's Gospel, the important issue here is the location of the prayer and the following actions. When Luke has Jesus invite others to the mountain and there commissions people to serve a particular purpose, Luke is continuing a tradition about theological topography from the Old Testament. Recall how God invited Moses to the top of Mount Horeb by means of the burning bush and there commissioned him to bring the people of Israel out of bondage (Exodus 3). Remember, too, how God invited Moses, Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu and seventy elders of Israel to the mountain (Exodus 24:1-2, 9-11). The invitation went out to all Israel to appear three times each year at Mount Zion, and the primary commissioning that occurred on that mountain was the installation of the Davidic king (Psalm 2:6).
According to the tradition, people had access to "the mountain" only through divine invitation, for the mountain, Horeb or Zion, was the home of God. The invitation list was limited to a select few. Luke and Mark were consistent with this topography, as we can see also in the story of the Transfiguration (Mark 9:2-
7; Luke 9:28-36).
Immediately following the commissioning and the list of the names of the twelve, Luke tells us that Jesus and the others came down and "stood on a level place." The Greek word for place here is topos. It is a word that Luke uses to set the stage for all the functions that are opposite those of the mountain. While the mountain required an invitation, the place was open to the public. While on the mountain God set the agenda for the invitees, in the place God allowed people to interrupt Jesus' plans and to set a different agenda, usually by the expression of their needs. Take a look at the stories that occur in such "places" as Luke 9:10-17 ("a deserted place"), 11:1-13 ("a certain place"), 19:1-10 ("the place"), 22:39-54 ("the place"), and then, of course, 23:32-49 ("the place that is called The Skull"). In each of these places Jesus allows himself to be vulnerable, and as the crowds set the agenda, Jesus performs his public acts of ministry.
So it is in our pericope. Down from the mountain, Jesus stands in a "level place" where not only a group of his disciples but also "a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon" set the agenda. "They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases" (v. 18). Immediately prior to our verses, Jesus responded to their need for healing. Now he ministers to those who had come to hear him.
The Sermon on the Plain bears a number of similarities with, as well as a number of differences from, Matthew's Sermon on the Mount. (Matthew does not adhere so strictly to the mountain/place ideology, and so he allows the mountain to be saturated with "the crowds" by the time the sermon is over, Matthew 7:28.) Matthew has more beatitudes, but Luke includes woes as well. Matthew has blessings announced on "those who," while Luke has Jesus speak directly to "you." Matthew's version tends to spiritualize the needs of people, that is, "the poor in spirit," "hunger and thirst after righteousness," while Luke, typical of his Gospel throughout, focuses on the poor and the hungry. Matthew has Jesus addressing both the disciples and the crowds, while Luke tells that Jesus "looked up at his disciples" to deliver the teaching specifically to them.
The announcement "Blessed are" was known in the ancient Greek world, but the way in which it is used here smacks more of a Jewish or Old Testament flavor. Particularly in that literature of the Old Testament we call Wisdom does the beatitude rise to the surface. Often the blessings followed the premise in Wisdom teachings that the good are rewarded and the wicked punished, and so those who experienced blessings could attribute their fortune to their behavior, especially their trust in the Lord (Psalm 34:8). Sometimes the attainment of wisdom itself is the reason that a person is "happy" (Proverbs 3:13). Most often these blessings are experienced here and now by prosperity and posterity.
In the beatitudes attributed to Jesus by Matthew and Luke, however, the announcement "Blessed are ..." introduces future, even eschatological blessings on those who at the moment experience the opposite. They are truly ETs -- not extraterrestrial beings but eschatological transformations. These beatitudes address people who are poor, who hunger, who weep, and who are persecuted; they promise to turn life upside down. That was the hope the people who came to Jesus on the level place came to hear.
The future gift over against the present experience is especially evident in the second through the fourth beatitudes. Let us ponder them one at a time. "Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled." The blessing calls to mind the line from Mary's Magnificat: "he has filled the hungry with good things." Surely the provision of food was an essential part of the vision of the kingdom to come. Food played a key role in the creation stories of Genesis 1 and 2, and God provided that nourishment for all humans. The vision of the new heaven and new earth in Isaiah 65:17-25 likewise focuses on labor resulting in the nourishment of the laborer. Fittingly, then, the day of salvation from the Babylonian exile will be one of nourishment, for as the people return home, they "shall feed along the ways...; they shall not hunger or thirst" (Isaiah 49:9-10). The kingdom to come will be nothing less than festive as "all peoples" will dine on rich food and well-aged wine (Isaiah 25:6-
8). Now Jesus was not unaware of the need for food here and now, for he taught the disciples to ask, "Give us each day our daily bread" (Luke 11:3). The reading might actually mean "Give us each day our bread for tomorrow," that is, provide us daily with what you promise for the kingdom to come. Moreover, Jesus acknowledged both the eschatological vision and the present need as he fed the multitudes on several occasions.
The hungry in our day, of whom there are many throughout the world, likewise look to the twofold expression of the promise: a scrumptious meal in the kingdom to come and at least nourishment that will sustain them in the present time. Among them are those who live with lingering illnesses, even those who are nourished by feeding tubes. What good news that they shall be sated!
"Blessed are you who are weeping now, for you will laugh." If we cannot find ourselves among the poor in any of the other beatitudes, none of us escapes the agony of this one. In each of the communities in which we live, the mortality rate is the same as in the towns from which Jesus' audience came: 100 percent. The beatitude parallels that of Matthew: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (5:4). Matthew's version more specifically connects the sorrow with grief and in the process picks up the common biblical theme of God's comfort (virtually a synonym for salvation in Second Isaiah; cf. Isaiah 40:1; 50:3; then, cf. Isaiah 61:2). Luke, on the other hand, connects the future hope with the eschatological laughter of God. God will laugh on the Day of the Lord at the wicked who think they have control of things (Psalm 37:11). God laughs every time nations conspire against his Davidic king, supposing they can actually unseat the one God has appointed to rule the people (Psalm 2:4). And God shares that eschatological laughter with the people when the Lord restores their fortunes (Psalm 126:1-2). It is that laughter that Luke's Jesus promises to all who at the present time are weeping.
"Blessed are you when people hate you ... on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for your reward is great in heaven...." The problems Jesus addressed here were not simply the ones people face now and then; rather the issue is "on account of the Son of Man." It is persecution for being Christian that led to this beatitude, and it was indeed to "his disciples" (v. 20) that the entire series was addressed. Jesus had not promised a bed of roses but a cross (Mark 8:34-38) and the same kind of trouble the world gave to God and to himself (John 15:18-23). Nevertheless, Jesus does provide a specific beatitude for all those who suffer persecution, defamation, and ostracism on his account: they will receive their reward in heaven.
Now we return to the first beatitude. "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God" (v. 20). In contrast to the way the world operated then -- as well as now -- where the poor are considered to be the cursed of God, Jesus gave them the kingdom. In contrast to the future expressions in all the other beatitudes, this one points to the kingdom as a present possession for the poor. Perhaps the purpose of the tense differentiation is to maintain the distinction between the "already" and "not yet" of the kingdom. In his ministry, especially his healing and feeding miracles, Jesus announced in deed the beginning of the kingdom even though he announced in his teaching that the kingdom was still to come. Announcing the kingdom as a present gift to the poor assured them even now of their participation in the blessings to come which follow immediately.
Having announced the blessings for the poor, Luke's Jesus, unlike Matthew's, announces woes on those who are well off here and now. Perhaps taking a clue from the Old Testament, Luke lists those "woes" in a series (see Amos 15:18--16:7). The woes stand as precisely the opposite of the blessings, indicating that the eschatological transformations go both ways. That reversal of fortune for rich and poor alike goes back to the Magnificat once again, for there God exalts the humble and brings down the mighty, feeds the hungry and sends the rich away empty. That the rich "have received your consolation" is consistent with the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus; there God announced to the rich man sweltering in hell, "Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony" (Luke 16:25).
Following the woes, Jesus brings the vision of blessings back into the present. He commands that his disciples go beyond the old commandment to love the neighbor to the point of loving the enemy. Those enemies would probably be the ones who persecute, ostracize, and defame Christians (vv. 22-23) and who hear nothing but praises heaped on them now (v. 26). As the instructions continue here in the final verses, we readers get the impression that such love, generosity, and submission are possible only because the disciples are granted a vision that turns the present into its opposite.
Is it any wonder the people came to the level place to be taught by Jesus, as well as healed? His teachings here enabled them, as they enable us, to know why the dead are grateful and then to realize how such a vision of the kingdom calls us to live lives that are grateful here and now.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Do you ever feel like giving up on your Christian faith? It is never easy to lead a Christian life -- never let anyone tell you differently. But perhaps in our time, it seems even more difficult than ever. We are surrounded by a society in which all truth seems to have been lost, and everything is relative, depending on individual opinion. Selfishness and commercialism rule the day. Right and wrong are no longer remarked. Power and pleasure have become the goals. And God can be anything someone imagines. Indeed, even some of our churches seem to have lost their bearing, with no agreement on their theology and ethics and their worship infected with pagan rituals.
To withstand all of that, to cling to the worship of the one true God, to shape our lives according to his commandments, and to defy the scorn of a secular society is no easy task. After all, even the media has characterized evangelical Christians as ignorant, misguided, and easily led. Faithful Christians are a minority in our world, and like all minorities, sometimes they have to suffer for what they are.
There are Christians around the world who are still dying for their faith and practice -- in China, in Central America, in Africa. And while we comfortable Americans rarely suffer because we easily accommodate ourselves to the culture around us, those who try to be faithful to the Lord know that it is no easy task.
It was no easy task in the second century B.C., when the Book of Daniel was written. The remnant of what had been the people of Judah lived in the Hellenistic Empire, under the thumb of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. And that ruler was so tyrannical that he persecuted the Jews and deliberately defiled their temple by sacrificing a pig on its altar.
Daniel therefore was written to strengthen those Jews in their faith in a time of persecution and to assure them that if they held fast to their faith to the end, their reward would be great in heaven. The first six chapters of the book recount stories of faithful courage and obedience that could give examples of perseverance in the face of suffering to those who were being persecuted. Chapters 8 through 12 are visions of the overthrow and judgment of the persecuting tyrants, and of the glory that awaits the faithful. Chapter 7, with our text for the day, forms the heart of the book.
Daniel is given the vision in Chapter 7 of four great beasts rising out of the sea. They symbolize the Babylonian, Median, Persian, and Hellenistic Empires, to which the Jews have been subject since the sixth century B.C. The eleventh little horn that grows up from the fourth beast is Antiochus.
Verses 9-14 of Chapter 7 portray the Day of Judgment at the end of history, when the beasts are judged by God, who is called "the Ancient of Days," and who appears in his fiery chariot (cf. Ezekiel 1:15-28). He opens the heavenly books and decrees the death of the eleventh little horn, while the rest of the beasts are stripped of their rule and held in captivity. Then comes "one like a son of man," to whom is given everlasting "dominion and glory" and the rule over all "peoples, nations, and languages" in a kingdom that will not pass away.
Finally, in verses 15-28, an angel interprets the vision for Daniel, and from our particular text, verses 15-18, we learn that the "one like a son of man" is a corporate figure representing "the saints of the Most High" (vv. 18, 22, 17), that is, the faithful Jews who persevere under persecution to the end. In a short time, the book is saying (v. 25), dominion will be taken away from the hands of the tyrant and given to the saints in the faith, who will rule forever.
What are we to make of all of that? Certainly we are not to use Daniel to try to predict events in our future. Daniel is an apocalypse, written in a particular time to strengthen and encourage those being persecuted in its own age. Its bizarre language is intended to mislead the governing authorities. But its principal purpose is directed toward its own time and place.
Nevertheless, the message of Daniel is pertinent for all Christians everywhere. God is the Ruler over all of the tyrants and evils of history, Daniel proclaims. And those who cling to God, no matter what their circumstance, and who hold fast to their faith in the Lord to the end, will receive a glorious reward from their God. They will become members of that heavenly company of faithful -- the communion of saints -- who reign on high with the Lord God.
The New Testament's use of Daniel alters its understanding to a certain extent. During his ministry, Jesus repeatedly uses the title Son of Man to refer to himself, drawing on the use of that term in later Jewish apocalypticism (1 Enoch; 2 Esdras), probably for the purpose of obscuring his identity as the Messiah. But our Lord does, like Daniel, assure those who are faithful in this life that their reward will be great in eternity.
Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you and revile you, and cast out your name as evil, on account of the Son of Man! Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets. -- Luke 6:22-23
Matthew even mentions that the faithful will share in the rule of Christ (Matthew 19:28). And Paul sees a glorious future for the saints in heaven (Romans 8:7; 1 Corinthians 1:12; cf. 2 Timothy 2:11-12; Ephesians 1:18; Acts 26:18).
Whatever language the New Testament writers borrow to describe eternal life -- and they seem to strain at the boundaries of language -- their assurance is that the life of the communion of saints will be glorious. Those who remain faithful to their Lord Jesus Christ will be with him, sharing in his good eternity, recipients of his everlasting love and life.
So the message of Daniel endures and, like the entire Old Testament, finds its final formulation and fulfillment in Christ for those who trust in him. As Jesus taught us, "In the world you may have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world" (John 16:33). And his cheer, his joy, his victory, his kingdom will be given to those who hold fast to him.
