Ancestors: Joseph

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

After recapping the story of Joseph, I talked about forgiveness, touching on these points.

Palindromes

Forgiveness Frees Prisoner to Live

Forgiveness is not Reconciliation’s Palindrome

Forgiveness is not for the Faint of Heart

Forgiveness Let’s Go of Retribution Obsession

Forgiveness is a Process

Forgiving Oneself is a Thing

Accepting Forgiveness is Hard

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginning by the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

From the Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary (George Coats)…

JOSEPH, SON OF JACOB. The 11th son of the patriarch Jacob, and the principal character in the biblical narrative of Genesis 37–50.

A.   The Name

B.   The Tribe

C.   The Story

1.   Theme: Familial Strife

2.   Plot

3.   Theological Concerns

D.   Sources

E.   Genres

1.   Sitz im Leben

2.   Dating

F.   Purpose of the Story

A. The Name

The name itself derives from the Hebrew verb ysp. It maintains its verbal form with an appropriate meaning: “He adds.” The popular etymology for the name in Gen 30:24 suggests that the divine name was the subject of the verb and that the meaning of the name is: “May the Lord add (to me another son).” Indeed, it is clear that names of this type commonly employed an additional element, the name of the deity who would underwrite the power of the name given to a human. From extrabiblical sources, for example, the name “Jacob-El” illustrates the form. That combination is implied by the explanation of the name Joseph. But this hypothetical long form is not attested in the OT traditions about Joseph.

B. The Tribe

The OT tradition about Joseph does not include him in the list of Israel’s patriarchs, instead listing these as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Exod 2:24; 3:6, 15; 4:5; etc.). Joseph belongs to the next generation, as one of the eponymic “fathers” of the twelve tribes of Israel (so, Josh 18:11; Judg 1:22; 2 Sam 19:21; 1 Kgs 11:28).

The tradition remembers that the tribe of Joseph was divided, perhaps at the time in the history of the tradition when Levi ceased functioning as a secular tribe: the subdivision of Joseph yielded two tribes, Ephraim and Manasseh, incidentally preserving the number twelve, a structural constant in the political organization. This division appears in the narrative concerning the Joseph tradition in Gen 48:1–12 and in the report of the patriarchal blessing in vv 13–20. The same tradition is reflected in Josh 14:4; 16:4; 17:17, and in the Blessing of Moses in Deuteronomy 33. In Deut 33:13–17 Moses blesses the tribe of Joseph. But the final line, v 17b, recognizes the split in the structure of the Joseph tribe between Ephraim and Manasseh. Moreover, the Joseph unit becomes a symbol for the N kingdom, the nation of Israel, in contrast to the S kingdom, the nation of Judah (Ezek 5:6; 37:19; Obad 18; Zech 10:6).

C. The Story

For the OT tradition it is important to note not only that Joseph is the son of Jacob, one of a group of brothers who give their names to the twelve-tribe union that comprises Israel, but also that Joseph is the son of Rachel, the favorite wife of Jacob. The birth story sets the Joseph tradition into the form of a popular tale. Rachel, the favorite wife, had been barren. Leah, the sister of Rachel and the second wife of Jacob, had given birth to Reuben and Simeon. Rachel had adopted the son of her servant, Bilhah, and named him Naphtali. But only after the competition had taken Leah through six sons did Rachel finally break free from her barren status. The text makes the event explicitly an act of intervention from God: “God remembered Rachel … and opened her womb.” Thus, just as in the Abraham saga, where Sarah had been barren and in competition with Hagar, so in the Jacob saga, Rachel, who once was barren, gives birth to a son in the midst of family competition, indeed, family strife. That son is Joseph.

1. Theme: Familial Strife. Moreover, the birth story for Joseph has as its context other traditions surrounding strife in the family. The strife theme belongs to the complex of narrative motifs developed throughout the range of the Abraham saga and the Jacob saga. Indeed, the position of the death report for Jacob in Genesis 49 suggests that the Joseph tradition has been bound into the structure of the Jacob saga. From its larger context the Joseph story inherits a milieu of strife.

The position of the Joseph death report in Gen 50:22–26, an element which forms a counterpoint to the Joseph birth story, suggests that the patterns of a Joseph saga can still be seen in the Genesis narrative. Moreover, immediately preceding the Joseph death report, a recapitulation of motifs from earlier stages of the Joseph narrative suggests that at Joseph’s death, the family so marked by strife has still found no reconciliation. In this small segment of narrative, the brothers approach Joseph, who holds the power of life and death over them, and weave a tale about Jacob’s last wishes for reconciliation between the brothers and Joseph. Joseph responds favorably and grants his forgiveness to his brothers and, through that act, makes his contribution to reconciliation for the family. But the storyteller suggests by the particular construction of the scene that the reconciliation achieved is in fact a sham. The brothers’ story about Jacob’s last wish has no parallel in the preceding narratives. The brothers apparently intended to deceive Joseph in order to gain asylum. And with that act of deception, the story of a broken and suspicious family comes to an end.

2. Plot. A carefully constructed narrative about Joseph appears in the middle of the larger saga about Jacob with its emphasis on strife that breaks a family apart. This narrative about Joseph stands within the limits of the hypothetical Joseph saga, which is framed by a birth report and a death report. This narrative is different from the surrounding stories about Jacob and his family. It is not a collection of individual tales constructed into a family saga. It is a unit from the first scene to the last. It begins in 37:1 with a notation that “Jacob dwelt in the land of his father’s sojournings, in the land of Canaan.” And it ends in 47:27 with an exact parallel to its beginnings, the only two changes reflecting the consequence of the long, connected story: “Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt, in the land of Goshen.”

The structure of the story framed by these two parallel sentences reveals a clearly constructed plot: (1) exposition (Gen 37:1–4); (2) complication (Gen 37:5–36); (3) digression (Genesis 39–41); (4) complication (Genesis 42–44); (5) denouement (Genesis 45); and (6) conclusion (Gen 46:1–47:27). Moreover, the unifying theme for the development of this plot is the same as the one that dominates the Abraham saga and the Jacob saga: strife in the family. Some indication of a critical role for the promise theme in the patriarchal traditions appears here. For example, in Joseph’s speech, 45:4b–13, Joseph avers that “God sent me before you to preserve life … God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God …” The many survivors fulfill the promise for great posterity, the promise that descendants would become a great nation. But the dominant theme in the Joseph story is strife in a family, broken family structures, and eventually, reconciliation that restores the family to a position of unity. The nature of that reconciliation is a key for the Joseph traditions in the Pentateuch, indeed, for the theological structure of the Pentateuch itself.

In the middle of the rather tight structure for the Joseph story, Genesis 39–41 represents a discrete, perhaps originally independent story about Joseph. The story has been used by the author of the larger narrative about Joseph. But in the present position as digression in the movement of narrative about Joseph and his brothers, this unit reveals its character as a story within a story, a story with its own independent structure, genre, and intention. The structure of the independent story comprises three distinct scenes, each designed to depict Joseph as the ideal administrator. The first scene, chap. 39, sets Joseph in Potiphar’s house. Finding favor in Potiphar’s sight because of his skill as administrator in the house, Joseph rises to the position of overseer in the house. When Potiphar’s wife attempts to seduce him, he refuses, not only because to submit would be a “sin against God,” but also because it would violate the responsibility he carried as administrator of Potiphar’s house. His refusal brought false accusation from the woman and prison from Potiphar, but clearly that fate occurs with Joseph’s integrity intact. In prison he rises to a position of trust in the eyes of the captain of the guard, receiving responsibility for two of the pharaoh’s servants jailed when they had fallen from the pharaoh’s favor. The servants dream prophetic dreams, report them to Joseph, and despite the negative meaning of one, receive interpretations from Joseph. Forgotten by the fortunate servant restored to the pharaoh’s favor, Joseph waits in prison until the pharaoh dreams a dream. When none of the pharaoh’s professional wise men could interpret it, the servant from the prison recalls Joseph’s abilities and recommends him to the pharaoh. Called to the royal chambers, Joseph interprets the royal dream. The pharaoh heeds Joseph’s suggestion to appoint a steward for the grain collected during the years of plenty. That steward should be wise and perceptive (the virtues characteristic for an administrator of skill); and since Joseph meets those virtues, he is appointed to the post.

As a complete story, this depiction of Joseph shows a pattern of virtue for all administrators to imitate. But in the larger Joseph story, the digression serves the narrative function of transition. It transports Joseph, the brash but abused brother in Jacob’s family, from his position in Canaan to his position in Egypt, where, in his new position of power, he may in turn choose to be brash and abusive.

The second complication in the structure of the Joseph story reverses the role of the principals as they appeared in the first complication. In the first complication Joseph is brash but at the mercy of his brothers. Indeed, the brothers manufacture a story to deceive the old father and set the stage for the broken family. In the second complication Joseph is still brash. But in this case, the unsuspecting brothers are at the mercy of the strange Egyptian who controls the food reserves. Joseph toys with them before he breaks the tension of the scene. First, he accuses them of spying. In order to prove their innocence, the brothers must return to their homes in order to bring the youngest son of Jacob and Rachel to the mysterious vizier. But in the process, they must leave a brother in Egypt, in prison, to await their return with proof of their true identity.

The brothers delay their return to Egypt, however, until the food bought in their first trip had been consumed. The reason for the delay rests with the father’s reluctance to send the youngest son of Rachel to such an uncertain fate. But in addition, the narrator heightens the sense of fate hanging over the brothers: when they had arrived at a resting-place on the journey to their homes after the first trip to Egypt, they discovered their money hidden in the sacks of grain. Without their knowledge Joseph had ordered the money be hidden in their sacks, but the discovery brought no joy. It does not disclose an act of reconciliation offered by Joseph to his brothers. It brought fear. “At this their hearts failed them … ‘What is this that God has done to us?’ ” With fate so mysterious, the brothers leave a brother in prison. When necessity finally weighed more heavily than their reluctance to return, they petitioned their father for permission to take Benjamin, the youngest son of Rachel, and return for a new round of provisions. With great fear and only after the strongest possible guarantee from Judah, Jacob agreed. And the brothers set out for Egypt again. In Egypt they gain an audience with the mysterious vizier, only to learn that no charge of theft lies against them. Their anxiety had had no ground in reality. They introduce their younger brother, arrange for the grain, and set out with all of the brothers in the company. All appears to be in order.

At this point Joseph springs the final trap. A servant overtakes the brothers’ caravan and accuses them of stealing the divining cup of the Egyptian. Protesting their innocence, the brothers submit to a search with a vow that any guilty brother found with the cup would die and the others would become slaves to the mysterious vizier. The storyteller’s skill holds the audience in suspense while he depicts the Egyptian searching each bag from the oldest brother to the youngest. (A similar technique for maintaining suspense appears in Genesis 31.) And again, the storyteller (or Joseph) springs his trap. The object of the search had been hidden in Benjamin’s bag. Benjamin would have to die, and the other brothers would become slaves. In that dire crisis the brothers return to Egypt in order to appear before the Egyptian.

The tension in the scene builds to a climax as the brothers present themselves to the Egyptian. The brothers expect to hear the judgment pronounced against them in accord with the oath. But in that setting, Judah offers himself in the place of the younger brother (cf. Moses in Exod 32:32). At the highest point of tension, Joseph breaks the charade and identifies himself as Joseph to his brothers (45:1–3). The revelation might have been depicted as good news. The brothers might assume that now they would be free of the judgment against them. But the storyteller controls the scene by observing that the brothers were dismayed when they learned Joseph’s identity. Joseph, even as brother, had the power of life and death over the guilty group. He could now openly seek his revenge. But the story moves in the opposite direction. Instead of death for the guilty brothers, Joseph “fell on his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept (cf. Gen 33:4) … and he kissed all of his brothers and wept on them, and after that his brothers talked to him.” The reconciliation among the brothers contrasts with the negative image in 37:4.

The conclusion carries the dramatic turning point in the story to a smooth ending. Joseph makes arrangements with his brothers for transporting the families still at home in Canaan, including the father, Jacob, to Egypt. The point is, of course, that in Egypt Jacob and the family (the children of Israel) would be under Joseph’s protection. But against the backdrop of the larger narrative, the transportation of the family to Egypt represents the reconciliation of a family broken apart by the strife among the brothers.

3. Theological Concerns. The theological character of that reconciliation is important to note. (1) Joseph avers that his own move to Egypt was the result, not of the evil intended against him by the brothers, but of the good intended for him and for many survivors (the descendants of Jacob/Israel or perhaps all the families of the world who eat from the bounty stored by Joseph in Egypt) from the hand of God. (2) But the story is not primarily about God’s intervention to save the day; it is also about Joseph’s initiative, even in the face of hostility, to save the day for all the people of the world. It is also about Joseph’s initiative to save the day for his brothers and his father. To be sure, he sports with them; there is no reconciliation in that. But finally, he welcomes his family to Egypt and shows them how to prepare for their future. The family disregarded a tragic past and committed themselves to one another in a common future. As a result, the reconciliation that appeared elusive for the patriarchal generation came to some fruition through Joseph. (3) Joseph’s wisdom and perception influence not only the story within the story (Genesis 39–41), but also the entire structure of the narrative. Joseph’s integrity as administrator facilitates reconciliation of the family.

D. Sources

The Joseph story has served OT scholars as a showcase for evidence that can be used to support identification of the classical pentateuchal sources. The Priestly source does not appear in the narrative to any significant extent. Indeed, even the few fragments defined by source critics as a part of P can be understood more adequately as intrinsic parts of the whole. Gen 37:1–2, for example, serves as a key in the parallel that marks the beginning and ending of the story and cannot be explained as an imitation of the Priestly formula about the generations of Israel.

The more important argument about sources in the Joseph story asserts that in the middle of the predominantly J narrative fragments of the E source appear and that this can be detected by the significant presence of repetitions and duplications of material. For example, the brothers of Joseph appear as the sons of Israel (J) or the sons of Jacob (E). A compassionate brother, at first Judah (J), then Reuben (E), defends Joseph against the plan to sell him to the Ishmaelites (J) or simply to let him fall into the hands of the Midianites (E). Joseph becomes the slave of an unnamed Egyptian whose wife attempts to seduce him (J) or the slave of Potiphar, the captain of the prison (E). Joseph becomes the administrator of the land of Egypt (J), but he has responsibility for the pharaoh’s household (E). The sons of Israel (J) or of Jacob (E) come to Egypt. Joseph accuses them of seeking advantage in Egypt (J) or of being spies (E). On their return they find their money hidden in their sacks of grain at an inn on the way to their home (J) and the rest of the money when they arrive at home (E). On the second journey they are invited to settle in Egypt by Joseph (E) and by the pharaoh (J).

Yet, more recent examination of the story softens the argument for two sources by suggesting that one author can use repetition as a narrative technique for emphasis, perhaps simply for variety. Perhaps two brothers could be depicted as compassionate by a single source. Perhaps the mysterious Egyptian could accuse the sons of Jacob of general exploration seeking advantage, then of a more specific act, spying for military advantage. The strongest argument for two sources in the Joseph story is the doublet represented by the reference in 37:25 to the Ishmaelites, then the reference in 37:27 to the Midianites. The doublet is compounded in 37:36 with a note that the Midianites sold Joseph in Egypt to Potiphar, while 39:1 notes that Potiphar had bought Joseph from the Ishmaelites. This apparent doublet disappears, however, if one recognizes that the words “Midianite traders passed by” in 37:28 are a gloss. If these words were not in the text, then the brothers would be the subject of the verbs in v 28: “They drew Joseph up and lifted him out of the pit and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty shekels of silver and they (the Ishmaelites) took Joseph to Egypt.” The gloss could have arisen to shield the other sons of Israel against the charge of selling a brother into slavery, a crime punishable by death (Deut 24:7). Moreover, to treat the reference to the Midianites in vv 28 and 36 as glosses removes the obvious contradiction in the story. Verse 28 reports that the Midianites sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites, while verse 36 reports that they sold him to Potiphar.

These observations support more recent analysis of the Joseph story that concludes that the story is fundamentally a unit, the work of one hand. It is easy to argue that that hand belongs to the Yahwist (J). The Joseph story fits appropriately in the larger structure of the Yahwist. The Yahwist has used the Joseph story to bridge the gap between patriarchs in Canaan and Israelites in Egypt. But there is no clear evidence that the author who constructed the lengthy narrative, the Joseph story, was the Yahwist. The appropriate conclusion seems to be that the Yahwist has used a carefully constructed, distinct story about Joseph as the structural bridge for the larger narrative about Israel’s early history. While the Yahwist might have been the author, this conclusion cannot be firmly supported.

Questions about sources for the Joseph story must move the reader not only through observations about the classical sources for the Pentateuch as they might or might not appear in the Joseph story, but also through observations about other sources employed in the construction of the story. For example, the story within the story (Genesis 39–41) represents a distinct element in the structure of the Joseph story as it now appears. What can be said about the tradition preserved in that story? An Egyptian narrative, commonly called the “Tale of the Two Brothers,” describes the events in the relationship of two brothers. The younger brother lived with his older brother and his wife. It was his duty to work in the older brother’s fields; and in return the older brother provided food, shelter, and clothes for the younger brother. The younger brother was highly successful in his work, producing a good return from the cattle in his care. On one trip from the field to the older brother’s house in order to obtain seed for planting, the younger brother encountered the seductive invitation of the elder brother’s wife. The younger brother refused the invitation. But the woman manufactured false evidence and accused him of an attack. Her husband then created a plan to kill his younger brother. Saved by a message from a cow in his care, the younger brother fled. The story continues beyond its parallel with Joseph. But the pattern at the beginning of the tale suggests a plot in common with the account of Joseph in the house of Potiphar.

A second Egyptian story relevant for understanding the Joseph traditions is the “Tale of Sinuhe.” This story enlarges the picture of relationships between Palestine and Egypt. Sinuhe, an Egyptian official who left his homeland in voluntary exile, met hospitality in the various stages of his journey. Indeed, the ideal relationships developed by the young man in foreign courts suggest that, like Joseph, Sinuhe served as a model for a courtier in a period of relative prosperity. And he carries that model back to his home and his own people.

It is possible that these Egyptian stories undergird the Joseph story, particularly the story within the story. This observation does not suggest that the author of the Joseph story has used the Egyptian parallels in the same way that he used the story within the story to build his narrative; rather it suggests only that the narrative motifs were part of the culture that gave rise to the Joseph story.

The pattern of the Joseph story puts greater weight on the creativity of the author. To be sure, the author used traditions of storytelling such as the “Tale of the Two Brothers” in the construction of the Joseph story. And the traditions of the promise to the fathers or the strife within the family represent building blocks for the narrative. The Joseph story does reveal its position in the history of Israel’s tradition and, indeed, in the tradition of storytelling in the ANE world. Yet, the significance of the Joseph story lies in its own unique construction with its own unique functions and intention.

E. Genres

The genre of the Joseph story supports this description of the constructional uniqueness in the structure of its narration. A consensus is that the Joseph story is a novella, a genre category that facilitates the original conceptions of an artist rather than the patterns of a traditional folk story handed down from one generation to the next. It may be the case that a tale lies behind this extended story of Joseph, a brief story that would have concentrated on the event that broke the unity of Jacob’s family and then the event that would have brought them together again. A novella is a creative construction by the author, designed to meet the author’s distinctive goals. The author presents not simply what happened long ago and far away, but rather what happened and continues to happen so that the traditions carried by the plot structure capture each new audience. Historical figures and events are caught up into an imaginative fabric produced by the creative activity of the author. Its concern is not to report historical events; it is to build a plot that will hold the audience through its development to a point of climax. And in its development, it reflects the process of life that can give identity to its audience. Indeed, the genre facilitates construction of the plot so that particular facets in the process of life can have an impact on the audience as forceful influences in that quest for identity.

The story within the story (chaps. 39–41) can be isolated from the longer novella and analyzed for itself. The patterns of three scenes in this story depict the ideal shape of the administrator in a household, in a prison, and finally in the royal court. As ideal administrator, the hero emerges as a figure whose virtues can be imitated by all subsequent administrators. Joseph sets the pace for all who exercise responsibility in the organization of a superior. As the ideal whose virtues can be imitated by future generations, this figure functions as the hero of a legend. The story about Joseph, who rises from rags to riches, is a legend designed to show courtiers what responsibility in their profession looks like. It should be clear that classification of this story, so similar to narratives from Egypt, does not define historicity in the Joseph story. The rise from rags to riches may be accurate history describing how one of Israel’s ancestors in fact rose to power in Egypt. It may be a story of magnificent imagination, influenced by similar tales and legends from Egypt. To define the story as legend does not establish or deny historicity for the tradition that Joseph was an Egyptian vizier. It shows simply that the story depicts Joseph as the administrator whose virtues should be imitated by all subsequent administrators.

1. Sitz im Leben. The question about setting for these levels of tradition in the Joseph story is more difficult. The legend shows evidence of setting in the circles of ANE wisdom. The hero at the center of the legend depicts the virtues of wisdom and perception, virtues that enable any person to function as administrator in a royal court, a prison, a complex household (cf. 1 Kgs 3:3–15). That wisdom legend influences the larger novella. Yet, it does not necessitate the conclusion that the novella is also a wisdom story. The setting for the novella is a literary one, the productivity of the author who imposes his own mark onto the shape of the story. That the author knows the cultural constructions of Egypt reveals a cosmopolitan milieu. It might be reasonable to imagine that the author was at home in the enlightenment supported by the royal court, perhaps even the cultural activity of the Solomonic court. That the author had access to a wisdom legend suggests familiarity with wisdom resources. But with the same manner of caution that guards against identification of the author of the story as the Yahwist, so caution guards against ready identification of the setting for the story as a whole as wisdom. At most it can be said that it is a carefully constructed artwork from the hand of an author.

2. Dating. The question of the historical situation for the Joseph novella hides two questions: (1) when did the author of the novella compose the story? and (2) what is the period in which the Joseph story is set? If the Sitz im Leben defined above (the enlightenment of the royal court) has any merit, then the time for the construction of the novella might be set in the Solomonic court or some period shortly after that time when the patronage of the king could have supported such artistic composition. That time, roughly the 10th century b.c., would correspond to the period traditionally identified as the time for the origin of the Yahwist’s production of the whole narrative tradition.

At least two important pieces of extrabiblical evidence have been appealed to in order to date the era in which the Joseph novella is set. A number of documents (most notably, the Amarna Letters) attest to the LB period. These were rootless people living on the fringe of society. It is possible that the OT term Hebrew is related to this widespread term. See HABIRU, HAPIRU. When Potiphar’s wife accuses Joseph of an attack to her husband, she calls him a Hebrew, as if the term were derogatory. One might inquire whether the habirumight have been involved among the people noted by an Egyptian frontier official in a report about passage of people in and out of Egypt during periods of famine. Other documents attest to the invasions of the Hyksos, a Semitic people who usurped political control in Egypt during a period from 1700 to 1550 b.c. See HYKSOS. It is possible that these people were more favorable to people like Joseph and his family, and it is also possible that the reference to a pharaoh “who did not know Joseph” (Exod 1:8) recalls a period when the Hyksos leadership in Egypt was rejected in favor of a new dynasty of native Egyptian kings.

Yet, it is important to note that none of the documents from the 2d millennium mention Joseph and his brothers by name. The documents serve only to establish that the Joseph story builds its plot with careful attention to cultural detail from a particular period. The story employs historical verisimilitude effectively. But the effective description of a culture that did in fact exist does not establish the historicity of the events and personalities set out in the Joseph novella, nor does it deny it. The story has value as a story, not as an object that leads its audience behind the story to some other reality such as the factual, historical events involving Joseph, his brothers, and his father. The same point can be made about the definition of the genre for the story. To define the story as novella does not mean that the description of the events in the plot is simply fiction. Nothing in the designation of the genre denies the possibility that the plot structure reflects historical events. But the designation of the genre does not enable the critic to move behind the story to reconstruct the process of history.

F. Purpose of the Story

The Joseph novella has at least two significant intentions. (1) It intends to depict the ideal power figure. Joseph, the vizier of Egypt, uses his power not only to facilitate the reconciliation of his family and their security during devastating years of famine, but also to preserve people from all the neighboring world who come to him for food. He administers the grain reserves in Egypt without prejudice for one group of people or another. The twin virtues of wisdom and perception become the virtues that all persons in positions of power should have (1 Kgs 3:12; cf. also Ps 105:16–22). (2) The novella also bridges the OT traditions about the patriarchal fathers in Canaan (Genesis 11–38) and those about the Israelites in Egypt (Exodus). One should not conclude from this observation that the Joseph novella has no value in and of itself. Its value within its own construct comes to light particularly in the second stage of its account of movement from Canaan to Egypt. Reconciliation comes to a family torn apart by strife by moving beyond contention to consider prospects for the future. The death report about Joseph, with its bond concerning Joseph’s bones as part of the move back to Canaan (cf. Exod 13:19; Josh 24:32), expands the Joseph tradition into the future stages of Israel’s life on the land. At this point of transition, the Joseph story plays an essential role in the shape of Israel’s traditions. The structure of the Pentateuch/Hexateuch shows a problem not only in the position of the Sinai traditions within the framework of the whole, but also in the relationship between the patriarchal theme and the Exodus theme. What kind of relationship did the patriarchal traditions, with their focus on strife/promise have with the Exodus tradition, with its focus on redemption from oppression? The Joseph novella answers the question. But the answer lies not simply in having Jacob in Canaan become Israel in Egypt. The promise theme from Gen 12:1–3 finds no explicit point of contact here; implicitly it appears in the act of God through Joseph to save a remnant of Jacob’s people. But promise language does not appear.

In place of the promise language, the content of the entire Joseph story revolves around the issue of strife that breaks a family apart. And as a story about strife, the Joseph novella fits the context in the patriarchal theme generally; and the Joseph novella in particular is focused upon that strife. How can a family torn apart by strife be reconciled? Or, more to the point of the theology reflected in Gen 12:1–3, how can a family broken apart by strife serve as a vehicle for God’s blessing? The answer to the question posed for the entire patriarchal theme is that given by Joseph’s leadership: the family turns from the strife in the past to a commitment to each other for a common future. That intimacy is secured in the symbol of the Joseph tradition with the oath to bury Joseph’s bones with the family in Canaan. The familial intimacy lost in the Garden and in the struggles among people during the periods of the Flood and the Tower of Babel could be restored among the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob through their mutual commitment to a common future. Moreover, the power exercised by Joseph over the Egyptians but also over the family facilitates reconciliation. The Joseph story ends on a note of common hope, indeed, a note of union for the future.

Yet, the Joseph tradition does not end uniformly on a note of reconciliation. The death report for Jacob illustrates the continued break in the family and suggests that the final reconciliation in the people of God is projected beyond the patriarchal people to the next generation. The question posed (by the Yahwist?) in the Joseph narrative is thus: Will a reconciliation restore the intimacy of God’s people in the next generation? That facet of manipulation, that ploy of deception, in contrast to the Joseph novella recalls the negative element in the patriarchal sagas and anticipates the negative element in the Moses saga. God acts for the sake of the people. But the people show tragically a negative, rebellious side. In what manner can reconciliation for these people ever occur? For further discussion, see commentaries on Genesis in AB, OTL, BKAT, IBC, and FOTL

Bibliography

Coats, G. W. 1975. From Canaan to Egypt: Structural and Theological Context for the Joseph Story. CBQMS 4. Washington.

Humphreys, W. L. 1970. The Motif of the Wise Courtier in the OT. Diss., Union Theological Seminary.

Rad, G. von. 1971. The Joseph Narrative and Ancient Wisdom. Pp. 292–300 in PHOE.

Seybold, D. A. 1974. Paradox and Symmetry in the Joseph Narrative. Pp. 59–73 in Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives, ed. K. R. R. Gros-Louis, J. S. Ackerman and T. S. Warshaw. Nashville.

George W. Coats

 

Ancestors: Jacob/Israel

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Don Corleone.  Superman. Jimmy Garoppolo. James Bond. Bono.  If these guys were on posters, which would you use to adorn your bedroom walls?  Which would you want as a business partner, or best friend, or a sibling, or to marry your daughter, or vote for president?  Which would you choose as a role model?

As part of our Ancestors series, today we turn our attention to Jacob, one of the grandsons of Abraham. Jacob wasn’t like Abraham.  Everybody seems to like Abraham, for the most part, due to his unwavering faithfulness.  I’m not sure how many people would choose Jacob for their business partner, best friend, sibling, daughter’s husband, or president, let alone role model.  Do you remember his story?  If not, take some time to read it in Genesis 25-35.  Here’s a recap of some of the major stories recorded for us…

 

·       When Jacob was in utero, he wrestled with his fraternal twin, grabbing his heel as his brother, Esau, entered the world first, becoming the older brother.

·       When the brothers were older, Jacob took advantage of his brother’s hunger and swindled the birthright for a bowl of stew.  Of course, that meant Esau went along with it – both choices less than ideal.  The younger brother acquired the oldest brother’s birthright.  Remember that – it will happen again.

·       When their father, Isaac, was getting older and weaker, he told Esau to hunt some wild game and make a stew for him, at which point the father would sign over his portfolio to his oldest son.  Esau neglected to tell his dad about forfeiting his birthright (and apparently Jacob never mentioned it, either), so off he went to hunt down a deer.  Rebekah, Jacob’s mother, overheard the conversation and helped Jacob trick his dad into thinking he was Esau in order to receive the blessing.  Needless to say, Isaac felt duped and Esau was enraged, likely ready to hunt down a shifty brother for his next kill.  The younger brother acquired the oldest brother’s right to the estate and the blessing of the patriarch.  Remember that – it will show up again.

·       Jacob fled for his life by running to his Uncle Laban’s ranch.  While there, he fell in love with Laban’s younger daughter, Rachel (his cousin!), and worked a deal to acquire her as his wife in exchange for seven years of labor.  On the wedding night, however, Laban sent his older, less becoming daughter, Leah, into the bed to welcome an unsuspecting, likely drunk groom.  Upon waking the next morning, he discovered that he’d been bamboozled.  Now irrevocably married to Leah, he agreed to work another seven years for Rachel (again).  I guess we know which side of the family the deceptive genes came from…

·       After nearly twenty years of service to Laban, making him a wealthy man, Jacob asked for his due wages.  Laban, who ripped him off many-a-time, proposed a settlement: Jacob could have all but the pure white goats.  All the speckled, striped, and black goats and sheep would be Jacob’s. Realizing that Jacob was his golden-egg-laying goose, Laban took all of the current non-white animals for himself, so that any non-white ones would have to be bread from white ones. In other words, Laban ripped him off again.  Yet the 4-H competition was on!  Jacob, true to form, used a folklore trick to insure he walked away with way more animals than Laban. He was now pretty rich, and ready to return to his homeland.

·       Esau was still in the homeland, however, and heard of Jacob’s homecoming.  He gathered up 400 of his men (he was rich) for a welcoming party (?!).  News of this show of force made its way to Jacob.  Knowing he needed to cut a deal, and perhaps save his own skin, he had his entire household sleep on one side of the river while he slept on the other (so he could escape more easily, perhaps?).  The next day he paraded his holdings as if to announce to his older brother that he came with a peace offering.  It turned into a peaceful reconciliation where Esau welcomed Jacob back, and only took the gifts after much insistence from his younger brother.

·       Jacob’s character traits continued to bleed through his life story.  As his father Isaac did to him, he showed favoritism to one of his sons over the others (the second-to-youngest), causing great enmity between the siblings.

Jacob was no Superman who was incapable of being swayed toward dishonesty. In contrast, Jacob was a complex character, a very human being who was a strong mixture of all that is beautiful and wonderful and also all that is self-serving and destructive.  Jacob, not Abraham, is the person God wanted the Jewish people to see themselves in.  For this reason, after that mysterious wrestling match the night before reuniting with his brother, that WWE-messenger-representative of God gave him a new name: Israel, which translates wrestles with God.  Hmmm.

He didn’t rename Abraham to a name that translates “faithful to God” for the national identity.  Nope.  The name of the nation would be forever tied to “wrestling with God.”  Why do you suppose this is the way things played out?  What do you suppose it meant for the Israelites in Babylonian captivity?  What might it mean now for all people of faith who are trying to follow the God we see in Genesis?

Renaming Jacob to Israel was just brilliant.  The name would forever encourage those who “own” it to keep perspective, realizing that, like Jacob, they are not innocent, but are capable of all of the less flattering attitudes and behaviors displayed in their namesake.  The cycle of Israel’s history was one of choosing to be faithful followed by fading faithfulness followed by painful consequences that come from drawing from a source that is not God, not Love.  In time, Israel as a whole would struggle their way to repentance – turning toward – God, who was always faithful to re-engage their covenant relationship.

Personally, we would do well to remember our faith’s poster child as well.  While we look to Jesus as the model of our faith, we may be wise to keep a picture of Jacob/Israel nearby.  We need the same perspective this provided for the Jewish people.  Such perspective hopefully engenders a humility that will keep us honest with the tension between our self-centered tendencies that can so often lead to destructive ends and the Way of the Spirit of God which is the source of life, love, restoration, creation – all the fruits that are beautiful and good.  What can we do to be consistently aware of the wrestling match about which we seem to be oblivious much of the time, and therefore inclined toward less than ideal choices?

Recently, I was listening to a well-respected meditation teacher who shared a tip she incorporated into her personal practice many years ago.  Anybody who meditates knows that one of the problems is that our minds can go a little crazy.  We can be flooded with an endless assault of thoughts and ideas, or even as we sit and try to be still, something may distract us and our mind is off to the races.  Focusing on breathing is the foundation for a lot of meditative practice.  Simply calming ourselves with such focus does amazing things for us mentally, emotionally, and physically.  All by focusing attention on the breath. The instructor employs a simple technique to stay focused on her breath.  When she inhales and exhales, focusing on her breath, she simply says (in her mind), “breath.”  When her mind wanders (and she recognizes it) she simply says, “not breath.”  So simple, yet so effective at staying on track with something that generates so many positive benefits.

The Hebrew and Greek words that give us the word Spirit are the same that give us the word for breath.  I wonder if we would be well-served by the meditation teacher’s little trick, paying attention to our lives as we live day to day, hour by hour and moment by moment, identifying whether or not we are focusing on Breath (as in the Spirit of God) or something much less life-giving.  Such a simple practice that I think has the capacity to create a deep mindfulness that may just help us stay connected to God and all that God touches.  I believe this is what Jesus learned to do, which then shaped him into the man he became.

But how do we know if what is guiding us is Breath or Not-Breath?  Asking the question is likely the most important first step.  Self-awareness is really important if we hope for the kind of holistic well-being that is central to the salvation proclaimed by Jesus and offered by God from the very beginning.  Having Jacob as a negative example to use for reference helps.  How are we driven by our own selfish interests which so often translate into behavior that is truly unloving toward others and ultimately unloving toward ourselves?  How do we deceive ourselves even as we deceive others? Are we aware of our resident potential for unhealth?  Jacob’s selfish desire led him to manipulate his brother and lie to his father.  He was sneaky and self-serving.  I wonder how this played out in every aspect of his life?  I bet it did in myriad ways.

Jesus assured us that we are not made to become legalistic robots.  Later, Paul declared that such an approach would actually lead to death, not life.  Jesus said that the whole of the Jewish law (which was given to guide toward life) could be fulfilled in focusing on just two commands: love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.  So simple, and yet so profound.  Neither Esau nor Jacob operated out of either focus of love in the dinner transactions for birthright or blessing.  Who knows how things might have turned out if they did?  When we love God – which really means that we root ourselves in the Breath, aligning ourselves with the Spirit of God, being motivated by what motivates God, being animated with God’s Person, we are changed.  We see ourselves and others differently.  Loving our neighbor becomes natural, effortless, and generous.  Augustine thought that if we simply focused on loving God, everything else will take care of itself: “Love God and do what you please.”

Are you aware of what you are breathing?  Are you conscious of when it is Breath or Not-Breath?  Where is there a lack of wholeness in your life?  Perhaps that’s one indicator of an area that needs some new breathing…

There are tools that help with this.  The Enneagram Institute offers an assessment that helps you identify your personality according to nine different types (which expand to 27 variations).  You can invest $12 for their comprehensive assessment (the best), or get an app on your phone/tablet – the EnneaApp is one of the best as it links you to the Enneagram Institute.  One of the great gifts offered by the Enneagram is a fairly accurate picture of what we look like when we are healthy, average, and unhealthy.  Knowing what these zones look like provide references for our particular lives.  Knowing what unhealthy looks like, and being aware of it, I am more likely to catch it when I pull a “Jacob maneuver”.  On the upside, knowing the traits of health for my type serve to guide me like the North Star toward freedom, especially since health in this regard is deeply tied to maturity, wellbeing, shalom.

Incorporating the Prayer of Examen with this turbo-charges our capacity for self-reflection, awareness, and growth.  This daily practice of simply checking in with ourselves is so helpful, especially when combined with regular meditation that helps us quiet ourselves enough to be able to really pay attention.

So, Israel, your life is behind you and before you. Who have you been?  Who do you want to be?

 

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns,  brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginning by the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary (Stanley D. Walters):

 

JACOB NARRATIVE. Jacob was the younger son of Isaac and Rebekah, twin brother of Esau, and father of the 12 sons after whom were named the 12 tribes of Israel. He is the central figure in the cycle of stories in Gen 25:19–35:29 and reappears as a lesser figure in the Joseph stories (Genesis 37–50). In separate popular etymologies, the Heb name yaʿăqōb is connected with Heb ʿāqēb, “heel,” because Jacob was born clutching the heel of his brother Esau (Gen 25:26), and with the verb ʿāqab, “cheat,” because Esau said that Jacob had cheated him twice (27:36). The name may be a shortened form of Heb yʿqb-ʾl, “God protects,” a name known from extrabiblical sources (Noth 1953). Jacob later received the name “Israel” as a mark of his struggle (32:29) and piety (35:10), and his descendants were later identified by this name (“children of Israel”).

Biblical Jacob is unknown outside the Bible, although the general congruence of the patriarchal narratives with customs and artifacts known from archaeology to belong to the 2d millennium (especially the material from Nuzi and Mari) has sometimes been used to support his historicity. Later scrutiny called much of that argument into question (Van Seters 1975; Thompson 1974) on the grounds that the alleged parallels were inexact or unrepresentative, or had been misunderstood. For example, the claim that possession of household idols (Gen 31:19) helped constitute the family of Jacob as a legitimate clan has been given up (Selman 1980: 110). Some writers have refused even to attempt historical reconstructions (HAIJ, 79). Where historical questions remain open, Jacob has been dated to the 1900s b.c.e. (Bimson 1980: 84), and a number of extrabiblical customs are seen to retain their pertinence (Selman 1980: 125–229; see also Morrison 1983).

Until recently, critical scholarship assumed that the documentary hypothesis was a key to understanding the Jacob material, namely, strands of J and E with later additions or redaction by P (Van Seters 1975 dates J to the Exile rather than to the time of Solomon; CMHE, 293–325, and Hendel 1987 hold to the early oral-epic origin of J E, enlarged and ordered by P late in the Exile). Noth had postulated an East-Jordan Jacob and a West-Jordan Jacob, the latter stories being secondary and less interesting (HPT, 89ff.). Farmer (1978) approaches the story as folklore, focusing on how trickster figures such as Jacob and Samson, operating from a position of weakness, trick others or are themselves tricked. Oden (1983) employs data from the field of anthropology.

Meanwhile a plethora of holistic literary treatments have appeared, based on a reassessment of the form and style of “narrative” (Frei 1974; Alter 1981) and reflecting a fundamental hermeneutic shift. In general, this approach does not deny the composite character of the Jacob material, but downplays the cycle’s prehistory in favor of questions of meaning, and it sets aside historical questions as inappropriate to the material (Fokkelman 1975; Clines 1978; Buss 1979; Thompson 1987). Such is the general perspective of the present article, which is more about the Jacob cycle than about Jacob and is literary rather than biographical in method.

A.   Structure of the Jacob Cycle

B.   The Cycle’s Stories

C.   Meaning

A. Structure of the Jacob Cycle

The stories of the Jacob cycle have been artfully arranged to gather around Jacob’s return to the land of his birth, Canaan, after a hasty flight and long residence abroad to avoid his brother’s revenge. They are thus informed by a dual tension: (1) How can the duplicitous Jacob become the father of God’s people? and (2) How can he inherit the promise made to Abraham and Isaac if he leaves the land which God has given to them? The fundamental theme of the cycle has to do with the life and character of “Israel,” that is, the people of God. The Jacob stories are about the essence and meaning of a people (Thompson 1987: 39–40). The biblical text presents the Jacob stories in a concentric pattern which has been independently observed by several scholars (Fishbane 1975; see also Fokkelman 1975: 240; Gammie 1979; otherwise Hendel 1987: 144, n. 20) and which is signalled both by cross-references in vocabulary and by thematic similarities. The cycle breaks into 2 equal halves at Gen 30:24–25, each having 7 matching segments, presented thematically in exact reverse order. The entire cycle is bracketed at beginning and end by genealogies of the 2 sons who stand outside the line of promise, Ishmael (25:12–18) and Esau (chap. 36), so that Jacob’s role as the bearer of the promise is unmistakable.

The Unchosen Son (Ishmael) (25:12–18)

A.   Beginings. Birth, prediction, early conflict between Jacob and Esau (25:19–34)

      B.   Relations with indigenous population (26:1–22)

            C.   Blessing obtained [“He took away (lāqaḥ) my bĕrākâ” (27:35–36)] (27:1–40)

                  D.   Jacob’s flight from Esau (27:41–28:5)

                     E.   Encounter with God’s agents (28:10–22)

                        F.   Arival in Haran: Rachel, Laban (29:1–30)

                           G.      Children: Jacob acquires a family (30:1–24)

Jacob’s return to Canaan begins as soon as Joseph is born

                                 Flocks: Jacob aquires wealth (30:25–43)

                           Departure from Haran: Rachel, Laban (31:1–32:1—Eng 31:1–55)

                        Encounter with God’s agent (32:2–3—Eng 32:1–2)

                     Jacob’s approach to Esau (32:4–33—Eng 32:3–32)

               Blessing returned [“Accept (lāqaḥ) my bĕrākâ” (33:11)] (33:1–20)

         Telations with indigenous population (chap. 34)

   Endings. Death, fulfillment, Jacob and Esau together (chap. 35)

The Unchosen Son (Esau) (chap. 36)

The 2 segments on Esau’s wives which frame segment C (26:34–35; 28:6–9) seem to stand outside the above topical descriptions.

Some of the thematic correspondences are especially clear. For example, segments B/B´ both deal with relations between the people of the promise and the indigenous residents of Canaan, in sharply contrasting modes. In terms of narrative sequence, however, B is out of order (since the twins have not yet been born, 26:11), and belongs to the 20-year period of Rebekah’s barrenness (25:20, 26); its chronological dislocation was necessary for it to function topically in the cycle. Placement and juxtaposition are among the writer’s major techniques.

This topical match between the segments in each of the halves is confirmed by several striking cross-references in writing. The numinous experiences in E/E´ each feature God’s “agents” (or “angels”), an expression recurring nowhere else in the Bible. The same 2 sections also use the Hebrew verb pāqaʿ, “encounter,” which occurs nowhere else in the sense of “reach a place,” suggesting that the writer chose the unusual verb at 28:10 in order to effect the linkage with E´. Again, the occurrence of bĕrākâ “blessing” in the antonymic expressions “he took away your/my blessing” and “accept my blessing,” both with the verb lāqaḥ, “take,” is the thread connecting segments C/C´.

Thus the cycle is not only a narrative sequence with its own inner movement, but an artful arrangement which invites the reader to compare each segment with its complement later (or earlier) in the sequence.

To illustrate: segments A/A´ clearly open and close the cycle. Certain information is repeated from earlier in Genesis in order to give the cycle a proper beginning: Isaac’s birth (21:1–5), marriage (24:67), and Rebekah’s family (24:15, 29), adding the characterization “Aramean.” An oracle predicts that Rebekah’s children will become two “nations,” one submissive to the other. The twins are born, and both their prenatal struggle (v 22) and Jacob’s manipulation of Esau (vv 27–34) prefigure Jacob’s character as a loner who lives by his wits at the expense of other people, as well as the bad blood between the twins (chap. 27) and the later hostility between Israel and Edom (36:1, 8–9, 19; cf. Ps 137:7; Ezekiel 35).

A´ echoes the theme of A in conclusion: the deaths of Isaac, Jacob’s wife Rachel, and Rebekah’s nurse Deborah; Jacob’s 12 sons are listed by name and mother, a “nation”; the twins, having come together (chap. 33), stand at their father’s grave; and Jacob appears as a religious reformer (vv 1–7) and recipient of the full divine promise (vv 9–25).

B. The Cycle’s Stories

Segment A (25:19–34). Jacob and Esau were born as a result of Isaac’s intercession with God, because Rebekah (like Sarah before her and Rachel after her) was barren; offspring are the gift of God. Among the Bible’s several husbands of barren wives, only Isaac prayed for a change (contrast Jacob in Gen 30:2), marking him as a man of piety and intimating a synergism which runs throughout the whole cycle.

Rebekah’s only words in this section arise out of the prenatal jostling of the twins, but the Hebrew sentence is incomplete: “If so, why am I …?” The text leaves Rebekah musing uncertainly about the events which her pregnancy portends; hers is an unfinished question, a verbless and ambiguous reflection which prefigures her incomplete and partial role in the cycle as a whole, just as the jostling forecasts enmity between the twins.

The oracle which she sought disclosed that her children would become separate peoples of unequal power, and that the nation springing from the older would be submissive to the younger. By identifying the sons with the peoples who sprang from them, the oracle at once implies a collective as well as an individual reading of the stories that follow: They recount the outward and inner movements of Jacob, the son of Isaac and Rebekah; but they refer also to the movements, the calling, and the character of the people named “Israel” after him. A collective reference is also suggested by the allusions associated with the naming of Esau: His hirsute appearance at birth (Heb śēʿār, 25:25; 27:11) alludes to his country Seir (33:16), while his ruddy color (Heb ʾadmônı̂, v 25) and preference for red stew (Heb hāʾādōm, v 30) refer to his region Edom. By contrast, the name Jacob is explained with reference to personal behavior, since the collective reference belongs especially to his second name, Israel.

The narrative moves from the birth of the twins directly to an event showing that their relationships as adults realized the conflict portended by prenatal and birth events. Jacob took advantage of Esau’s fatigue and hunger by requiring him to trade his birthright for some food. The cycle has thus barely opened when Esau has ceded to Jacob the bĕkōrâ, his inheritance rights as firstborn. In a rare show of appraisal, the text says that Esau “spurned” his birthright. Yet, Jacob’s behavior was hardly exemplary: His hand was clearly on Esau’s heel, and the pairing of this episode with the birth story types Jacob’s character as the grasping and manipulative.

This falls short of expectations, as compared with Abraham and Isaac and in view of Jacob’s subsequent role as the father of the Israelite people. The dissonance is even in the text, for in the parallel description of the twins’ way of life (25:27), opposite the assessment “Esau was a skillful hunter,” we read, “Jacob was a blameless man” (Heb ʾı̂š tām, exactly as Job 1:8; 2:3). Translations use attenuated words (“plain” KJV, “quiet” RSV, “mild” JPS), but tām clearly implies moral excellence. This, then—moral excellence—is to be Israel’s vocation; and the same story which asserts it so boldly goes on to show Jacob as something other than blameless. The disparity introduces a tension at the beginning of the cycle which is not fully relaxed until the end.

Segment B (26:1–33). This story belongs chronologically to the time before the twins were born, but its placement within the cycle gives it pertinence to him. It opens with a direct reference to Abraham’s behavior in an earlier famine (v 1: the reference is thematic, not chronological, since a minimum of 64 years in narrative time separates the 2 [10 years 16:3; 14 years 16:16 and 21:5; 40 years 26:20]). As Abraham had done, Isaac started out for Egypt, but in the “Philistine” city of Gerar, God appeared to warn against leaving the land and to reiterate to Isaac the Abrahamic promise of land and progeny (vv 2–5).

Isaac’s anxiety over their safety in Gerar proved to be unfounded (vv 6–11), and the juxtaposition of this episode to v 5’s prolix “my charge, my commandments, my laws, my teachings,” suggests that residence in the land also required obedience to the divine pattern for life. To “remain in the land” is synonymous with obedience to Torah (Ps 37:3).

The use of “Philistine” suggests the story’s rise at a time when relations with the Philistines were a problem to Israel. In the cycle, however, they typify the land’s indigenous residents, because Isaac visits them as a stranger and is subject to pressure from them.

Isaac’s prosperity under divine blessing led to envy and to contention over water rights; he had to move several times, thereby surrendering valuable excavated wells in the process, before finding “space” (vv 12–22; “Rehoboth” is symbolic). Following this sacrificial determination to occupy the land amicably, another divine appearance (at the pilgrim site of Beer-sheba) reiterated the promise of progeny, and added the promise of God’s presence (v 24, unique to the Jacob cycle, see also 28:15, 20; 35:3).

A final threatening approach of the Philistines resulted in a treaty (Heb bĕrı̂t “covenant”) between the 2 groups, sealed with a feast and the exchange of oaths (vv 23–33). The treaty episode interrupts the account of digging one more well (vv 25b, 32), so that the servant’s report, “We have found water,” takes on symbolic importance: Water is life, especially in the arid Negeb where Beer-sheba is located, and so also is the treaty life. Isaac has shown that it is possible to occupy the land of promise, to observe Torah, to prosper, and to maintain good relations with the other residents. He has found life. The other treaty, between God and Abraham, is also in the background: Although the word bĕrı̂t is not used in the promise reports of chap. 26, it has been used in the earlier promises which are now being extended to Isaac (15:8; chap. 17); it, too, is life.

This segment on indigenous relations stands between 2 sections (A and C) on relations between Jacob and Esau, which are marked as a pair by common themes (e.g., Jacob outwits Esau to his own advantage) and by similar key words, such as bĕkōrâ and bĕrākâ (“birthright” and “blessing”). These words not only sound alike but are visually similar on the written page—bkrh and brkh—being distinguished only by the transposition of the middle 2 consonants.

This placement both links Isaac’s example with the subsequent B´, a different mode of engagement with the people of the land, and unmistakably juxtaposes Isaac’s style of relationship to Jacob’s. The juxtaposition announces, “Jacob may be living by strife and deceit, but if you want to see life under the promise, in the middle of all the ambiguity of threatening sociopolitical relationships, take a look at Isaac.” The story also stresses the need for the recipients of the promise to maintain residence in the land, something which will add additional tension in segment C.

Segment C (27:1–40). In the second of the paired stories of dealings between Jacob and Esau, Rebekah led Jacob to deceive his father into bestowing the patriarchal blessing—bĕrākâ—on him instead of on Esau the firstborn. Jacob disguised himself as Esau, and, although the blind Isaac was never free from suspicion, the ruse worked: The father ate his favorite dish and conferred on Jacob a promise of agricultural prosperity and hegemony over other people, including his brother (vv 28–29). Only when Esau actually showed up to receive the blessing did Isaac discover the trick; the blessing was already Jacob’s, but Isaac gave Esau a similar promise of bounty along with the promise that he should eventually free himself from Jacob’s yoke (vv 39–40).

This detailed and extended story—7 times as long as the bĕkōrâ—shows Jacob firmly in the legal and financial position of the firstborn. Both stories involve manipulation, and both involve meals, to which Isaac’s amicable covenant meal with Abimelech is a pointed contrast. They offer complementary explanations of Jacob’s priority, the shorter being more favorable to Jacob (there is no outright deception, and Esau “spurns” his birthright), the latter being marked by a deliberate and callous duplicity involving Rebekah as prime mover (the verbs in vv 14–17 have Rebekah, not Jacob, as their subject). Jacob’s impersonation of Esau symbolizes his priority: He dresses in Esau’s clothes and simulates Esau’s tomentose appearance (vv 15–16); he smells of the outdoors (v 27); he twice says, “I am your firstborn” (vv 19, 24). He has taken Esau’s place.

The Masoretic editors of the Hebrew text have signalled this in another way in Isaac’s reply to Jacob’s address in v 18. Isaac says “Yes?” (Heb hinnennı̂), a common locution normally spelled hinnēnı̂, but with 2 doubled “n”s only here and in Gen 22:7 where Isaac’s address to Abraham and the father’s reply are in the identical words. In both stories the father replies to the younger but favored son.

This linkage also highlights the tension which the second episode of cheating introduces into the cycle. In Gen 22:7 Isaac was the obedient and compliant son, enquiring about sacrificial procedures; but in Gen 27:18 Jacob—equally born by divine intervention—says, “I am Esau, your firstborn.” How can such mendacity inherit and bear the promise? And indeed, the fathers’ replies in each case signal this, for Abraham said to Isaac, “Yes, my son,” but Isaac said to Jacob, “Yes, who are you, my son?” Thus, one of the central themes of the whole cycle of stories comes to expression—the unclear identity of Jacob.

The story expresses this ambiguity in other ways. In talking to Rebekah about the deception, Jacob offered descriptions of both himself and Esau (v 11), in which there are wordplays pointing beyond the immediate situation. Esau, said Jacob, is a hairy man (Heb ʾı̂š śāʿir). The adjective is a homophone of śāʿı̂r “he-goat, buck,” and thus alludes playfully to Esau’s outdoor life and to the skins of kids with which Jacob disguised himself (v 16). I, said Jacob, am a smooth man (Heb ʾı̂š ḥālāq). The same adjective occurs elsewhere of deceptive speech (Prov 5:3; 26:28). Who are you, Jacob? By his own mouth, he is not a “blameless man” (25:27), but a “slippery man.”

Although Isaac could give the patriarchal blessing to only one of his sons, he also gave Esau a promise very similar in that it predicted the same agricultural boons—the fat of the land and the dew of heaven (in reverse order, vv 28 and 39). Translations usually obscure this similarity, since the preposition min can mean both “have a share in” and “be far from,” but the reader of the story in Hebrew may wonder if there is still a chance for Esau to recoup his position, especially since Isaac told him he would throw off Jacob’s yoke.

Segment D (27:41–28:5). Esau’s anger at a second supplanting (v 36) made it necessary for Jacob to flee, and his mother arranged his departure for her own country where he could stay with her brother Laban (vv 41–45), representing the trip to Isaac as required so that Jacob should not marry a local woman (27:46–28:5). Classical literary criticism has seen these two sets of arrangements as duplicate accounts from different sources: The former, which calls Rebekah’s homeland “Haran,” from JE, and the latter, using “Paddan-aram” from P. But each paragraph plays its own role in the movement of the narrative.

This sly provision for Jacob’s sudden need to leave home is the cycle’s final glimpse of Rebekah. Her last words follow the “if … then …” pattern of her first (25:22), but here the sentence is complete: lāmmâ lı̂ ḥayyı̂m “What good will life be to me?” (v 46). These 2 sentences—freighted with import by their position—show Rebekah preoccupied with her own feelings and well-being. Her single significant action has been to engineer the deception by which her second-born son Jacob, instead of Esau her firstborn, received Isaac’s blessing. Her way of life has affinities with that of her brother Laban (29:15–30; 31:6–7, 14–15, 41–42), and Jacob’s own slippery character displays a family resemblance.

This way of life is new in the Genesis narratives. Apart from their lies about their wives (chaps. 12, 20, 26), both Abraham and Isaac are exemplary persons, and in chap. 26 Isaac is conscientious and sacrificial in his relations with the herdsmen of Gerar. The term “Aramean,” found first in Rebekah’s genealogy (25:20; 28:5) and elsewhere applied to Laban alone (31:20, 24), while obviously denoting the N Syrian region of their origin as “Aram,” seems also to connote this behavioral pattern in the Haran side of the family; “Aramean” is new in the Jacob cycle, even though all the other genealogical information of 25:20 is already found in 24:15, 28.

It is thus a central tension within the cycle whether Jacob will actually become the chosen leader which later Israelites knew him to be. His departure from Canaan raises the possibility that he has abandoned the land promised to Abraham and which Isaac has resolutely occupied at great cost (chap. 26), and has adopted another way of life altogether. Deut 26:5 describes him as “an Aramean given up for lost.”

Before Jacob left, Isaac gave another blessing, this one clearly linked to earlier traditions in Genesis by the words “fertile and numerous” (28:3), alluding to Gen 1:28 and 9:1: Like Adam and Noah, Jacob is to be the start of something new and big, becoming “an assembly of peoples.” Isaac went on (28:4) to link Jacob with the Abrahamic promise and possession of the land, something new in the narrative and especially incongruous in view of his imminent departure. Unlikely as it seems, Jacob has been marked as the bearer of the promise.

At this point, Esau does not look as bad as later tradition painted him (especially Heb 12:16, which called him “irreligious”), since he has been victimized in both stories of rivalry with Jacob. His rehabilitation is further suggested by the 2 snippets of information about his wives which frame the deception story (26:34–35 and 28:6–9). The first reports that his Hittite wives “were a source of bitterness” to his parents; the second notes that he married Mahalath, the daughter of Ishmael, Isaac’s half-brother. Moreover, Esau remains in Canaan, and the promise concerns the land (28:4).

This, then, is the situation: Jacob has spurned the Abrahamic promise and has decamped the land which the promise conveyed to Abraham’s offspring; Esau has received a patriarchal promise only slightly less complete than Jacob’s, and has married within the Abrahamic family in order to please his parents; he is on the land. The narrative retains Esau more as a peer than as a subordinate, and everything points toward his regaining his lost privileged position. Naturally, the informed reader knows that this did not happen, but the story’s willingness to let this prospect arise heightens the tension which Jacob’s moral deficiencies and his flight have already raised.

Segment E (28:10–22). In a brief but pivotal episode—the only event from his journey to the north—Jacob dreamed of a stairway between earth and heaven, with God’s agents going up and down on it. The Lord stood beside him and promised him the land, innumerable offspring, and the divine presence to protect and return him to the land (vv 13–15). Jacob awoke, recognizing the numinous character of both the place and his experience, and responded by setting up a stone pillar and naming the site Bethel, “God’s House” (vv 16–19). He reciprocated the promise by a conditional vow, “the Lord shall be my God” (v 21).

The stairway (traditionally “ladder”; the word does not occur elsewhere in the Bible) is a symbol of the accessibility of God’s help and presence, a theme distinctive to the Jacob stories. It is not a means for human ascent; God’s agents go up and come down. The stairway is like a fireman’s pole: when people are in need, helpers come down to render it. Their place is not in heaven, but on earth, where the divine presence is required.

In Jacob’s life, this event is epochal because (a) it is the first time that the divine promise which had come to both Abraham and Isaac now comes to Jacob, directly from God (earlier only from Isaac in Gen 28:3–4), and because (b) it is the first time that Jacob shows any interest whatsoever in the religious side of his family tradition (previously only focusing on priority over Esau). The divine initiative arrested him as he was in flight from his land and his people, and Jacob was sufficiently moved to acknowledge God’s presence and to perform religious acts.

The sections 28:6–9 and 10–22 interrupt what would otherwise be a summary account of Jacob’s trip to Haran (28:5 plus 29:1; 28:10 duplicates 28:5), suggesting that each element had an earlier and different context. The genealogical interests of vv 6–9 have led many scholars to associate it with P, and the use of “Elohim” in segment E´ connects it with E. The Bethel story certainly functions as an etiology of a sacred place and location of a sanctuary where the faithful later came to worship and pay tithes (v 22). But its incorporation into the Jacob cycle has enlarged its function and meaning. Particularly the use of “YHWH” (vv 13, 16, 21) shows the story’s links with Israel’s distinctive religion, and gives to Jacob’s words in v 21 a confessional character which marks the event as a kind of conversion, occurring just as he seems firmly to have closed the door on becoming what later generations knew he became: the ancestor of Israel, God’s people.

At the same time, Jacob’s vow falls short of hearty embrace of the promise. Its conditionality (“If …” v 20) is confirmed by its content. In reiterating it (vv 20–21a), Jacob omits all references to the land, progeny, expansion, and the families of the earth—essential to the patriarchal promise (vv 12–14); he is preoccupied with personal well-being (he adds food and clothes), and he alters (v 21) the promise of v 15 in subtle ways (e.g., “I [the Lord] will bring you back” becomes “if I [Jacob] return,” and “this land” becomes “my father’s house”), all of which shows that Jacob wishes to retain the initiative and is more interested in the family estate than the land. In short, although the Bethel event marks Jacob’s awakening to God and to the promise, he is still a “smooth man,” and his vows appear to be as much a bargain as a commitment.

Segment F (29:1–30). Jacob’s 20-year residence in Haran (31:38, 41) is recounted in the stories of Segments F–G and G´–F´. He married, serving his mother’s brother 14 years as a bride price; 11 sons and a daughter were born to him by 4 women; and he eventually became wealthy in livestock and servants. His relationships with Laban (in whom Jacob almost met his match in craftiness) dominate these sections. The initial encounter was apparently cordial (vv 13–14), and the final scene is of a covenant meal between them (31:51–54), but in between the 2 men circle warily, each looking to his own advantage.

Jacob’s first contact with his mother’s people was at a well where shepherds were gathered with their flocks. As they spoke, Laban’s daughter Rachel arrived with his flock. The well (v 2) introduces a double entendre (Prov 5:15; Cant 4:15): The large stone on the mouth of the well intimates that Rachel will be hard to get; when Jacob, singlehanded, rolls the stone from the mouth, we have not only a show of masculine strength, but also an intimation that Jacob will marry her. There is no other example in the Bible of a man kissing a woman (v 11).

Jacob stayed with Laban, and after a month proposed to work 7 years in order to marry Rachel. Laban agreed, but when the time was up he substituted his older and less-attractive daughter Leah, a deception Jacob did not discover until the next morning. When Jacob protested, Laban pled local custom, and offered to give him Rachel at the same time, in exchange for another 7 years of work. Thus Jacob came to have 2 wives, each of whom had a maid.

There is an ironic fitness in Laban’s deception. Jacob’s reach for the rights of the firstborn son (Esau, Heb bĕkōr27:32) got him the firstborn daughter (Heb bĕkı̂râ 29:26), as well. He, eschewing the place of the younger son (sāʿı̂r25:23) was at first denied the younger daughter (śeʿı̂râ 29:26). The man who imposed this sentence was the brother of the woman who led Jacob to deceive Isaac. Jacob’s befuddlement is so complete that he did not discover the substitution even in intercourse.

Jacob and Rachel initially have a romantic and tender relationship. She was shapely and beautiful (v 17), and Jacob’s first 7 years’ work seemed like only a few days because of his love for her (v 20). To fall in love is to become vulnerable, and in this relationship the loner began to emerge from his private world of wit and manipulation. As the stairway dream signalled a new direction in Jacob’s relation to God and the promise, so does his love for Rachel in his relationships with other people.

His relationship with Laban was more complex. The uncle embraced and kissed the nephew (v 13), as Jacob and Esau were to do later (33:4), and regarded Jacob as an insider who might suitably marry his daughter (v 19). But Laban’s exclamation, “You are truly my bone and my flesh” (v 14) has as much to do with Jacob’s duplicity as it does with blood, since Laban said this after Jacob had told him all that had happened (v 13), presumably including the reason for his flight from home. The young Laban had been remarked for his cupidity (Gen 24:22, 30–31); the fact that Jacob brought no rich gifts with him did not save him from the mature Laban’s canny eye. Fourteen years’ work would buy many gold bracelets.

Segment G (29:31–30:24). The narrative next turns to the building up of Jacob’s family through the birth of 12 children (including his daughter Dinah). The names of the 11 sons have popular etymologies attached to them which, for the most part, have to do with the wives’ standing with one another or with Jacob. The sense of rivalry and even hostility is very strong (Levi 29:34, Naphtali 30:8, Joseph 30:23), reflecting the reality of a polygamous household and perhaps also of tribal rivalries in later years. None of the names is distinctly theophoric, but God/the Lord is mentioned in most of the explanations.

The Lord favored Leah because she was unloved, and consequently she bore 4 sons. Rachel became envious and burst out at Jacob, “Give me children, or I shall die,” a peremptory demand which recalls Rebekah’s brusque rhetoric (25:22; 27:46). Jacob’s response (v 2) was in kind, and Rachel then offered him her maid Bilhah, using identical words to Sarai’s (Gen 16:2), “that I also may acquire a family through her” (v 3). The story thus compares her not only with Leah but tacitly with her husband’s grandmother, Israel’s primal progenitress, as well. Two sons were born to Jacob through Bilhah, and 2 more through Leah’s maid Zilpah. Rachel sought fecundity with an aphrodisiac (v 14), the only result of which was that Jacob returned to Leah, who bore him 2 more sons (vv 15–20).

Rachel thus remained childless, although Jacob had 10 sons by the other 3 women of the household. The birth of her son Joseph marks the midpoint of the Jacob cycle, and came about because “God remembered Rachel” (v 22). The expression is rich in associations (Noah, at the height of the flood [Gen 8:1], or the subsequent birth of the prophet Samuel in answer to Hannah’s prayer [1 Sam 1:19]), and implies God’s redemptive attention to people’s needs, especially in connection with the covenant (Exod 2:24). With 12 children, Jacob has grown into a complete family. (Dinah is the 12th; the 12th son, Benjamin, was born later on Canaanite soil [35:16–19] although the concluding summary of the cycle lists him as one of the 12 sons born in Paddan-Aram [35:22b–26]). Jacob can now return home.

Segment G´ (30:25–43). But before Jacob was actually to go back, his growth as a family must be matched by his wealth. This and the preceding section—the 2 innermost sections of the cycle—match each other well: The competitiveness and trickery (30:15) of the wives is matched by Laban’s new tricks; the growth of both groups does not come without difficulty, but in the end is ample. Since the Israelite people were later often known as a “flock” under God’s care (e.g., Ezekiel 34; Pss 77:21; 78:20–22; 79:13; 96:6–7; 100:3), the collocation is especially apt; figurally the 2 groups are the same.

Jacob asked Laban’s permission to go back to his homeland: The required time had been more than served (v 26). But when Laban urged him to stay in his service and to name his wages, Jacob proposed to take all the irregularly colored animals out of Laban’s flocks as a nuclear flock of his own. The wily uncle agreed, but at once culled and moved those animals, so that Jacob still had nothing. Jacob responded with certain obscure procedures by which Laban’s good flocks bred miscolored offspring; these then became Jacob’s, in accordance with the agreement. In the end, his large family was equalled by his enormous holdings of servants and livestock (v 43).

Segment F´ (31:1–32:1—Eng 31:1–55). Jacob once more decided to return home. Although his mother had told him that she would send for him, the story is silent about her. There were 3 reasons for his decision: hostility from Laban’s sons (v 1), a change in Laban’s attitude toward him (v 2), and instructions from the Lord to do so (v 3). The synergism of human motives and divine direction is striking. He discussed it secretly (v 4) with Rachel and Leah, referring to Laban’s guile, crediting God with his wealth, and reporting a dream in which “God’s agent” had directed him to return home (vv 7–13). The wives supported Jacob’s decision, describing themselves as “outsiders” in their own clan, since Laban had “sold us and used up our purchase price” (v 15).

It was not only Jacob who credited God with his wealth; the angel said the same thing (v 12), and the wives also, adding that the wealth was justly theirs (v 16). The story thus responds to the brothers’ charge that Jacob had grown rich at Laban’s expense.

Both here and in his earlier wish to return, Jacob spoke of his “land” (30:25; 31:3, 13), as does the summary of his departure (v 18). This language goes beyond that of his previous vow, which spoke only of returning to his “father’s house” (28:21); Jacob will now do more than possess the estate; he will occupy the land. (Laban speaks only of “your father’s house” [v 30], since he knows nothing of the promise.) Moreover, although Jacob was Rebekah’s favorite, he left “to go to his father Isaac” (v 18). Where is Rebekah?

This time Jacob did not ask permission, but left while Laban was away shearing sheep. Unknown to Jacob, Rachel stole the household idols (v 19), perhaps for their religious and financial value. When Laban learned what had happened, he pursued, overtaking them near Canaan. Warned by God not to mistreat them, Laban nevertheless berated Jacob and accused him of stealing the household idols. Swearing death to anyone having the idols, Jacob invited Laban to find them. He searched all the tents, finally coming to Rachel’s. She had hidden them, and, by a ruse, prevented Laban from finding them.

It was Jacob’s turn to berate Laban, and he did so, more harshly than Laban deserved under the immediate circumstances, but not more so, considering the past 20 years. In a speech (vv 38–42) summarizing their relations during that time, Jacob accused his shifty uncle and cited his own conscientious service and God’s protection. In exile, the “slippery man” of Canaan was learning to be a “blameless man.”

Laban proposed a treaty (Heb bĕrı̂t, “covenant”), marking the boundary between them by a heap of stones; each swore by his own deity (v 53), and sealed the agreement with a sacrifice and a meal. Within the story, it is the first meal that Jacob has ever eaten with anyone, and a distinct contrast to the 2 meals which he had arranged and used to get the better of Esau. The narrative thus does not allow Jacob to leave Haran without a reconciliation with Laban—unsought by Jacob—which put an end to 2 decades of mistrust.

Segment E´ (32:2–3—Eng 32:1–2). Parting amicably from Laban, Jacob continued his journey to face a similar encounter with Esau in which he has no blamelessness to plead. In a matching spiritual event to the stairway dream, God’s agents encountered him. Jacob said, “This is God’s camp,” and named that site Mahanaim, “Doublecamp.” The name is or resembles a Hebrew noun (dual number), a form used for objects which occur naturally in pairs, such as hands and ears. His own entourage is one camp (cf. 32:8—Eng 32:7), and God’s agents form the other—a natural pair. He can go on to meet Esau in tandem with the same divine company that he met at Bethel and that have been with him ever since (see 31:11).

Segment D´ (32:4–33—Eng 32:3–32). The cycle returns to Esau, who has not appeared since the end of segment D, and who is now mentioned together with the two geographical names to which the cycle early made allusion (segment A). Expecting Esau to attack, Jacob broke his retinue into 2 camps so that at least half might escape. (He is now a “people” [v 7], a term never applied to Abraham or Isaac.)

He then prayed for help, another first (vv 9–12). First, his address to God reaches back in time by speaking of the “God of Abraham and Isaac,” and forward by using “Yahweh,” the distinctive name of Israel’s deity. Second, as grounds he quotes the divine directive (from 31:3) pursuing which he had come to the present hazardous moment, substituting “deal bountifully with” for “be with.” His return to the promise at the end of the prayer uses words (“offspring as the sands of the sea”) which have not appeared in the cycle applied to Jacob (28:14 spoke of the “dust of the earth”); the narrative telescopes the promises here, drawing this line from Gen 22:17—the promise to Abraham—and identifying Jacob with the promise in its historical depth. Third, he acknowledges God’s gifts. He had left Canaan in naked flight, and was now two camps. His words “I am unworthy” (v 10), literally, “I am too small” (Heb qāṭōntı̂), express more than unworthiness; they also allude to Jacob’s being the younger (qāṭōn29:15, 24) and to the reversal of primogeniture (Brueggemann 1982). Fourth, the petition beseeches rescue from Esau, specifically mentioning the mothers and children; the language is that of the biblical psalms (e.g., 31:16; 59:2–3; 142:7; 143:9). The absence of any acknowledgement of wrongdoing is noteworthy.

“A man wrestled with him until dawn” (v 24). This best-known of the Jacob stories remains mysterious. In their southward march they had reached the river Jabbok and were camped on its N bank. During the night after Jacob had dispatched the gifts to Esau, he got up and took his family over to the S bank; he did the same with his possessions—no motive for this is given. Jacob remained alone in the camp. There is no “angel” in this story (an interpretation found in Hos 12:4), and the introduction of an adversary is abrupt and unexpected. Is it Esau, taking revenge in kind by a sneak attack in the dark? The match was even, but the adversary managed to wrench Jacob’s hip at its socket before asking for release as the dawn broke. Jacob refused, “unless you bless me.” The adversary required him to say his name—“Jacob”—and then changed it to “Israel,” giving a popular etymology by which it means “he strives with God.” When Jacob asked his adversary’s name, he was told, “You must not ask my name,” and they parted (see Gen 35:9–15). Jacob named the place “God’s Face,” and went his way, limping, as the sun rose. A dietary etiology concludes the story.

In its present form and position, the story concerns struggle with people and with God (see also Kodell 1980). The unnamed “man” symbolizes every person with whom Jacob struggled—Esau, Isaac, Laban—and yet, the “man” at the beginning of the story is certainly God at the end, for who else is it whose name cannot be spoken? When else did Jacob strive with God? The story, therefore, in an overt polyvalence, blends Jacob’s conflict with people and with God into one event. The larger narrative also suggests this identification. First, Jacob prayed, “Rescue me (Heb haṣṣı̂lēnı̂) from my brother” (v 11), then he named the wrestling-site “God’s Face,” saying, “My life has been rescued” (Heb wattinnāṣēl, v 30). Second, after wrestling, he said, “I have seen God face to face” (v 30), and when he met Esau, he said, “To see your face is like seeing God’s face” (33:10).

To utter his name was to speak his character—“cheat”—making good the lack of any confession in the prayer, and acknowledging that his alienation from Esau was not an episode but a way of life. The story is thus made psychologically and theologically profound by superimposing on one another Jacob’s need to face his own character, his relations with people, and his relation with God.

The limp suggests the costliness of the lonely struggle. It also shows Jacob advancing to meet Esau in a painful vulnerability; whatever he might have thought previously of victory in struggle or of escape (v 8) is now quite impossible. He limps. But the sun is rising, and he is on his way to becoming a new man, a process begun as the sun was setting (28:11).

Segment C´ (33:1–20). The story moves immediately to the encounter between the 2 brothers. Jacob now leads his entourage, having previously followed it from behind. His elaborate obeisance before Esau (v 3) is without parallel in the Bible. But Esau does not want a fight: they embrace, kiss, and weep.

In the next segment (B´) the text plays on two Hebrew words similar in appearance and sound: maḥăneh“company” (32:3, 8–9, 11, 22 [—Eng 32:2, 7–8, 10, 21]), and minḥâ “gift” (32:14, 19, 21–22 [—Eng 13, 18, 20–21]; cf. bĕrākâ and bĕkōrâ in segments A and C). Now in 33:8, 10, the maḥăneh has become the minḥâ; Jacob urges Esau to accept the company/gift as a sign of the acceptance of his person. Then comes the jolt (Fishbane 1975), “Please take,” Jacob urged, “my blessing (bĕrākâ)” (v 11). Dropping minḥâ, he utilizes the same noun and verb used by Esau and Isaac when Jacob took the blessing which was not his (27:35–36). The pairing of minḥâ with maḥăneh throughout these 2 sections makes the use of bĕrākâ particularly obtrusive, and the reference to segment C is very clear.

Yet, this is as far as the narrative can go in describing the reconciliation, for Jacob did not actually return the right of primogeniture, and historically Israel never conceded Edom’s priority. Dramatically and symbolically, Jacob’s acceptance by Esau could have been marked by a meal; its absence suggests that the reconciliation fell short of the solidity which Israel felt with the Syrian homeland of Rebekah and Rachel, and the narrative expresses this overtly by Jacob’s wariness of Esau’s two offers of company and assistance (vv 12–16).

They went their separate ways, Esau to Seir and Jacob to Canaan. His first act there was to buy land and set up an altar; by naming it “El, the God of Israel,” he identified himself with the land and with the God who wrestled with him and gave him the name which became that of the people of God. Apart from the etiology of 32:33 it is the cycle’s first use of the name “Israel” since it was given.

Segment B´ (34:1–31). Jacob’s family settled on land that Jacob bought near Shechem. Dinah, his daughter by Leah, was raped by Shechem (his name is the same as the city’s), son of the city’s chief, Hamor. Jacob’s involvement in the episode which followed is minimal, being restricted to the notice that he was silent about the rape until his sons came in from the field (v 5), and to his protest against his sons’ subsequent actions (v 30).

Shechem wished to marry Dinah. His father’s negotiations were entirely with Jacob’s sons; Hamor even referred to their sister as “your [plural] daughter” (v 8). He proposed intermarriage between the family of Jacob and the Shechemites, to include full and free rights in the land. The brothers agreed, provided the Shechemite men accepted circumcision (already a mark of the Abrahamic tradition, Genesis 17). Then the newcomers would mingle and become “one people” with them (vv 16, 22). The Shechemites agreed. But on the third day, Dinah’s uterine brothers Simeon and Levi attacked the city by surprise, killing all its men, including Hamor and Shechem, and taking Dinah away. The other brothers followed and pillaged the town, taking the women and children and all its wealth. The story closes with Jacob’s effete protest that Simeon and Levi have made him “odious” in the land; he fears an attack which his small forces could not resist. The sons say only, “Should he treat our sister like a whore?”

The violence and duplicity of this story surpass anything ever done by Jacob, Rebekah, or Laban. Jacob’s protest—feeble and motivated by fear of revenge rather than by moral outrage—and his silence at the outset raise the question whether we have here the new or the old Jacob; indeed, the new name is not used at all in the story (except in the anachronistic national sense in v 7).

To be sure, the threat was great and the accommodation proposed by Hamor (“one people,” vv 16, 22) went far beyond the treaty designed by Abimelech (Gen 26:29 [segment B]); to “intermarry” (hitḥattēn) was forbidden (Deut 7:2–3; Josh 23:12; Ezra 9:14); and the Shechemites were clearly seeking their own advantage at Jacob’s expense: “Their cattle and substance and all their beasts will be ours.” The story is a justly sharp warning against sexual irregularity and against assimilation. But the circumcision proposal was a ruse from the beginning; the brokers spoke “with guile” (Heb bĕmirmâ, v 13) and never intended intermarriage.

The cycle, therefore, presents 2 paradigms for relationships with the residents of the land: First, a sacrificial self-giving which leads to “space” and to mutual acceptance and respect; second, a murderous and vindictive exclusivism. In segment B (Gen 26:1–33), Isaac’s way resulted in God’s blessing and agricultural prosperity: He found water. There is but one word of evaluation in B´: “guile” (mirmâ). But, given the larger Israelite religious context, that is quite enough. It is the same word already used of Jacob’s deceit of Isaac (27:35), and otherwise occurs 37 times, always negatively, exclusively in the Prophets and Wisdom literature (except 2 Kgs 9:23). Jer 9:5 (—Eng 9:6) uses mirmâtwice, and also alludes to Jacob by using the verb ʿāqab (also twice, in 9:3—Eng 9:4). The word mirmâ is almost a code word for social evil, and particular condemnation falls on guileful speech (Ps 52:6; Dan 8:25; 11:23). Note its use in Hos 12:1, 8, enclosing a passage which refers to Jacob.

Thus Jacob found that it was not easy to shed a whole way of life; more was yet needed before the promise (segment A) can be realized.

This chapter has long been a textbook example for source critics, who see in some of its internal confusions evidence that 2 versions have been combined—one from J (Hamor speaks) and one from P (Shechem speaks).

Segment A´ (35:1–29). The last chapter of a cycle of stories should be highly important, especially in an “anatomy,” where the ideas are as important as the stories. Chap. 35 has generally puzzled scholars because it comprises discrete and diverse fragments, a feature which may find a parallel in early Arabic biographies (Delitzsch), and because parts of it duplicate earlier material (Jacob becomes Israel, he names Bethel). But everything here plays a role, either in bringing some of the cycle’s themes to a conclusion or in echoing something in segment A. There are 7 fragments to consider.

1. Vv 1–7. Responding to God’s direction, Jacob led a pilgrimage to Bethel, preceded by religious reforms involving his own household and (in the context of chap. 34) the Shechemite captives. The language of Jacob’s appeal to the people, especially “Rid yourselves of the alien gods in your midst” (v 2), makes him the prototype of later reformers who called on God’s people to repent: Joshua (Josh 24:23) and Samuel (1 Sam 7:3). Who are you, Jacob? The sly loner of segment A has become the zealous religious leader of a people (vv 2, 6).

2. Vv 9–15. God appeared, not only to bless Jacob, but also to change his name to “Israel,” and to reiterate the twofold promise of progeny and land previously given to Abraham and Isaac. The cycle knows 2 traditions of Jacob’s name-change, one associated with the wrestling in Transjordan (segment D´) and one here with Bethel in Canaan. The former is a personal episode in which Jacob struggled to lay aside his fractious and estranging way of life; the latter follows his engagement in the religious life of his people, showing that the story of Jacob as person was also read and told of Jacob as national progenitor. Accordingly, the Heb wayĕbārek ʾōtô (v 9) should be translated “he blessed him” but at 32:30 “he took leave of him” (so JPSV), since the blessing and promise come only after Jacob shows this collective concern. The story can now call him “Israel” (v 21), which it has not done previously.

The promise uses the words “be fertile and increase,” which Isaac had also used (28:3, see segment D). The hint there of Jacob as the first man—who, like Adam and Noah, initiates something new and big and who can justly inherit the promise of the land—can now be seen enfleshed in the chastened and returned Jacob. Now the new beginning can occur, because Jacob cares about his people.

The cycle also knows two traditions of the naming of Bethel, one on Jacob’s flight (segment E), and one here upon his return. The pair of duplicate name-givings in A´, therefore, link it specifically with the 2 previous epochal religious experiences of Jacob’s life: when God arrested his attention and obtained a preliminary if wary response (28:10–22), and when God brought Jacob to face himself and his wider relationships with both people and the divine (32:22–32). It forms itself a third, in which Jacob’s development comes to the necessary stage of religious leadership in a distinctly Israelite context. The placement of vv 9–15 at the close of the cycle is necessary in view of the process through which Jacob passed, but it also nicely balances segment A’s giving of the name “Jacob” with the giving of the new name “Israel.”

3. V 8. Verses 1–15 form a unity enclosed by references to Bethel at beginning and end. Verse 8 is geographically appropriate, but intrusive in every other way. It may be understood in connection with segment A’s hint that Rebekah’s role in the cycle will be incomplete. When A´ reports 3 deaths—two of them expected through the passage of time—the absence of any word about Rebekah becomes noticeable. What has happened to her?

Rebekah’s unfinished question (25:22) finds its complement here in 35:8, which is not so much the notice of Deborah’s death as a non-notice of Rebekah’s. As far as the cycle goes, Rebekah’s life is an unfinished story. After her complaint, “What good will life be to me?” (27:46) we never hear of her again. She had told Jacob, “When your brother’s anger subsides, I will bring you back from Haran” (27:44–45), but Jacob’s return has its own motives (31:1–3). Rebekah disappears from the story without a trace. The necrology of v 8 is positioned anomalously between 2 paragraphs showing the new Jacob at his best: He leads a religious reform, and he receives a new name and the divine promise. Its obtrusive position is hermeneutic: The Aramean way of life is gone; Israel—both person and people—will put away alien gods and will occupy the land of promise.

4. Vv 16–21. As they travelled from Bethel, Rachel died giving birth to Benjamin. Jacob’s sons now number 12, and the death of the beloved wife signals that the cycle is drawing to a close. But it closes on a note of hope: Rachel’s name for the infant—Ben-oni “Son of my suffering”—looks backward, to her untimely death and to the rivalries and disappointments of the years in Haran; but Jacob’s alternate name “Son of the right hand,” looks forward by suggesting his own favor and by evoking the right hand of God which saves (Isa 41:10; Pss 20:7; 118:15–16).

5. V 22a. The brusque notice that Reuben slept with Bilhah, who is called Israel’s concubine rather than Rachel’s maid, also suggests the passing of the old order. Reuben was Jacob’s firstborn; to sleep with a man’s women is to lay claim to his position.

6. Vv 22b–26. Segment A had said that 2 peoples would issue from Rebekah. The list of the 12 sons, grouped by mother, matches this prediction, in that one of these peoples (the 12 tribes of Israel) sprang from one of Rebekah’s sons.

7. Vv 27–29. Finally Jacob reaches his father Isaac, at the ancestral residence of Abraham and Isaac (Gen 13:18; 23:2; 25:9). There Isaac died, and the story which began with prenatal jostling closes with the brothers Jacob and Esau joined in burying the father who prayed for their birth.

The divine plan for Jacob has been achieved, against human custom (primogeniture) and against human suitability (Jacob is the one who seeks his own advantage at others’ expense, in flight from intimacy). Yet it has come about without any divine overriding of Jacob’s “free will”; all human actions have adequate human motivation, including the pivotal decision to return to Canaan. In and through these actions, the sovereign will guides human thought and choice in a gracious interplay both reasonable and mysterious.

C. Meaning

The cycle’s internal indications that “Jacob” is a collective reference for Israel find their parallel in the Bible’s frequent use of “Jacob,” either alone or in parallelism with “Israel,” to denote the nation and/or the religious community (e.g., Deut 32:9; Jer 10:25; 30:7; Isa 10:21; 17:4; Ps 44:5; see BDB, 785). Note Isa 29:22–23, which expressly equates “Jacob” with “his children”: “For when he [Jacob]—that is, his children—behold what my hands have wrought in their midst, they will hallow My name.” The same equivalence is frequent in Second Isaiah where the Lord (a) addresses “Jacob/Israel” directly (40:27; 41:8, 14; 43:1, 22; 44:1, 2, 21, 23; 44:4; 48:12, 21; 49:5), (b) speaks of having given “Jacob” over to disaster (42:4; 43:28), and (c) speaks hopefully of “Jacob’s” return to the Lord (49:5–6; 59:20). Some of these refer to the “servant,” a figure whose identity is ambiguous, but others refer unmistakably to the prophet’s audience and readers. The presumed exilic setting of Second Isaiah suggests a particular linking of the narrative’s out-and-back axis with the experience of exile and (hope for) return; the exilic or early postexilic period would be a time in which this particular figural reading of the Jacob stories might have developed (Cross has noted similarities between P and Second Isaiah, CMHE, 322–23). One could also compare Second Isaiah’s assertion of the Lord’s presence with the people (Isa 41:10; 43:2, 5) with God’s promise to be with Jacob and not leave him, a motif that is distinctive to the Jacob stories and is especially enshrined in the two theophanic passages about the Lord’s agents (explicitly in Gen 28:10–22; implicitly in 32:2–3—Eng 32:1–2).

The tradents and users understood themselves as “Israel,” automatically giving the stories a referred meaning in which they are also about the people of the covenant, whose existence and survival were often against both convention and suitability. The narratives are “typical and representational rather than realistic” (Blenkinsopp 1981: 41). When prominence is given to political relationships, especially under the influence of the documentary hypothesis, the cycle has to do with Israel’s hegemony over her enemies and her occupation of the land (de Pury 1975; CMHE, 263–64), both in the time of Solomon (the Yahwist) and later after the Exile (P, see McKenzie 1980: 230–31). But in the present biblical context, religious interests come to the fore. Jacob’s vocation is to be an ʾı̂š tām, a “moral person” (Gen 25:27). Note how many of the Isaiah passages stress repentence, redemption, and obedience to Torah (14:1; 27:9; 29:22–24; 41:14; 43:1, 22–28; 44:21–22; 48:21; 49:5–6; 59:20). The question of Israel’s origins is a question of “the essence and meaning of a people. It is ideological rather than historiographical”; the existence of Israel as a people does not depend on a physical or political context but on their observance of the Lord’s commands and statutes (Thompson 1987: 40, 194). Jacob’s return to the land means not just Israel’s return to the land from exile (McKay 1987) but also Israel’s return to God. The cycle was paradigmatic for their own character and vocation, and in turn for the people of God in every time and place.

There are other inner-biblical indicators of the Jacob cycle’s religious use. In Hosea 12, “Jacob” denotes what was left of the N kingdom and is the object of the prophet’s preaching; note especially the “Jacob”/“us” equivalence (“[Jacob] would find Him at Bethel, and there He speaks with us,” Hos 12:5—Eng 12:4) and the return (Heb šûb) motif in Hos 12:7—Eng 12:6. In Isa 49:5–6, the statement that the Lord “will bring back (Heb šôbēb) Jacob to Himself” suggests a figural reading of Jacob’s return; furthermore, Israel as a “light to the nations” expresses the idea of service and mission intimated in Gen 30:30 (one of Jacob’s 4 anomalous uses of YHWH). Brodie (1981) argues that the Jabbok story has been constructed to reflect the oracle in Jer 30:1–13; the cycle has been shaped by a sermon. Jer 9:3 warns against trusting even a brother, “for every brother takes advantage” (Heb ʿāqôb yaʿqōb [the form differs from the name “Jacob” only by a single šĕwa]), and v 5 adds, “You dwell in the midst of deceit (mirmâ), in their deceit they refuse to heed me, declares the Lord” (v 5); in v 3’s resonance with “Jacob” and v 5’s use of mirmâ we see a figural application of the Jacob material to Israel’s moral life.

The cycle, therefore, is not historical; it is homiletic, and bears the marks of shaping to that end. The individual “Jacob” and the collective “Israel” overlap—even coalesce—at the artistically most significant points in the cycle: the beginning, the ending, and the middle. At the beginning, this overlap is accomplished by identifying the twins with nations (Gen 25:23) and by allusions associated with Esau’s name; at the ending, by Jacob’s receiving the name “Israel” (35:10) and by his engagement in the religious life of his people (vv 1–7); and at the middle by the collocation of the sections on children and flocks (Gen 29:31–30:43). It is a cycle about the people of God.

Bibliography

Alter, R. 1981. The Art of Biblical Narrative. New York.

Bimson, J. J. 1980. Archaeological Data and the Dating of the Patriarchs. Pp. 59–92 in Essays on the Patriarchal Narrative, ed. A. Millard and D. Wiseman. Leicester.

Blenkinsopp, J. 1981. Biographical Patterns in Biblical Narrative. JSOT 20: 27–46.

Brodie, L. T. 1981. Jacob’s Travail (Jer 30:1–13) and Jacob’s Struggle (Gen 32:22–32). JSOT 19: 31–60.

Brueggemann, W. 1982. Genesis. Atlanta.

Buss, M. J. 1979. Understanding Communication. Pp. 3–44 in Encounter With the Text, ed. M. J. Buss. Philadelphia.

Clines, D. 1978. The Theme of the Pentateuch. JSOTSup 10. Sheffield.

Coats, G. W. 1980. Strife Without Reconciliation. Pp. 82–106 in Werden und Wirken des Alten Testaments, ed. R. Albertz et al. Göttingen and Neukirchen-Vluyn.

Farmer, A. K. 1978. The Trickster Genre in the OT. Diss. Southern Methodist University.

Fishbane, M. 1975. Composition and Structure in the Jacob Cycle. JJS 27: 15–38. Repr. 1979, pp. 40–62 in Text and Texture: Close Reading of Selected Biblical Texts. New York.

Fokkelman, J. P. 1975. Narrative Art in Genesis. SN 17. Assen.

Frei, H. W. 1974. The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative. New Haven.

Friedman, R. E. 1986. Deception for Deception. BibRev 2: 22–31.

Gammie, J. G. 1979. Theological Interpretation by Way of Literary and Tradition Analysis: Genesis 25–36. Pp. 117–34 in Encounter With the Text, ed. M. J. Buss. Philadelphia.

Hendel, R. S. 1987. The Epic of the Patriarch. HSM 42. Atlanta.

Kodell, J. 1980. Jacob Wrestles with Esau. BibTB 10: 65–70.

McKay, H. A. 1987. Jacob Makes it Across the Jabbok. JSOT 38: 3–13.

McKenzie, S. 1980. “You Have Prevailed”: The Function of Jacob’s Encounter at Peniel in the Jacob Cycle. ResQ 23: 225–32.

Morrison, M. A. 1983. The Jacob and Laban Narrative in Light of Near Eastern Sources. BA 46: 155–64.

Noth, M. 1953. Mari und Israel: Eine Personnennamestudie. In Geschichte und Altes Testament, ed. G. Ebeling. Tübingen. Repr. Vol. 2, pp. 213–33 in Gesammelte Aufsätze (1971).

Oden, R. A., Jr. 1983. Jacob as Father, Husband, and Nephew. JBL 102: 189–205.

Pury, A. de. 1975. Promesse divine et legende cultuelle dans le cycle de Jacob. Paris.

Selman, M. J. 1980. Comparative Customs and the Patriarchal Age. Pp. 93–138 in Essays on the Patriarchal Narratives, ed. A. R. Millard and D. J. Wiseman. Leicester, England.

Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives. BZAW 133. Berlin.

———. 1979. Conflict Themes in the Jacob Narratives. Semeia 15: 5–26.

———. 1987. The Origin Tradition of Ancient Israel. JSOTSup 55. Sheffield.

Van Seters, J. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven.

Westermann, C. 1985. Genesis 12–26. Minneapolis.

Ancestors: Abraham

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Did you play that classic board game, “Life”?  It’s the one where you start in your little car and make your way around the board based on the number that landed on the spinner.  Some of the spaces on the board give you good news, sometimes you might draw a card that could be good or bad news.  The goal was to make it to the end as a millionaire. 

The Bible’s character, Abraham, lived the roller coaster we call life, but his story meant something special for three major religions which claim him as their foundation (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).  When we read his story, however, we have to keep in mind that it was written for a much larger purpose than simply chronicling the story of one person for a lasting biography. The stories remembered were to give the Jewish people a sense of their identity, and more information about the God they were following.  This was Israel’s story – the kinds of things that Abraham experienced would be experienced by the whole nation.  The kind of God that interacted with Abraham would be consistent in their ongoing journey as their people went through their respective ups and downs.  All of it, to varying degrees, stood in contrast to the prevailing theologies that other surrounding cultures shared.

Have you ever heard the term quid pro qo? If you live in the United States, you are likely painfully aware of this term as it has been used frequently in President Trump’s impeachment.  It means that one person agrees to do something for another person if they will do something for them.  Most people think that God is all about quid pro quo – we do our part, and God will do God’s.  But that’s not how it went down with Abraham.  God simply invited Abraham to  see what life could be like: “Leave your country, your family, and your father’s home for a land that I will show you. I’ll make you into a great nation and bless you. I’ll make you famous; you’ll be a blessing. I’ll bless those who bless you; those who curse you I’ll curse. All the families of the Earth will be blessed through you” (Genesis 12:1-3 MSG).  This would be repeated later in Abraham’s life, and it did not change.  God was a giver of life.  

Questions: How do you think about God?  Is God simply always wanting to make a deal?  Or is God’s kindness simply always present and available regardless of our behavior – no pre-qualifications?  When you think about the dominant Christian message in our country, what kind of God is presented?

 

Abraham followed, which needs to be fully appreciated.  This was a leap of faith.  He was trusting that everything would work out.  And it did.  Until it didn’t.  Famine struck the land and Abraham packed up his belongings and he and his wife, Sara, fled to Egypt where there was food.  If you are hearing this story from Israel’s distant future, your ears would perk up.  Israel and Egypt – a familiar ring.  What we see in Abraham would be seen in Israel.  That’s a significant, comforting thing, too.  Sometimes we feel so strongly about a decision or a dream, and fully believe that God is behind it, only to go through a season when things fall apart. We wonder if God left us behind or something?  Reading this story, however, we take comfort in the fact that God had not abandoned Abraham.  God was still with him all the way down in Egypt, looking after him (even though he lied about his relationship to Sara, who he pawned off as his sister!).  This is life on the individual level, and it is also life writ large.  There will be ups and downs, yet God remains faithful through it all.

Questions: Has life’s journey taken you where you never thought you’d go?  Did it feel like you had been abandoned by God?  How does this story change your understanding of God’s presence in your life?  Could it be that your circumstances, as hard as they may be, do not indicate God’s withdrawal?  What makes this hard to believe?  What does that say about your theology?

After returning from Egypt, Abraham and Sara realized that their biological clocks were ticking and they had no heir.  They wondered if they should take matters into their own hands.  Sara gave her maidservant, Hagar, to Abraham for a wife, in the hopes that she would become pregnant (recall that this was somewhere close to 4,000 years ago when women were seen as property).  This union produced a son, Ishmael, and with it, the jealousy of Sara.  Over time, the hatred grew, making life unbearable at times for Hagar.  We would later learn that their decision to take matters into their own hands was a mistake that would impact their family tree forever.  Would God blow them off since they failed to trust?  No.  In fact, God chose to work with all involved, including looking after Hagar and Ishmael, and also through Sara who treated her so awfully.  God is good all the time.  God is loving all the time.

Questions: Have you ever made a mistake that you were pretty sure would cost you God’s friendship?  How does this story impact how you think about that?  Have you ever distanced yourself from God because you were sure God wouldn’t want anything to do with you?  Perhaps it’s time to rethink that…

One day, Abraham heard God call him with a weird idea.  God wanted Abraham and his lineage to adopt a sign that would identify them as God’s people going forward.  Not a badge.  Not a tattoo.  But circumcision.  Noah got a beautiful rainbow; Abraham got his foreskin sliced off.  Seems fair.  Scholars have discussed this ever since, wondering if this was a God-driven hygiene thing to save them from potential disease.  Most likely, however, it would memorably represent being cut off from the way of the world around them – they were to trust in God’s voice and leadership more than other voices.

Questions: When has choosing to follow God cost you something?  How did having skin in the game change the dynamics of your relationship with God?  How would this have been the case for an entire nation of people? Are there any related rituals we do in our country?

On another day, Abraham was visited by three travelers.  Something about them moved Abraham to treat them like royalty.  They turned out to be messengers of God.  The cries from the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah made it all the way to heaven, and they were going to see it for themselves.  If what they heard about the violent nature of the towns was true, they were going to go nuclear on the towns and wipe everyone out.  Abraham challenged the justice of such a move, and bartered them down to agreeing that if ten good people could be found among the hundreds or thousands, the towns would be spared.  It turns out they couldn’t.  Only Abraham’s nephew, Lot, and family passed muster.  The violence and rape that was attempted on the messengers themselves confirmed their worst fears, and the next day the towns were incinerated.  But what about the bartering that took place?  What does is say about God that God could be reasoned with – at least for the sake of Abraham – and that a better justice could prevail?

Questions: Do you think God is fixed or flexible?  What does this story say about God’s desire for true justice, and Abraham’s acknowledgement of it?  How do you pray for those you hate?

Part of the three visitors scene is a statement about Sara’s barrenness.  The messengers announced that she and Abe would indeed bear a son.  Each of them gave a solid LOL when they heard the news because Abe was nearly 100 years old, and Sara almost 90. Such things don’t happen.  Yet they did.  Isaac was born to a 100 year-old man and his 90 year-old wife.  Isaac translates as “laughter” – who wouldn’t giggle upon hearing this story?  He was the one through whom the nation would be born.

Questions: What do you make of this?  How do we limit God?  How does our certainty handcuff God?  Are there things that God has promised us that seem impossible?  What if our obstinance gets in God’s way?  What if Abe never had sex with Sara after the announcement?  In what ways are we abstinent because we believe God can’t do this or that?  

Isaac’s birth eventually meant that Ishmael and Hagar had to leave because Sara couldn’t manage her jealousy.  Frankly, she seriously mistreated Hagar and Ishmael.  What she did was wrong, and Abraham was a party to it.  How would God respond to such treachery?  With grace.  God met Hagar and Ishmael and saved their lives and promised to be with them in their future, blessing them, too.  God would also keep God’s promise to Abraham, Sara, and Isaac even though they blew it.  The truth was that Abraham loved both of his sons, and I think they both knew it.  A lot more things happened, including Sara’s death, and eventually Abraham died, too.  Guess who buried him?  The two oldest brothers, Ishmael and Isaac together.  An act of love and respect at the close of the patriarch’s life.  Abraham was allowed to rest in peace.

Questions: What do we learn about ourselves in these final scenes regarding our capacity for cruelty and terrible mistakes that carry long term consequences?  What do we learn about God’s response to our cruelty? What do we learn about our capacity to rise above past hurts when faced with the opportunity to love?

The questions I’ve raised for us to think about need to be considered as individuals, communities, and on a national and global level.  The God of Abraham still extends the offer of life.  Will we choose to leave behind that which restricts life from developing?

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginning by the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

Enns

 

Perceptive readers of the Bible have noticed the miniature exodus in the Abraham story for a very long time. The Israelites who shaped this story were writing for their present time. God has a long track record of delivering his people—even Abraham, the first Israelite—from a foreign land. For these storytellers, Babylonian captivity is not a punishment that threatens Israel’s existence as God’s people. Rather, it is only one example of a pattern of how God has dealt with the Israelites all along: “Yes, exile was punishment, but it was not the end. Our ancient story says so.” 67

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary (A. R. Millard):

 

ABRAHAM (PERSON) [Heb ʾabrāhām (אַבְרָהָם)]. Var. ABRAM. The biblical patriarch whose story is told in Genesis 12–25.

A.         The Biblical Information

1.         Outline of Abraham’s Career

2.         Abraham’s Faith

3.         Abraham’s Life-style

4.         Abraham, Ancestor of the Chosen People

B.         Abraham in Old Testament Study

1.         Abraham as a Figure of Tradition

2.         Abraham as a Figure of History

C.         Abraham—A Contextual Approach

1.         Abraham the Ancestor

2.         Abraham’s Career and Life-style

3.         Abraham’s Names

4.         Abraham’s Faith

5.         Objections to a 2d Millennium Context

D.         Duplicate Narratives

E.         Conclusion

A. The Biblical Information

1. Outline of Abraham’s Career. Abraham is portrayed as a member of a family associated with city life in Southern Babylonia, moving to Haran in Upper Mesopotamia en route to Canaan (Gen 11:31). In Haran, God called him to leave for the land which he would show him, so he and Lot, his nephew, went to Canaan. At Shechem in the center of the land, God made the promise that Abraham’s descendants would own the land (Gen 12:1–9). Famine forced Abraham to seek food in Egypt, where the Pharaoh took Abraham’s wife, Sarah, who Abraham had declared was his sister. Discovering the deception, the Pharaoh sent Abraham away with all the wealth he had acquired, and Sarah (Gen 12:10–12). In Canaan, Abraham and Lot separated in order to find adequate grazing, Lot settling in the luxuriant Jordan plain. God renewed the promise of Abraham’s numberless descendants possessing the land (Genesis 13). Foreign invaders captured Lot, so Abraham with 318 men routed them and recovered Lot and the booty. This brought the blessing of Melchizedek, the priest-king of Salem to whom Abraham paid a tithe (Genesis 14). Following a reassuring vision, Abraham was promised that his childless condition would end and that his offspring would occupy the land, a promise solemnized with a sacrifice and a covenant (Genesis 15). Childless Sarah gave Abraham her maid Hagar to produce a son, then drove out the pregnant maid when she belittled her barren mistress. An angel sent Hagar home with a promise of a harsh life for her son, duly born and named Ishmael (Genesis 16). Thirteen years later God renewed his covenant with Abraham, changing his name from Abram, and Sarai’s to Sarah, and imposing circumcision as a sign of membership for all in Abraham’s household, born or bought. With this came the promise that Sarah, then ninety, would bear a son, Isaac, who would receive the covenant, Ishmael receiving a separate promise of many descendants (Genesis 17). Three visitors repeated the promise of a son (Gen 18:1–15). Lot meanwhile had settled in Sodom, which had become totally depraved and doomed. Abraham prayed that God would spare the city if ten righteous people could be found there, but they could not, so Sodom and its neighbor were destroyed, only Lot and his two daughters surviving (Gen 18:16–19:29). Abraham living in southern Canaan encountered the king of Gerar, who took Sarah on her husband’s assertion that she was his sister. Warned by God, King Abimelech avoided adultery and made peace with Abraham (Genesis 20). Now Isaac was born and Hagar and Ishmael sent to wander in the desert, where divine provision protected them (Gen 21:1–20). The king of Gerar then made a treaty with Abraham to solve a water-rights quarrel at Beersheba (Gen 21:22–34). When Isaac was a boy, God called Abraham to offer him in sacrifice, only staying the father’s hand at the last moment, and providing a substitute. A renewal of the covenant followed (Gen 22:1–19). At Sarah’s death, Abraham bought a cave for her burial, with adjacent land, from a Hittite of Hebron (Genesis 23). To ensure the promise remained within his family, Abraham sent his servant back to his relatives in the Haran region to select Isaac’s bride (Genesis 24). The succession settled, Abraham gave gifts to other sons, and when he died aged 175, Isaac and Ishmael buried him beside Sarah (Gen 25:1–11).

2. Abraham’s Faith. Although it was Abraham’s grandson Jacob who gave his name to Israel and fathered the Twelve Tribes, Abraham was regarded as the nation’s progenitor (e.g., Exod 2:24; 4:5; 32:13; Isa 29:22; Ezek 33:24; Mic 7:20). Israel’s claim to Canaan rested on the promises made to him, and the God worshipped by Israel was preeminently the God of Abraham (e.g., Exod 3:6, 15; 4:1; 1 Kgs 18:36; Ps 47:9). God’s choice of Abraham was an act of divine sovereignty whose reason was never disclosed. The reason for Abraham’s favor with God (cf. “my friend,” Isa 41:8) is made clear in the famous verse, “Abraham believed God and he credited it to him as righteousness” (Gen 15:6; cf. Rom 4:1–3), and in other demonstrations of Abraham’s trust (e.g., Gen 22:8). Convinced of God’s call to live a seminomadic life (note Heb 11:9), Abraham never attempted to return to Haran or to Ur, and took care that his son should not marry a local girl and so gain the land by inheritance, presumably because the indigenous people were unacceptable to God (Gen 24:3; 15:16). Throughout his career he built altars and offered sacrifices, thereby displaying his devotion (Gen 12:7, 8; 13:4, 18), an attitude seen also in the tithe he gave to Melchizedek after his victory (Genesis 14). The places sacred to him were often marked by trees, a token of his intention to stay in the land (Gen 12:6; 13:18; 21:33). Abraham believed his God to be just, hence his concern for any righteous in Sodom (Gen 18:16ff.). Even so, he attempted to preempt God’s actions by taking Hagar when Sarah was barren (Gen 16:1–4), and by pretending Sarah was not his wife. In the latter cases, God intervened to rescue him from the results of his own deliberate subterfuge because he had jeopardized the fulfilment of the promise (Gen 12:17f.; 20:3f.).

The God Abraham worshipped is usually referred to by the name yhwh (RSV LORD); twice Abraham “called on the name of the LORD” (Gen 12:8; 13:4), and his servant Eliezer spoke of the Lord, the God of Abraham (Gen 24:12, 27, 42, 48). The simple term “God” (ʾĕlōhı̂m) occurs in several passages, notably Gen 17:3ff; 19:29; 20 often; 21:2ff; 22. Additional divine names found in the Abraham narrative are: God Almighty (ʾel šadday, Gen 17:1), Eternal God (yhwh ʾēl ʿôlām Gen 21:33), God Most High (ʾēl ʿelyôn Gen 14:18–22), Sovereign Lord (ʾădōnāy yhwh, Gen 15:2, 8), and Lord God of heaven and earth (yhwh ʾĕlōhê haššā-mayim wĕhāʾāreṣ Gen 24:3, 7).

Abraham approached God without the intermediacy of priests (clearly in Genesis 22; elsewhere it could be argued that priests were present, acting as Abraham’s agents but not mentioned). God spoke to Abraham by theophanic visions (Gen 12:7; 17:1; 18:1). In one case, the appearance was in human form, when the deity was accompanied by two angels (Gen 18; cf. v 19). Perhaps God employed direct speech when no other means is specified (Gen 12:1f.; 13:14; 15:1; 21:12; 22:1). Angels could intervene and give protection as extensions of God’s person (Gen 22; 24:7, 40). Prayer was a natural activity (e.g., 20:17) in which Eliezer followed his master’s example (Gen 24). Eliezer did not hesitate to speak of Abraham’s faith and God’s care for him which he had observed (Gen 24:27, 35). God commended Abraham to Abimelech as a prophet (Gen 20:7, nābı̂ʾ). Abraham is portrayed as worshipping one God, albeit with different titles. Abraham’s is a God who can be known and who explains his purposes, even if over a time span that stretches his devotee’s patience.

3. Abraham’s Life-style. Leaving Ur and Haran, Abraham exchanged an urban-based life for the seminomadic style of the pastoralist with no permanent home, living in tents (Gen 12:8, 9; 13:18; 18:1; cf. Heb 11:9), unlike his relations near Haran (Gen 24:10, 11). However, he stayed at some places for long periods (Mamre, Gen 13:18; 18:1; Beersheba, Gen 22:19; Philistia, Gen 21:3, 4), enjoyed good relations with settled communities (Gen 23:10, 18 mentions the city gate), had treaty alliances with some, and spoke on equal terms with kings and the Pharaoh (Gen 14:13; 20:2, 11–14; 21:22–24). He is represented as having owned only one piece of land, the cave of Machpelah (Genesis 23). Wealth flowed to him through his herds, and in gifts from others (Gen 12:16; 20:14, 16), so that he became rich, owning cattle, sheep, silver, gold, male and female slaves, camels and donkeys (Gen 24:35). He may have traded in other goods, for he knew the language of the marketplace (Genesis 23). His household was large enough to furnish 318 men to fight foreign kings (Genesis 14). He was concerned about having an heir, and so looked on Eliezer his servant before sons were born (Gen 15:2), and took care to provide for Isaac’s half-brothers so that his patrimony should not diminish (Gen 24:36; 25:5, 6; cf. 17:18). While Sarah was his first wife, Abraham also married Keturah, and had children by her, by Hagar, and by concubines (Gen 25:1–6). His burial was in the cave with Sarah (Gen 25:9–10).

4. Abraham, Ancestor of the Chosen People. Belief in their ancestry reaching back to one man, Abraham, to whom God promised a land, was firmly fixed among Jews in the 1st century (e.g., John 8:33–58; cf. Philo), and is attested long before by the prophets of the latter days of the Judean Monarchy (Isa 41:8; 51:2; 63:16; Jer 33:26; Ezek 33:24; Mic 7:20). The historical books of the OT also contain references to Abraham (Josh 24:2, 3; 2 Kgs 13:23; 1 Chr 16:16–18; 2 Chr 20:7; 30:6; Neh 9:7, 8) as does Psalm 105. In the Pentateuch the promise is mentioned in each book after Genesis (Exod 2:24; 33:1, etc.; Lev 26:42; Num 32:11; Deut 1:8; etc.).

B. Abraham in Old Testament Study

1. Abraham as a Figure of Tradition. Building on meticulous literary analysis of the Pentateuch, Julius Wellhausen concluded “… we attain to no historical knowledge of the patriarchs, but only of the time when the stories about them arose in the Israelite people; this latter age is here unconsciously projected, in its inner and its outward features, into hoary antiquity, and is reflected there like a glorified mirage.” And of Abraham he wrote, “Abraham alone is certainly not the name of a people like Isaac and Lot: he is somewhat difficult to interpret. That is not to say that in such a connection as this we may regard him as a historical person; he might with more likelihood be regarded as a free invention of unconscious art” (WPHI, 319f.). The literary sources of the early Monarchy, J and E, drawing on older traditions, preserved the Abraham stories. At the same time, Wellhausen treated the religious practices of Abraham as the most primitive in the evolution of Israelite religion. Hermann Gunkel, unlike Wellhausen, argued that investigating the documentary sources could allow penetration beyond their final form into the underlying traditions. Gunkel separated the narratives into story-units, often very short, which he alleged were the primary oral forms, duly collected into groups as sagas. These poems told the legends attached to different shrines in Canaan, or to individual heroes. Gradually combined around particular names, these stories were ultimately reduced to the prose sources which Wellhausen characterized. Gunkel believed the legends arose out of observations of life associated with surrounding traditions, obscuring any historical kernel: “Legend here has woven a poetic veil about the historical memories and hidden their outlines” (Gunkel 1901: 22). The question of Abraham’s existence was unimportant, he asserted, for legends about him could not preserve a true picture of the vital element, his faith: “The religion of Abraham is in reality the religion of the narrators of the legends, ascribed by them to Abraham” (122).

The quest for the origins of these elements has continued ever since. Martin Noth tried to delineate the oral sources and their original settings, building on Gunkel’s premises (Noth 1948), and Albrecht Alt investigated religious concepts of the expression “the gods of the fathers” in the light of Nabatean and other beliefs. He deduced that Genesis reflects an older stage of similar seminomadic life, the patriarchal figures being pegs on which the cult traditions hung (Alt 1966). The positions of Alt and Noth have influenced commentaries and studies on Abraham heavily during the past fifty years. At the same time, others have followed the literary sources in order to refine them and especially to discern their purposes and main motifs (e.g., von Rad Genesis OTL). For Abraham the consequence of these studies is the same, whether they view him as a dim shadow in Israel’s prehistory, or as a purely literary creation: he is an example whose faith is to be emulated. The question of his actual existence is irrelevant; the stories about him illustrate how generations of Jews believed God had worked in a man’s life, setting a pattern, and it is that belief, hallowed by the experience of many others, which is enshrined in them (see Ramsey 1981).

2. Abraham as a Figure of History. Several scholars have searched for positions which allow a measure of historical reality to Abraham. While accepting the literary sources as the channels of tradition, they have seen them as reflecting a common heritage which was handed down through different circles and so developed different emphases. This explains the nature of such apparently duplicate stories as Abraham’s twice concealing Sarah’s status (Gen 12:11–20; 20:2–18). W. F. Albright and E. A. Speiser were notable exponents of this position, constantly drawing on ancient Near Eastern sources, textual and material, to clarify the patriarch’s ancient context. Albright claimed the Abraham stories fitted so well into the caravan society that he reconstructed for the 20th century b.c. “that there can be little doubt about their substantial historicity” (1973: 10). Textual and material sources included the cuneiform tablets from Mari and Nuzi and occupational evidence from Palestine. The Nuzi archives were thought to have yielded particularly striking analogies to family practices in the stories (see Speiser Genesis AB). These comparisons were widely accepted as signs of the antiquity of the narratives, and therefore as support for the contention that they reflected historical events. Even scholars who held firmly to the literary analyses took these parallels as illlumination of the original settings of the traditions (e.g., EHI). In 1974 and 1975 T. L. Thompson and J. Van Seters published sharp and extensive attacks on the views Albright had fostered, Thompson urging a return to the position of Wellhausen, and van Seters arguing that the stories belonged to exilic times (Thompson 1974; Van Seters 1975). The impact of these studies was great. They showed clearly that there were faults of logic and interpretation in the use made of the Nuzi and other texts, and put serious doubt on the hypothesis of an Amorite “invasion” of Palestine about 2000 b.c. In several cases, they pointed to other parallels from the 1st millennium b.c. which seemed equally good, thus showing that comparisons could not establish an earlier date for the patriarchal stories. For many OT scholars the arguments of Thompson and Van Seters reinforced the primacy of the literary analysis of Genesis and its subsequent developments, allowing attention to be paid to the narratives as “stories” rather than to questions of historicity.

Inevitably, there have been reactions from a variety of scholars who wish to sustain the value of comparisons with texts from the 2d millennium b.c. These include an important study of the Nuzi material by M. J. Selman (1976) and investigations of the Mari texts in relation to nomadism by J. T. Luke (1965) and V. H. Matthews (1978). Equally important, however, are considerations of the methods appropriate for studying the Abraham narratives, and these will be discussed in the remainder of this article, with examples as appropriate.

C. Abraham—A Contextual Approach

When the literary criticism of the Old Testament was elaborated in the 19th century in conjunction with theories of the evolution of Israelite society and religion, the ancient Near East was hardly known. With increasing discoveries came the possibility of checking the strength of those hypotheses against the information ancient records and objects provide. Were Genesis a newly recovered ancient manuscript, it is doubtful that these hypotheses would be given priority in evaluating the text. A literary analysis is one approach to understanding the text, but it is an approach that should be followed beside others and deserves no preferential status.

The current analysis is unsatisfactory because it cannot be demonstrated to work for any other ancient composition. Changes can be traced between copies of ancient texts made at different periods only when both the earlier and the later manuscript are physically available (e.g., the Four Gospels and Tatian’s Diatessaron). Moreover, the presuppositions of the usual literary analysis do not sustain themselves in the light of ancient scribal practices, for they require a very precise consistency on the part of redactors and copyists. Ancient scribes were not so hide-bound. Rather, the Abraham narratives should be judged in their contexts. They have two contexts. The first is the biblical one. Historically this sets Abraham long before Joseph and Moses, in current terms about 2000 b.c. (Bimson 1983: 86). Sociologically it places Abraham in the context of a seminomadic culture not controlled by the Mosaic laws, moving in a Canaan of city-states. Religiously it puts Abraham before the cultic laws of Moses, aware of God’s uniqueness and righteousness, yet also of others who worshipped him, such as Melchizedek. To an ancient reader, there was no doubt that Abraham, who lived many years before the rise of the Israelite monarchy, was the ancestor of Israel, a position which carried with it the promise of the land of Canaan and of God’s covenant blessing. That is the biblical context and it should not be disregarded (see Goldingay 1983). The detection of apparently duplicate or contradictory elements in the narratives, and of episodes hard to explain, is not sufficient reason for assuming the presence of variant or disparate traditions, nor are anachronisms necessarily a sign of composition long after the events described took place. These questions can only be considered when the narratives are set in their second context, the ancient Near Eastern world, at the period the biblical context indicates. Only if it proves impossible to fit them into that context should another be sought.

1. Abraham the Ancestor. Although Abraham’s biography is unique among ancient texts, its role in recording his ancestral place is not. Other states emerging about 1000 b.c., like Israel, bore the names of eponymous ancestors (e.g., Aramean Bit Bahyan, Bit Agush). Some traced their royal lines back to the Late Bronze Age, and many of the states destroyed at the end of that period had dynasties reaching back over several centuries to founders early in the Middle Bronze Age (e.g., Ugarit). Assyria, which managed to survive the crisis at the start of the 1st millennium b.c., listed her kings back to that time, and even before, to the days when they lived in tents. In this context, the possibility of Israel preserving knowledge of her descent is real (cf. Wiseman 1983: 153–58). States or tribes named after ancestors are also attested in the 2d millennium b.c. (e.g., Kassite tribes, RLA 5: 464–73). Dynastic lineages are known because kings were involved. Other families preserved their lines, too, as lawsuits about properties reveal (in Egypt, Gaballa 1977; in Babylonia, King 1912: no. 3), but they had little cause to write comprehensive lists. Israel’s descent from Abraham, the grandfather of her national eponym, is comparable inasmuch as he received the original promise of the land of Canaan. The ancient King Lists rarely incorporate anecdotal information (e.g., Sumerian King List, Assyrian King List; see ANET, 265, 564). However, ancient accounts of the deeds of heroes are not wholly dissimilar. Sargon of Akkad (ca. 2334–2279 b.c.), a king whose existence was denied when his story was first translated, is firmly placed in histories as the first Semitic emperor, well attested by copies of his own inscriptions made five centuries after his death, and by the records of his sons. Stories about Sargon were popular about 1700 b.c., and are included among the sources of information for his reign from which modern historians reconstruct his career. Other kings have left their own contemporary autobiographies (e.g., Idrimi of Alalakh, ANET, 557). All of these ancient texts convey factual information in the style and form considered appropriate by their authors. The analyses of their forms is part of their proper study. Finding a biography in an ancient Near Eastern document that combined concepts drawn from the family-tree form and from narratives about leaders, such as Genesis contains, preserved over centuries, would not lead scholars to assume the long processes of collecting, shaping, revising and editing normally alleged for the stories of Abraham.

2. Abraham’s Career and Life-style. Journeys between Babylonia and the Levant were certainly made in the period 2100–1600 b.c. Kings of Ur had links with north Syrian cities and Byblos ca. 2050 b.c., and in Babylonia goods were traded with Turkey and Cyprus ca. 1700 b.c. A detailed itinerary survives for a military expedition from Larsa in southern Babylonia to Emar on the middle Euphrates, and others trace the route from Assyria to central Turkey. If Abraham was linked with the Amorites, as W. F. Albright argued, evidence that the Amorites moved from Upper Mesopotamia southward during the centuries around 2000 b.c. cannot invalidate the report of Abraham’s journey in the opposite direction, as some have jejunely asserted (e.g., van Seters 1975: 23). Where the identifications are fixed and adequate explorations have been made, the towns Abraham visited—Ur, Haran, Shechem, Bethel, Salem (if Jerusalem), Hebron—appear to have been occupied about 2000 b.c. (Middle Bronze I; for a summary of archaeological material, see IJH, 70–148). Gerar remains unidentified, nor is there positive evidence for identifying the site now called Tel Beer-sheba with the Beer-sheba of Genesis (Millard 1983: 50). Genesis presents Abraham as a tent dweller, not living in an urban environment after he left Haran (cf. Heb 11:9).

Extensive archives from Mari, ca. 1800 b.c., illustrate the life of seminomadic tribesmen in relationship with that and other towns (see MARI LETTERS). General similarities as well as specific parallels (e.g., treaties between city rulers and tribes) can be seen with respect to Genesis. Some tribes were wealthy and their chieftains powerful men. When they trekked from one pasturage to another, their passage was marked and reported to the king of Mari. Town dwellers and steppe dwellers lived in dependence on each other.

In Canaan, Abraham had sheep and donkeys like the Mari tribes, and cattle as well. This difference does not disqualify the comparison (pace van Seters 1975: 16), for the Egyptian Sinuhe owned herds of cattle during his stay in the Levant about 1930 b.c. Like Abraham, Sinuhe spent some of his life in tents, and acquired wealth and high standing among the local people (ANET, 18–22; note that copies of this story were being made as early as 1800 b.c.). To strike camp and migrate for food was the practice of “Asiatics” within reach of Egypt, so much so that a wall or line of forts had to be built to control their influx (ca. 1980 b.c., see ANET, 446). The story of Sinuhe relates that the hero met several Egyptians in the Levant at this time (ANET, 18–22); the painting from a tomb at Beni Hasan depicts a party of 37 “Asiatics” (ANEP, 3), and excavations have revealed a Middle Bronze Age settlement in the Delta with a strong Palestinian presence (Bietak 1979). Military contingents brought together in coalitions traveled over great distances to face rebellious or threatening tribes, as in the affair of Genesis 14 (see below C5). In an era of petty kings, interstate rivalry was common and raids by hostile powers a threat to any settlement. To meet the persistent military threat, many cities throughout the Near East were strongly fortified during the Middle Bronze Age; fortification provided well-built gateways in which citizens could congregate (Gen 23:10, 18).

Disputes arose over grazing rights and water supplies. Abraham’s pact at Gerar is typical, the agreement duly solemnized with an oath and offering of lambs. Abraham was a resident alien (gēr), not a citizen (Gen 15:13; 23:4). Concern for the continuing family was normal. Marriage agreements of the time have clauses allowing for the provision of an heir by a slave girl should the wife prove barren (ANET, 543, no. 4; cf. Selman 1976: 127–29). The line was also maintained through proper care of the dead, which involved regular ceremonies in Babylonia (see DEAD, CULT OF). Burial in the cave at Machpelah gave Abraham’s family a focus which was valuable when they had no settled dwelling (cf., the expression in Gen 47:30). Comparisons made between Abraham’s purchase of the cave reported in Genesis 23 and Hittite laws (Lehmann 1953) are now seen to be misleading (Hoffner 1969: 33–37). However, the report is not a transcript of a contract, and so cannot be tied in time to the “dialogue document” style fashionable in Babylonia from the 7th to 5th centuries b.c., as Van Seters and others have argued (Van Seters 1975: 98–100), and at least one Babylonian deed settling property rights survives in dialogue form from early in the 2 millennium b.c. (Kitchen 1977: 71 gives the reference).

3. Abraham’s Names. Abram, “the father is exalted,” is a name of common form, although no example of it is found in the West Semitic onomasticon of the early 2d millennium b.c. The replacement, Abraham, is given the meaning “father of a multitude” (Gen 17:5). That may be a popular etymology or a play on current forms of the name “Abram” in local dialects for the didactic purpose of the context, the inserted h having analogies in other West Semitic languages. The name “Aburahana” is found in the Egyptian Execration Texts of the 19th century b.c. (m and n readily interchange in Egyptian transcriptions of Semitic names [EHI, 197–98]). Genesis introduces the longer name as part of the covenant God made with Abram, so the new name confirmed God’s control and marked a stage in the Patriarch’s career (see Wiseman 1983: 158–60). No other person in the OT bears the names “Abram” or “Abraham” (or “Isaac” or “Jacob”); apparently they were names which held a special place in Hebrew tradition (like the names “David” and “Solomon”).

4. Abraham’s Faith. A monotheistic faith followed about 2000 b.c. is, so far as current sources reveal, unique, and therefore uncomfortable for the historian and accordingly reckoned unlikely and treated as a retrojection from much later times. The history of religions undermines that stance; the astonishing impact of Akhenaten’s “heresy” and the explosion of Islam demonstrate the role a single man’s vision may play, both imposing a monotheism upon a polytheistic society. Abraham’s faith, quietly held and handed down in his family until its formulation under Moses, is equally credible.

Contextual research helps a little. Further study has traced the “gods of the fathers” concept far beyond Alt’s Nabatean inscriptions to the early 2d millennium b.c., when the term referred to named deities, and the god El could be known as Il-aba “El is father” (Lambert 1981). Discussion of the various names and epithets for God in the Abraham narratives continues, revolving around the question whether they all refer to one deity or not (see Cross 1973; Wenham 1983). Some ancient texts which apply one or two of these epithets to separate gods (e.g., the pair ʾl “God” and ʿlywn “Most High,” in an 8th-century Aramaic treaty, ANET, 659), may reflect later or different traditions; the religious patterns of the ancient Levant are so varied that it is dangerous to harmonize details from one time and place with those from another. The OT seems to equivocate over the antiquity of the divine name yhwh. Despite Exod 6:3, the Abraham narratives include the name often. Apart from the (unacceptable) documentary analysis, explanations range from retrojection of a (post-) Mosaic editor to explanations of Exod 6:3 allowing the name to be known to Abraham, but not its significance (see Wenham 1983:189–93). The latter opinion may find a partial analogy in the development of the Egyptian word aten from “sun disk” to the name of the supreme deity (Gardiner 1961: 216–18). However, the absence of the divine name as an indubitable element in any pre-Mosaic personal name should not be overlooked. Abraham naturally had a similar religious language to those around him, with animal sacrifices, altars, and gifts to his God after a victory. He found in Melchizedek another whose worship he could share, just as Moses found Jethro (Gen 14; Exod 2:15–22; 8), yet he never otherwise joined the cults of Canaan.

5. Objections to a 2d Millennium Context. a. Anachronisms. The texts about Sargon of Akkad are pertinent to the question of anachronisms in the Abraham stories. In those texts, Sargon is said to have campaigned to Turkey in aid of Mesopotamian merchants oppressed there. Documents from Kanesh in central Turkey attest to the activities of Assyrian merchants in the 19th century b.c., but not much earlier. Therefore the mention of Kanesh in texts about Sargon and his dynasty is considered anachronistic. At the same time, the incidents those texts report are treated as basically authentic and historically valuable (Grayson and Sollberger 1976: 108). The anachronism does not affect the sense of the narrative. In this light, the problem of the Philistines in Gen 21:32, 34 may be viewed as minimal. Naming a place after a people whose presence is only attested there six or seven centuries later than the setting of the story need not falsify it. A scribe may have replaced an outdated name, or people of the Philistine group may have resided in the area long before their name is found in other written sources. Certainly some pottery entered Palestine in the Middle Bronze Age from Cyprus, the region whence the Philistines came (Amiran 1969: 121–23). A similar position can be adopted with regard to the commonly cited objection of Abraham’s camels. Although the camel did not come into general use in the Near East until after 1200 b.c., a few signs of its use earlier in the 2d millennium b.c. have been found (see CAMEL). It is as logical to treat the passages in Gen 12:16; 24 as valuable evidence for the presence of camels at that time as to view them as anachronistic. Contrariwise, the absence of horses from the Abraham narratives is to be noted, for horses could be a sign of wealth in the places where he lived (cf. 1 Kgs 5:6); horses are unmentioned in the list of Job’s wealth (Job 1:3). Ancient Near Eastern sources show clearly that horses were known in the 3d millennium b.c., but only began to be widely used in the mid-2d millennium b.c., that is, after the period of Abraham’s lifetime as envisaged here (Millard 1983: 43). Comparisons may be made also with information concerning iron working. A Hittite text tells how King Anitta (ca. 1725 b.c.) received an iron chair from his defeated foe. Recent research dates the tablet about 1600 b.c., yet iron only came into general use in the Near East when the Bronze Age ended and the Iron Age began, ca. 1200 b.c. Were the Anitta text preserved in a copy made a millennium after his time, its iron chair would be dismissed as a later writer’s anachronism. It cannot be so treated; it is one important witness to iron working in the Middle Bronze Age (Millard 1988). Alleged anachronisms in the Abraham narratives are not compelling obstacles to setting them early in the 2d millennium b.c.

b. Absence of Evidence. Occasionally the absence of any trace of Abraham from extrabiblical sources is raised against belief in his existence soon after 2000 b.c. This is groundless. The proportion of surviving Babylonian and Egyptian documents to those once written is minute. If, for example, Abraham’s treaty with Abimelech of Gerar (Genesis 21) was written, a papyrus manuscript would decay quickly in the ruined palace, or a clay tablet might remain, lie buried undamaged, awaiting the spade of an excavator who located Gerar (a problem!), happened upon the palace, and cleared the right room. If Abimelech’s dynasty lasted several generations, old documents might have been discarded, the treaty with them. Egyptian state records are almost nonexistent owing to the perishability of papyrus, so no evidence for Abraham can be expected there.

Abraham’s encounter with the kings of the east (Genesis 14) links the patriarch with international history, but regrettably, the kings of Elam, Shinar, Ellasar, and the nations have not been convincingly identified. R. de Vaux stated that “it is historically impossible for these five sites south of the Dead Sea to have at one time during the second millennium been the vassals of Elam, and that Elam never was at the head of a coalition uniting the four great near eastern powers of that period” (EHI, 219). Consequently, the account is explained as a literary invention of the exilic period (Astour 1966; Emerton 1971). At that date, its author would either be imagining a situation unlike any within his experience, or weaving a story around old traditions. If the former is true, he was surprisingly successful in constructing a scenario appropriate for the early 2d millennium b.c.; if the latter, then it is a matter of preference which components of the chapter are assumed to stem from earlier times. Yet the chapter may still be viewed as an account of events about 2000 b.c., as K. A. Kitchen has demonstrated (Kitchen 1977: 72 with references). A coalition of kings from Elam, Mesopotamia, and Turkey fits well into that time. To rule it “unhistorical” is to claim a far more detailed knowledge of the history of the age than anyone possesses. The span of the events is only fifteen years, and what is known shows how rapidly the political picture could change. Current inability to identify the royal names with recorded kings is frustrating; scribal error is an explanation of last resort; ignorance is the likelier reason, and as continuing discoveries make known more city-states and their rulers, clarification may emerge. (One may compare the amount of information derivable from the Ebla archives for the period about 2300 b.c. with the little available for the city’s history over the next five hundred years.) Gen 14:13 terms Abram “the Hebrew.” This epithet is appropriate in this context, where kings are defined by the states they ruled, for Abram had no state or fatherland. “Hebrew” denoted exactly that circumstance in the Middle Bronze Age (Buccellati 1977).

D. Duplicate Narratives

A major argument for the common literary analysis of the Abraham narratives, and for the merging of separate lines of tradition, is the presence of “duplicate” accounts of some events. Abraham and Isaac clashed with Abimelech of Gerar, and each represented his wife as his sister, an action Abraham had previously taken in Egypt (Gen 12:10–20; 20; 26). These three stories are interpreted as variations of one original in separate circles. That so strange a tale should have so secure a place in national memory demands a persuasive explanation, whatever weight is attached to it. In the ancient Near East, kings frequently gave their sisters or daughters in marriage to other rulers to cement alliances and demonstrate goodwill (examples abound throughout the 2d millennium b.c.). The actions of Abraham and Isaac may be better understood in this context, neither man having unmarried female relatives to hand. That they were afraid may reflect immediate pressures. For Isaac to repeat his father’s procedure at Gerar is more intelligible as part of a well-established practice of renewing treaties with each generation than as a literary repetition (Hoffmeier fc.).

Abraham and Isaac both had trouble with the men of Gerar over water rights at Beer-sheba. Again, the narratives are counted as duplicates of a single tradition (Speiser Genesis 202), and again two different episodes in the lives of a father and son living in the same area is as reasonable an explanation in the ancient context. One king might confront and defeat an enemy, the same king or his son having to repeat the action (e.g., Ramesses II and the Hittites, Kitchen 1982 passim). The naming of the wells at Beersheba, usually labeled contradictory, is also open to a straightforward interpretation in the light of Hebrew syntax which removes the conflict (NBD, 128).

E. Conclusion

To place Abraham at the beginning of the 2d millennium b.c. is, therefore, sustainable. While the extrabiblical information is not all limited to that era, for much of ancient life followed similar lines for centuries, and does not demand such a date, it certainly allows it, in accord with the biblical data. The advantage this brings is the possibility that Abraham was a real person whose life story, however handed down, has been preserved reliably. This is important for all who take biblical teaching about faith seriously. Faith is informed, not blind. God called Abraham with a promise and showed his faithfulness to him and his descendants. Abraham obeyed that call and experienced that faithfulness. Without Abraham, a major block in the foundations of both Judaism and Christianity is lost; a fictional Abraham might incorporate and illustrate communal beliefs, but could supply no rational evidence for faith because any other community could invent a totally different figure (and communal belief can be very wrong, as the fates of many “witches” recall). Inasmuch as the Bible claims uniqueness, and the absolute of divine revelation, the Abraham narratives deserve a positive, respectful approach; any other risks destroying any evidence they afford.

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King, L. W. 1912. Babylonian Boundary Stones. London.

Kitchen, K. A. 1966. Historical Method and Early Hebrew Tradition. Tyn Bul 17: 63–97.

———. 1977. The Bible in Its World. Downer’s Grove, IL.

———. 1982. Pharaoh Triumphant: The Life and Times of Ramesses II. Warminster.

Lambert, W. G. 1981. Old Akkadian Ilaba = Ugaritic Ilib? UF 13: 299–301.

Lehmann, M. R. 1953. Abraham’s Purchase of Machpelah and Hittite Law. BASOR 129: 15–18.

Luke, J. T. 1965. Pastoralism and Politics in the Mari Period. Ann Arbor.

Matthews, V. R. 1978. Pastoral Nomadism in the Mari Kingdom. ASORDS 3. Cambridge, MA.

Mendenhall, G. 1987. The Nature and Purpose of the Abraham Narratives. Pp. 337–56 in AIR.

Millard, A. R., and Wiseman, D. J., eds. 1983. Essays on the Patriarchal Narratives. 2d ed. Leicester.

Millard, A. R. 1983. Methods of Studying the Patriarchal Narratives as Ancient Texts. Pp. 35–51 in Millard and Wiseman, 1983.

———. 1988. King Og’s Bed and Other Ancient Ironmongery. Pp. 481–92 in Ascribe to the Lord, ed. L. Eslinger. JSOTSup Sheffield.

Noth, M. 1948. A History of the Pentateuchal Traditions. Trans. B. W. Anderson. Englewood Cliffs, NJ. Repr.

Ramsey, G. W. 1981. The Quest for the Historical Israel. Atlanta.

Selman, M. J. 1976. The Social Environment of the Patriarchs. Tyn Bul 27: 114–36.

———. 1983. Comparative Customs and the Patriarchal Age. Pp. 91–139 in Millard and Wiseman 1983.

Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives. Berlin.

Seters, J. van. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven.

Wenham, G. J. 1983. The Religion of the Patriarchs. Pp. 161–95 in Millard and Wiseman 1983.

Wiseman, D. J. 1983. Abraham Reassessed. Pp. 141–60 in Millard and Wiseman 1983. 

 

From the New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary (Terence E. Fretheim):

 

GENESIS 22:1–19, THE TESTING OF ABRAHAM

Commentary

Recent readers of this famous story have been particularly interested in delineating its literary artistry. Significant gains have resulted, but one wonders whether this approach has overplayed its hand by overdramatizing the story and reading too much between the lines. Likewise, religious interpretations, especially in the wake of Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling, seem often to intensify the contradictoriness of the story, perhaps in the interests of heightening the mystery of the divine ways. While the frightening, even bizarre, character of the divine command ought not to be discounted, it should not be exaggerated either.

This story (commonly assigned to E, with supplements) remains firmly within the circle of the family, which suggests an original pre-Israelite setting. At the same time, the theological force of the story takes on new contours as it is passed through many generations (especially vv. 15–19). Exilic Israel may have seen itself in both Abraham and Isaac: God has put Israel to a test in which many children died, has called forth its continuing faith, has delivered it through the fires of judgment and renewed the promises.

Israelite ritual regarding the firstborn informs this text. Israel knew that God could require the firstborn (Exod 22:29), but that God had provided for their redemption (Exod 13:13; 34:20). Here, God does just this: God asks that Isaac be sacrificed and provides an animal “instead of” Isaac. This issue belongs indisputably to the story, but with a metaphorical understanding of Israel as God’s firstborn (see below). The text bears no mark of an etiology of sacrifice (see 4:3–4; 8:20) or a polemic against child sacrifice, clearly abhorrent to Israel, though it was sometimes a problem (cf. Lev 20:2–5; 2 Kgs 3:27; Jer 7:31; 32:35).

This text fits into the larger sweep of Abraham’s life. The relationship between God and Abraham is in progress; it has had its ups and downs, in which each has affected the other. Abraham has exhibited a deep faith and engaged God in significant theological conversation, while God has consulted with Abraham regarding the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. At the same time, Abraham’s response has been less than exemplary, even distrusting the promise (17:17) and not showing the “fear of God” in relationship to outsiders (see 20:11). His response has raised an issue for God, indeed what God truly knows (v. 12).

Generally, though, this text presupposes “familiar mutual trust” built over no little experience together. From Abraham’s perspective, the God who commands has filled his life with promises; he understands that God has Abraham’s best interests at heart. He has already learned to trust this God. He has no reason to distrust the God from whom this word comes, however harsh and frightening it may be.

The test appears especially poignant in view of the parallels with the story of Ishmael (see 21:8–21). Abraham has just lost his son Ishmael, hence the repeated reference to Isaac as “only son.” Now he is asked to sacrifice his remaining son. We may view these stories as mirrors of each other, focusing on the potential loss of both sons, as well as on God’s providing for both children.

Parallels between Gen 12:1–4 and Genesis 22 provide an overarching structure. Although this divine command does not appear as abrupt as in 12:1, they are similar in other ways, in vocabulary (“take, go” to a “place that I shall show you”), along with Abraham’s silent, but faithful, response. Both are ventures in faith and enclose the story of Abraham; Abraham begins and ends his journey with God by venturing out into the deep at the command of God. The former cuts Abraham off from his past; the latter threatens to cut him off from his future.

We may observe the structure of the entire text in the threefold reference to “your son, your only son” (vv. 2, 12, 16). Also, the repetition of Abraham’s “Here I am,” spoken to God (v. 1), then Isaac (v. 7), and finally God (v. 11) highlights basic moments in the story.

22:1–14. God commands Abraham not to kill or murder his son, but to present him “on the altar” as a burnt offering to God (עלה ʿōlâ; cf. Exod 29:38–46; Lev 1:3–17). The offering language places this entire episode within the context of the sacrificial system. The deed will be a specifically religious act, an act of faith, a giving to God of what Abraham loves (only then would it be a true sacrifice). Inasmuch as sacrifice involves a vehicle in and through which God gives back the life that has been given, the hope against hope for Abraham would be that God would somehow find a way of giving Isaac—or another life—back (hence the link made to the resurrection by Heb 11:17–19). We should note that Abraham does, finally, offer a sacrifice.

Abraham’s silent response to God’s command (on test, see below) may be designed to raise questions in the mind of the reader. Why is Abraham being “blindly” obedient, not raising any questions or objections (especially in view of 18:23–25)? Abraham’s trust in God seems evident in his open stance (“Here I am”) and unhesitating response. At the same time, the text gives us no clue as to his emotional state (e.g., whether he was deeply troubled).

God’s command is accompanied by נא (naʾ), a particle of entreaty or urgency. Rarely used by God (cf. Judg 13:4; Isa 1:18; Isa 7:3), God thereby may signal the unusual character of the moment and the relationship of mutual trust. It may help Abraham to see that God has as much stake in this matter as he does; God needs to know about Abraham’s faith. This may account for Abraham’s silence. However, God does not engage in a ploy, but offers a genuine command. Yet, the command pertains to a particular moment; it is not universally valid. Moreover, God does not intend that the commandment be fully obeyed. Hence, God revokes the command when the results of the test become clear and speaks a second command that overrides the first (v. 12).

We should note the emphasis on “seeing.” Twice, Abraham lifts up his eyes (vv. 4, 13), and five times the verb “to see” (ראה rāʾâ) is used of Abraham (vv. 4, 13) and God (vv. 8, twice in 14). From a distance, Abraham sees the place where God told him to sacrifice Isaac and then, close up, he sees the ram provided at that very place. This process testifies to a progressively clearer seeing. Abraham places his trust in God’s seeing (v. 8) and that trust finally enables him to see the lamb that God has seen to. Seeing saves the son (cf. Hagar’s seeing in 16:13; 21:19, which saves Ishmael).

The writer offers another important feature: “the mountains that I shall show you” (v. 2; cf. 12:1). The narrative stresses it early on (vv. 3–5, 9) and returns to it in v. 14, when a name appears: God will provide. God shows Abraham that place (by v. 3 NRSV). It is as if God has prepared the scene ahead of time, ram and all, and hence Abraham must be precisely directed to it. Moriah, three days’ journey away (a general reference), a place unknown to us, but not to him, may refer to Jerusalem (2 Chr 3:1; cf. “the mount of Yahweh” [v. 14] in Ps 24:3; Isa 2:3). The place name Moriah gives the command a special quality: Abraham will not sacrifice at any altar, but in a specific God-chosen place a great distance away. Might this arrangement have given Abraham a clue to what God intended?

Verses 7–8 are central. The statement “the two of them walked on together” encloses this interchange between Abraham and Isaac. Abraham’s statement of faith that God will provide (v. 8) is the only time Abraham responds more fully than “Here I am.” This is also the only time that Isaac speaks. Note also the movement from the more distancing language of “boy” in v. 5 to the repeated “my son” in vv. 7–8, perhaps testifying to a shift in perspective.

By this point Abraham stays on course because he trusts that God will act to save Isaac. He conveys to Isaac what he believes to be the truth about his future: God will provide. He testifies to this form of divine action in v. 14, as does Israel’s witness to the event “to this day” (v. 14). God tests precisely the nature of Abraham’s response as unhesitating trust in the deity. As God puts it (v. 12), it involves Abraham’s fear of God, a faithfulness that accords with God’s purposes and works itself out in daily life as truth and justice (see 20:11). Abraham obeys because he trusts God; trust out of which obedience flows remains basic. Disobedience would reveal a lack of trust. At least by v. 8 Abraham’s obedience is informed and undergirded by a trust that God will find a way through this dark moment.

Anticipations of this trust occur earlier. In v. 5 Abraham tells his servants that both of them will worship and both will return; the servants witness to this conviction. The author relates the trustful reference to worship with the worship in v. 8. To suggest that Abraham is equivocating or being ironic or deceptive or whistling in the dark finds no basis in the text; such ideas betray too much interest in dramatization. It would be strange for a narrative designed to demonstrate Abraham’s trusting obedience to be punctuated with acts of deception.

Verses 7–8 also focus on Isaac. The author initially devotes attention to Isaac as a child (without recalling the promise). Abraham loves this child (in God’s judgment, v. 2); we should not assume an abusive relationship. Although ignorant of the journey’s purpose, Isaac does not remain entirely passive. He breaks the silence with a question of his father (v. 7)—the only recorded exchange between them. He senses that something is not right (his lack of reference to the knife no more suggests this than does the absence of fire in vv. 9–10). Yet, Isaac does not focus on himself. (Isaac’s emotions are often overplayed.) Isaac addresses Abraham as a loving father, mirroring Abraham’s trusting relationship to God. Abraham responds in like manner.

Abraham centers on what his son has to say, attending to him as he has attended to God (“Here I am”). He does not dismiss Isaac’s question, as if inappropriate. It even elicits Abraham’s trust in God in a public form. Isaac enables his father’s trusting action to be joined with trusting words. While not telling him everything, Abraham does answer Isaac’s question directly and conveys to him what he believes will happen. What had been implicit (v. 5) here becomes explicit. Their walking on together conveys indirectly Isaac’s response. He exhibits no resistance, even later when his father prepares him for the sacrificial moment (some descriptions of the knife go beyond the text). Isaac believes his father’s trust to be well placed. Abraham’s trust in God has become Isaac’s trust: God will provide a lamb, which is God’s intention from the beginning, of course, and Abraham and Isaac are now both attuned to that intention and trust it.

The text also focuses on Abraham’s continuing trust in God. The trusting departure does not settle the issue, or God could have cut off the journey much earlier. The question becomes: Will Abraham stay with the journey? The author stresses the journey as such, which provides opportunity for second thoughts (vv. 6, 8) following each expression of trust (vv. 5, 8). Abraham exhibits his trust in God by staying the course. Only at the end of the journey can God say, “Now I know.”

Tensions in the text also center on God. What is at stake in this for God?

1. God’s testing. God and the reader know this is a test; Abraham does not. God intends not to kill Isaac but to test Abraham’s faithfulness, which is essential if God is to move into the future with him. In responding, Abraham no doubt observes (as do all commentators) the apparent contradictory character of the command: God, having fulfilled the promise of a son, asks Abraham to sacrifice that son and the future that goes with him. The fact that Abraham obeys shows that he trusts God will find a way into the future. God had found a way to fulfill the promise of a son when nothing seemed possible (see 18:14); given that experience, Abraham trusts that this comparably impossible situation will not be beyond God’s ability. Abraham trusts that God’s promise and command are not finally contradictory; whatever conflict there may be, it is up to God to resolve it, and God is up to it.

If Abraham had known in advance that it was a test, it would have been no real test; for he (or anyone) would respond differently to a test from a more indirect method of discernment. Moreover, the test would not work simply at the verbal level; words might not lead to action. Abraham may recognize this fact by his silence, responding in deed rather than word. In the OT, God tests Israel to discern whether they will do justice to a relationship in which they stand (Deut 8:2–3). God can test by discerning the human response to a command: Is Abraham’s loyalty undivided? God initiates the test to gain certainty.

2. God’s knowledge. Brueggemann notes correctly that this test “is not a game with God; God genuinely does not know.… The flow of the narrative accomplishes something in the awareness of God. He did not know. Now he knows.” The test is as real for God as it is for Abraham.

The test is not designed to teach Abraham something—that he is too attached to Isaac, or that Isaac is “pure gift,” or that he must learn to cling to God rather than to the content of the promise. Experience always teaches, of course, and Abraham certainly learns. But nowhere does the text say that he now trusts more in God or has learned a lesson of some sort. Rather, the test confirms a fact: Abraham trusts deeply that God has his best interests at heart so that he will follow where God’s command leads (a point repeated in vv. 12 and 16). The only one said to learn anything from the test is God: “Now I know” (v. 12; on the angel, see commentary on 16:7). God does not teach; rather, God learns. For the sake of the future, God needs to know about Abraham’s trust.

While God knew what was likely to happen, God does not have absolute certainty as to how Abraham would respond. God has in view the larger divine purpose, not just divine curiosity or an internal divine need. The story addresses a future that encompasses all the families of the earth: Is Abraham the faithful one who can carry that purpose along? Or does God need to take some other course of action, perhaps even look for another?

Is the promise of God thereby made conditional? In some sense, yes (see vv. 16–18). Fidelity was not optional. God could not have used a disloyal Abraham for the purposes God intends.

3. God’s vulnerability. Some people read this story as if God were a detached observer, a heavenly homeroom teacher watching from afar to see if Abraham passes the test. But God puts much at risk in this ordeal. God had chosen Isaac as the one to continue the line of promise (at one point Abraham would have chosen Ishmael, 17:18; 21:11). Although God does not intend that Isaac be killed, the test places God’s own promise at risk, at least in the form of the person of Isaac. The command has the potential of taking back what God has taken so many pains to put in place.

This story presents a test not only of Abraham’s faith in God, but of God’s faith in Abraham as well, in the sense that Abraham’s response will affect the moves God makes next. God places the shape of God’s own future in Abraham’s hands. Given his somewhat mixed responses to God up to this point, God took something of a risk to put so much on the line with this man. As E. Roop puts it: “God took the risk that Abraham would respond. Abraham took the risk that God would provide.” One cannot project what God would have done had Abraham failed, or if Abraham had actually killed Isaac, but God would have had to find another way into the future, perhaps another way with Abraham.

Why would God place the promise at risk in order to see whether Abraham fears God? Why not just get on with it, or wait to put Isaac to the test? But, according to vv. 16–18 (and 26:3–5, 24), it is not enough for the sake of the history of the promise that Isaac be born. There are also other promises to be fulfilled. Abraham’s continuing faithful response to God remains a central issue. God waits upon him before getting on with the promised future.

The interpreter may find difficulty in relating Genesis 22 to the divine promises of chap. 15, where God participates in an act of self-imprecation; God’s potential sacrifice there (reinforced here by God’s own oath) correlates with Abraham’s potential sacrifice of Isaac. While the promises are not given a new shape in Genesis 22, they receive a new emphasis in view of Abraham’s response.

4. God’s trustworthiness. The test raises the question of whether God can be trusted. This God promises, proceeds to fulfill that promise, and then seems to take it back. Can readers trust this God only because they know this is a test, and that God does not intend to kill Isaac? For Abraham, trust was there without this knowledge. What will God’s response be?

Abraham departs for the place of sacrifice because he believes that God can require Isaac of him (and of God!); yet he trusts that God will somehow find a way to fulfill the promises. By v. 8 in his long journey, his trust has taken the form that God will provide a lamb. His public confession constitutes a new situation with which God must work. This ups the ante for God. The test no longer involves simply Abraham’s trust but becomes a matter of God’s providing as well. Will Abraham’s trust in God be in vain? Is God free to ignore Abraham’s trust? If God did not provide, then that would constitute another kind of test, at a much deeper level than the one initiating this journey.

If God tests within relationship to determine loyalty, then God cannot disdain the expression of such loyalty. Given God’s previous commitments (especially in chap. 15), God is bound to stay with a trusting Abraham. So God does speak, forbidding the sacrifice of Isaac and providing an animal; even more, God provides it as a substitute for Isaac, “instead of his son.”

5. God’s providing. Why should God be praised as a provider for following through on God’s own test? God appears praiseworthy for being faithful to the commitment to Abraham. But why was the ram even necessary? After discerning that Abraham did fear God, God stopped him before he saw the ram (vv. 12–13). Yet, God provided the ram, and Abraham offered it “instead of his son.” A sacrifice seems necessary, even if not expressly commanded. If not Isaac, then it must be another.

The redemption of the firstborn remains as a concern in this text (Exod 13:13; 22:29; 34:20). But the interest is not etiological or historical. This motif underscores Israel as the firstborn of God (Exod 4:22), an issue faced by the exiles (Jer 31:9, 20; cf. 2:3). This story presents a metaphor for Israel’s life with God, in which Israel becomes both Abraham and Isaac (see below).

22:15–19. These verses report God’s response in straightforward language (reinforced by 26:3–5, 24, but often obscured by efforts to wiggle out of the implications), twice spoken as if to ensure the point: Because Abraham has done this, previously spoken divine promises can be reiterated. The promises were originally made (12:1–3) independently of Abraham’s response. God’s promises create his faith (15:6), though Abraham could still be unfaithful. That is not reversed here so that his faith creates the promises. The covenant in chap. 15 was made with Abraham as a person of faith (as all covenants in the OT are). Here the promises are reiterated (in an emphatic way) to a trusting Abraham. If he had been unfaithful to God, we do not know what would have happened (God may have given Abraham another opportunity), but we do know that the promises would always be there for Abraham to cling to. Having seen Abraham’s faithfulness, God swears an oath for the first time in the narrative, in effect laying the divine life on the line, putting the very divine self behind the promise.

Reflections

1. This is a classic text. It has captivated the imaginations of numerous interpreters, drawn by both its literary artistry and its religious depths. It has played a special role in both Jewish and Christian traditions. Before its depth and breadth one stands on holy ground. But this text also presents problems. It has occasioned deep concern, especially in a time when the abuse of children has screamed its way into the modern consciousness.

Psychoanalyst Alice Miller claims this text may have contributed to an atmosphere that makes it possible to justify the abuse of children. She grounds her reflections on some thirty artistic representations of this story over the centuries. In two of Rembrandt’s paintings, Abraham faces the heavens rather than Isaac, as if in blind obedience to God and oblivious to what he is about to do. Abraham’s hands cover Isaac’s face, preventing him from seeing or raising a cry. Not only is Isaac silenced, but only his torso shows—his personal features are obscured. Isaac “has been turned into an object. He has been dehumanized by being made a sacrifice; he no longer has a right to ask questions and will scarcely even be able to articulate them to himself, for there is no room in him for anything besides fear.”

We may not simply dismiss the possible negative impact of this text; it would not be the first time the Bible has been used knowingly or unknowingly for such purposes. The text contributes to such an understanding, as God asks and then twice commends Abraham for not withholding his son, his only son (vv. 2, 12, 16). Abraham asks no questions, and God offers no qualifications. The child seems to be a pawn in the hands of two “adults” who need to work out an issue between them.

Yet, while moderns might wonder about the psychological abuse Isaac endures in all of this, the narrator gives him a questioning voice, and his father attentively responds to his query. This dialogue leads Isaac to place himself trustingly in the arms of his father and his God. The text offers no evidence that trust in God ever wavers for either father or son. We must be careful to stress these elements for the sake of a proper hearing of the text. Children must be allowed to ask their questions about this text, to which adults should be highly alert.

2. Once again, an Abrahamic text mirrors a later period in Israel’s life. Israel, God’s firstborn, had been sentenced to death by God in the fires of judgment. But exilic Israel remains God’s firstborn (so Jeremiah affirms, 31:9), the carrier of God’s purposes into the future. As Isaac was saved from death, so was Israel delivered from the brink of annihilation. But what of the future? Out of this matrix the Israelites developed an understanding that a sacrifice was necessary to assure Israel’s future, shaped most profoundly in Isaiah 53 (see the use of שׂה (śeh), lamb, in 53:7 and vv. 7–8; cf. Jer 11:19). Israel’s redemption would not occur without cost. At the same time, Israel’s faithfulness was not an optional matter as it moved into a future shaped by God’s promises. The emphasis on descendants in v. 17 also connects well with these exilic concerns (see Isa 51:2, and the renewed interest in Abraham in exile). The NT use of this story to understand the sacrifice of God’s only Son constitutes an appropriate extension of the text (see John 1:14).

3. To trust God does not mean always to respond in an unquestioning way; this text does not commend passivity before God. Chapters 18 and 22 must be kept together, showing that Abraham’s faithfulness to God works itself out in various ways. Perhaps Abraham responds as he does in chap. 22 because he learned from the encounter in chap. 18 that God is indeed just, and that he need only trust on this occasion. The confession that God will provide pertains as much to times of questioning and challenging as to moments of ‘blind’ trust. It may well be the reader who, having learned from Abraham in chap. 18, responds with questions to God’s command to sacrifice Isaac.

Abraham does not simply obey; he obeys because he trusts. He could have obeyed because he was ordered to do so; if God commands, he had better respond. But v. 8 makes clear that he obeys because he trusts God, that God will be faithful and will act in his best interests. Hebrews 11:17–19 posits the Resurrection at this point; if necessary, the promises will remain in and through death. Moreover, Abraham does not claim ownership of the promise, as if it were his possession, as if his faithful response counts for little or nothing (see Jas 2:18–26).

4. This story presents the last dialogue between Abraham and God and between Abraham and Isaac. It follows closely on the heels of the birth of Isaac and precedes Sarah’s death (23:2). The narrative’s literary setting intimates a concern for the (unprecedented) turning of the generations; Isaac now moves out into the world on his own. The absence of an explicit reference to Isaac at the end (v. 19) may witness to a future open to the next generation, with uncertainty as to what will happen to the promises as Abraham moves off the scene.

One promise has been fulfilled. Yet, promises of land, numerous descendants, and being a blessing to the nations remain. What status do these other divine promises have now? Are they a matter of course, to be fulfilled irrespective of Abraham’s (or anyone else’s) faith in God? Are God’s promises now to be carried by genetics, by a natural biological succession? What happens if Abraham ceases to trust God? At times scholars speak of the unconditionality of God’s promise to Abraham in such a way that faith becomes irrelevant. Verses 16–18 together with 26:3–5, 24 make clear, however, that God reiterates the promise to Isaac because of the way in which Abraham responded in faithfulness. Hence, the promise does not automatically or naturally carry on into the family’s next generation.

Although God will never invalidate the promise, people do not participate in the sphere of the promise independently of a faithful response. Abraham could have said no to God, and complicated God’s moves into the future, though not finally stymied them. While the divine word of promise inspires Abraham’s trust (15:6), he could resist the word of God; if that were not the case, then the command would have been no test at all, for the outcome would have been settled in advance. God, however, does not coerce or program Abraham’s fidelity.

The apostle Paul incorporates this point when making the claim that the promises of God cannot be reduced to genetics (Rom 4:16–25; Gal 3:6–9). Those who have faith in the God of Abraham have received the promises irrespective of biological succession.

At the same time, the text does not imply a spiritual succession across the centuries, for the promise takes shape in the actual lives of people, whose own words and deeds are centrally involved in its transmission. This means that the word of God, in some general way, does not provide for the continuity across the generations. God places the promise in the hands of those who are faithful, and their witness ought not to be discounted.

Another way of putting the issue: What happens to faith when the promise reaches fulfillment? Granted, other promises reach out to the future. But receiving the promised son could have tempted Abraham to push other promises to the side: I now have what I want. How do promises already fulfilled affect the relationship with God? Will Abraham’s trust in God still be the core of his life? Will Abraham still ground his life in the divine promises rather than bask in the sunshine of fulfillment? In order to explore these questions, the test focused precisely on the point of fulfillment: Isaac.

5. Testing must be considered relationally, not legalistically. Life in relationship will inevitably bring tests; individuals will often find themselves in situations where their loyalty is tested. What constitutes testing will be determined by the nature of the relationship and the expectations the parties have for it. As a relationship matures and trust levels are built up, faithful responses to the testing of the relational bond will tend to become second nature. Yet, even in a mature relationship, sharp moments of testing may present themselves. Abraham may have faced this kind of moment.

Is the relationship with the deity one in which the people of God can expect to be put to the test again and again? Are there absurd, senseless experiences in life that can become the occasion to turn away from God? There may well be a deep, dark, and seemingly hopeless valley through which we travel. Maybe we think God protects us from such moments, especially those who have been given promises; if God does not protect us, then we will turn away from God. We should learn from this story that receiving promises does not entail being protected from moments where those promises seem to be called into question.

To move to the NT, God does not expect of Abraham something that God would be unwilling to do. God puts Jesus through a time of testing to see if he will be faithful, and hence could be a vehicle for God’s redemptive purposes in the world. God risked that Jesus would not be found faithful. Even more, God put Jesus through a time of testing in the Garden of Gethsemane. How was it possible for Jesus to believe that God would be faithful to promises in such a time? Jesus trusts himself to the will of God, trusting that God will find a way to be faithful to the promises even in the face of death. And God does prove faithful in raising Jesus from the dead.

Some NT words on testing may be helpful: “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested” (Heb 2:18 NRSV; cf. 4:15). We are promised by 1 Cor 10:13, “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it” (NRSV). These affirmations do not make trust an option, but we can count on the faithfulness of God, who in the midst of the worst possible testings will provide a way through the fire.

 

Ancestors: Noah

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Before we launch into the story of Noah, the ark, the flood, and his sons, we need to deal with an underlying issue related to language and tradition.  First, let’s talk about the word “myth.”  Try Google searching topics related to myths, like, “myths about dieting” or “myths about sex” or “myths about aging” or “myths about sex while dieting and aging” and you will begin to notice that in our casual use of the term myth, we equate it with falsehood.  If it’s a myth it’s not true.  But that does a disservice to the term, which actually relates to a literary device or form that, while fictional, is actually striving in many cases to communicate truth.  Myth doesn’t mean false.  In fact, great truths have been communicated through myths.  Some of Jesus’ greatest truths were communicated through stories he made up – fictional characters of a father and his two sons, or a Good Samaritan.  To say that the story of Noah and the Ark was a Jewish myth causes some to stumble a bit because it’s in the Bible.  And if it’s in the Bible, it must be true (not a myth), right?

This idea that God essentially wrote the Bible using the hands of humans has a fancy name to impress your friends, Plenary Inspiration, which asserts that the Bible (at least originally) is exactly how God wanted it to be.  In addition to that, the loudest branch of Christianity in the United States for the last 125 years or so said that “real” Christians believe that the Bible is inerrant (without error) and infallible (incapable of being wrong).  Add it all together, and when you open up the Bible and read the first chapters, you might therefore conclude that God created the heavens and the earth in week, with a literal Adam and Eve and talking snake, and eventually a guy named Noah saving the animals and humans from extinction with an ark he was told to make by God, and that all of it is literally, historically, and factually accurate.

That way of thinking about the Bible, however, is very Western and relatively new.  Judaism is an Eastern religion and is very old – the ancient rabbis did not view the Bible the way we do.  They were very comfortable with creating and using myths and embellishing historical accounts for theological purposes.  They were not writing for us, with our hyper-critical sensitivity to detailed accuracy.  They were wanting to convey their theological perspective to the world, and primarily for their own adherents.  If you have a problem with thinking about the Bible this way, you have a problem with more than me – you have a problem with the actual writers who gave the Bible to you.  As you reflect on this, you may end up having a much bigger problem with those who set you up for this problem in the first place – the publishers and leaders who demanded that the Bible be looked at in a very particular way, and added threat if you didn’t.  That stifling of questions and ideas is in direct opposition to the spirit of Jewish scholarship, which is what informed Jesus and Paul’s approach.  Viewing parts of the Bible in their appropriate genre – sometimes myth or fiction – does not rob it of authority.  In fact, appreciating and embracing the genre strengthens it.

The story of Noah and the Ark (Genesis chapters 6-9) was written in response to other stories emerging from surrounding cultures about a great flood that actually did happen.  In the Nerd Out Notes below, you can read descriptions of some of those stories.  Did a flood actually cover the entire earth? That is entirely unlikely.  To the original people who experienced some sort of major flood, however, that’s how it seemed.  Remember that our knowledge of the curvature of the earth is a new discovery in perspective.  None of the biblical writers had a cosmology that included a spherical earth.  When these ancient people looked around when such a flood took place, their report would be that the whole earth was covered, because that’s as far as they could see. They did not consider the fact that they could not actually see the ends of the earth – just their end of their earth.  Lots of cultures tried to explain why the gods would allow or cause such an event.  Remembering that Genesis is the story of beginnings for the Jewish people, we need to ask what the story meant for them, and also what they weren’t trying to communicate.

Pete Enns, author of Genesis for Normal People, notes:

The first thing that helps us take off our modern glasses is to recognize that (1) Israel’s neighbors also had flood stories very similar to the biblical one, and (2) Israel’s flood story was written after these other stories (as we saw with the creation story in Genesis 1). These older versions come from ancient Sumeria, Assyria, and Babylon. It seems there really was a catastrophic flood at some point in the far distant past (some archaeologists say around 2900 B.C.) in the ancient Near East. And different cultures in that region gave different reasons for why it happened. (50) Let’s remember that for ancient Israel, as for other cultures, this deathly flood had to be explained somehow. And the Israelites gave an explanation that said something loud and clear about how their God was different from the other gods. Their God isn’t touchy and grumpy; he has standards he expects his created beings to uphold. For God to have killed all life on earth must mean that his standards have been violated across the board. Or, as the writer of the story puts it, “every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually” (6:5). So, God wiped the slate clean and started over by choosing Noah, the righteous one, as the new beginning. (54)

In the story of creation, the biblical authors wanted to paint God as one who brought order out of chaos.  We hear that echoed in the Flood story – water again covered the surface of the earth, and God restored it to order.  This was a cosmic do-over.  While we may get stuck on a lot of questions along the way about what the meaning of unleashing the flood in the first place says about the character and nature of God, this was not the original author’s leading purpose.  Their statement is simply that God is the one powerful enough to do this, was motivated from a place of holiness, and yet was also driven by grace.  Some ancient Midrash on the story submit the idea that it was actually Noah’s sons who built the Ark, and Noah spent that century warning everyone else to prepare, presumably inviting them to be saved as well (but to no avail).  Noah, in this regard, becomes a graceful second Adam who doesn’t fall into the temptation of disobedience which leads to death, but gets it right and lives (along with his family and the rest of the animals).

The ark is built, the animals get onboard, the flood happens, every breathing thing dies except for those on the ark, and eventually, the water subsides and Noah and company start over.  God hangs up his bow of wrath pledging never to destroy the earth again.  It’s the colors of the rainbow, letting us know God is inclusive right there in the beginning!  Everything is perfectly restored.  Until it isn’t.

The story takes a weird turn.  Enough time passes for Noah to plant a vineyard, harvest the grapes, and make wine. Apparently, it was a good vintage, because he got ripped.  So ripped that he ended up going to bed naked in his tent.  His son, Ham, went into the tent, perhaps to check up on his dad, and saw that he was naked and cracked up.  Instead of covering him up right away, he thought it would be fun to let his brothers Shem and Japheth in on the discovery.  His brothers, however, didn’t want to see their dad’s junk on full display, and instead walked in backwards with a blanket to cover him up.  When Noah woke up, he was incensed, and cursed Ham.  Remember that in the story of Adam and Eve there was a curse delivered around the subject of nakedness?  The serpent issued the temptation which, when indulged, led to shame associated with nakedness.  Here we are all over again.

The writers of Genesis tell us in this account (Genesis 9:18-29) that Ham was the father of Canaan.  This anachronism is one nod to the fact that this was written way past the earliest remembrance of Israel’s history since Canaan didn’t exist yet – this is told in retrospect to people who knew the most important thing about Canaan to every Israelite: Canaan was the sworn enemy in days of old.  Israelites hated Canaanites.  They warred against Canaanites.  The wrote against Canaanites.  They forbid intermarriage with Canaanites.  It was totally okay to speak terribly of Canaanites. You get the idea. Now, in the story of Noah, we are given an explanation of where they came from, and why it was okay to treat them so poorly: their genesis was the DNA of Ham the disobedient son.  A disobedience to God.  As a cursed people, their mistreatment was therefore warranted and eventually even ordained by those claiming to speak for God.

This story eventually became a foundation for affirming the peculiar institution of American slavery.  American slaveholders were biblically justified to mistreat this particular ethnic group because it was ordained by God.  In The Great Stain: Witnessing American Slavery, Frederick Douglass was remembered for his weighing in on such an abuse of scripture:

“Between the Christianity of this land and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest possible difference—so wide that to receive the one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one is of necessity to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ; I therefore hate the corrupt, slave-holding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land. Indeed, I can see no reason but the most deceitful one for calling the religion of this land Christianity…”

What are we left with?  If we take the story as simply as it was offered, and with its original intent, we can go home hearing our long-suffering Jewish ancestors remind us that God is really powerful, and truly graceful, even when it seems like the rains will never end.  We are not alone, and our suffering is not because God is trying to destroy us.

Since we live now, however, we may want to ask some questions of ourselves, like…

·       How do we make sense of chaos and destruction in our time – what kind of theology are we holding?

·       How have we limited our understanding of this story due to the influences of American Christianity?

·       How have we justified our mistreatment of others (attitudes and behaviors), perhaps even using scripture for our support?

May we all embrace the love of God proclaimed in this complex story.  May we all take time to delve into the complexity of our perspectives, that we would never find ourselves using this story to justify our own prejudices in our time.

Nerd Out Notes…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginningby the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary:

 

NOAH AND THE ARK This entry consists of two articles. The first focuses on the biblical hero of the Flood (Gen 5:28–9:29) who later became the subject of Jewish and Christian legend. The second article focuses on the ark itself and the claims through the ages that its remains have survived.

THE HERO OF THE FLOOD

A.   Introduction

1.   Name

2.   Flood Heroes in Other Ancient Literature

B.   Noah in Judeo-Christian Tradition

1.   Hebrew Bible

2.   Apocrypha

3.   Genesis Apocryphon

4.   New Testament

5.   Pseudepigrapha

A. Introduction

In the genealogical reckoning of Gen 5:28–29, Noah is introduced as a son of the 182-year-old Lamech. Noah stands at the end of the era that is now to be destroyed, the era that has lasted more than 1,500 years since the beginning of the world when the first human couple was created.

According to the genealogies of Genesis 4 and 5, there have been 7–10, depending on how we count them, generations starting with that of Adam and Eve up to Noah’s generation. However, the narrative tradition hurries through the same 1,656 years in just three generations, beginning with that of Adam and Eve, followed by that of Cain and Abel, and now of Noah and his family. Then the Flood sweeps over—only Noah’s family is saved, because “Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his time; with God Noah walked” (Gen 6:9). Thus, Noah is the one who is saved, guarded by the covenant of the rainbow, and in turn is destined to save humanity. He is the father of the new era; he is the father of Shem, Ham, and Japheth, whose offspring are going to repopulate the entire world after the Flood (Gen 10:1–32). Noah is an epoch divider figure as well as a bridge between the quasi-mythological history and a more humanly accountable history.

In these early chapters of Genesis a complex image of Noah emerges. The later chapters and books variously refer to Noah specifically by name or obliquely by alluding to many aspects of Noah and the Flood Story. In the following sections the major significance of Noah and his ancient counterparts and some of the more obvious references and allusions to him are examined.

1. Name. No firm etymology for the name Noah (Heb Nōaḥ, Gk Nōe) has been established, but it is generally derived from the verb root nwḥ, to rest, settle down, repose, etc.; thus “Noah” may mean “to rest.” Whatever “Noah,” spelled consonantally as nḥ, may have meant originally, the genealogy (Gen 5:29) gives us a folk etymology that Noah (nḥ) is to bring us comfort (nḥm, Piʿel, to comfort, console: Nipʿal, to be sorry, console oneself); thus nḥ is associated aurally to nḥm, making Noah the bringer of comfort (nḥm) from labor (derived from ʿśh) and toil (derived from ʿṣb).

It is not fortuitous that when the Flood Story introduces Noah, these very same roots, nḥm, ʿśh, and ʿṣb, are repeated in the same order: “And the Lord was sorry [nḥm] that he had made [ʿśh] man on the earth and it grieved [ʿṣb] him to his heart”—(Gen 6:6).

The wordplay involving nḥm continues; “And the Lord said, ‘I will blot out [mḥh] man whom I have created’ ” (Gen 6:7). Here the two key consonants  and m are reversed. The wordplay still goes on as “Noah [nḥ] found favor [ḥn] in the eyes of the Lord” (Gen 6:8); note here the two consonants of the name are also reversed. Furthermore, Noah begets a son named Ham (ḥm, Gen 6:10), relating assonantally to nḥm, “comfort,” but substantially to ḥms, “violence”; “and the earth was corrupt in the eyes of God and the earth was filled with violence [ḥms]” (Gen 6:11). “Noah” (nḥ) and “violence” (ḥms) are picked up again in Gen 6:13 and the wordplay extends to the word mḥwṣ, “outside,” in Gen 6:14, as Noah is to “pitch it (the ark) with pitch inside and outside [mḥwṣ].”

Moreover, observe that Ham is introduced soon after the initial episode of the story, namely, the sexual involvement of the sons of gods with the daughters of men (Gen 6:1–4), and then he finds himself in a sexual offense against Noah at the final episode of the story (Gen 9:18–29). These two episodes of sexual intrigue frame the story, and Ham is closely associated with both of them.

The notion of mḥh, “blotting out,” as a result of the Lord’s “regret” (nḥm) terminates in the central episode of the devastating flood destruction (Gen 7:17–24), where that verb is used both actively and passively: “and he blotted out [ymḥ] every living thing that was upon the face of the ground … and they were blotted out [ymḥw] from the earth” (Gen 7:23). The idea of the name Noah, “rest,” is fittingly echoed where the ark securely rests (tnḥ) after 150 days of water ordeal, yet the dove (ywnh) could not find the place to rest (mnwḥ) its foot (Gen 8:9).

Many words that are loosely associated with the name Noah are used in a cluster at the beginning of the story. These same words are then distributed in strategic positions throughout the story, helping to unify the story and to make it unmistakably Noah’s Flood Story.

2. Flood Heroes in Other Ancient Literature. a. Mesopotamian. Noah as the Flood hero has many counterparts in ancient literature. To begin with, the Sumerian and Akkadian genealogical material as well as the epic tradition preserved various names of the righteous Flood hero, who stands exactly at the same relative position in world history as Noah, that is, at the end of the mythological, primeval historical era, ushering in a new, more concretely historical era. The Flood, thus, serves as an epoch divider. The main difference between Noah and his Mesopotamian counterparts is that Noah dies, while the other Flood heroes seem to gain immortality (Cohen 1974). See FLOOD.

(1) The Sumerian Deluge Story. The Sumerian counterpart of Noah is Ziusudra (meaning “life of prolonged day(s)”), the son of Ubartutu of Shuruppak. He is the Flood hero and epoch divider who becomes immortal. This is known from both the genealogical tradition found in the Sumerian king list (Jacobsen 1939) and from the narrative tradition as preserved in the Sumerian Deluge Story (ANET, 42–44; Civil 1969).

The 6-column text of the Sumerian Deluge Story is badly broken; the major portion of each column is gone. Only about one fourth (approximately 70 out of 300 lines) of the story remains, and even that is preserved imperfectly. But the text includes more than the Flood Story. In column 1, there appears to be one or two episodes of earlier destructions of humankind long before the Flood. The text also recalls the creation by Anu, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag of the black-headed people, i.e., the Mesopotamians. The kingship and civilization are established, and the name of five antediluvian cities, which we know from the Sumerian King List and to which different gods are assigned, are listed in column 2. The pious king Ziusudra is praying in column 3 and the impending flood is announced in column 4. The Flood rages, Ziusudra is saved, and he offers a sacrifice in column 5. The earth is repopulated and Ziusudra becomes immortal and lives in Dilmun in column 6. The rest of the tablet is broken off.

(2) Gilgamesh XI The best preserved Mesopotamian Flood narrative, however, is found in Tablet 11 of the Akkadian Gilgamesh epic. It provides so far the clearest parallel to Noah’s flood story. The creator and magician god Enki/Ea cleverly communicates to Utnapishtim (for the meaning of the name, see below), whose nickname is Atrahasis (meaning “exceedingly wise”), about the impending disaster and instructs him to build a cubical ship with six stories and nine sections and to save himself and his family. The Flood rages for seven days; everyone dies except the Utnapishtim family, the seed of all living creatures, and all the craftsmen. The ship rests on the top of the Mount Nasir, a bird is let out to check the water level, and Utnapishtim offers a sacrifice over which the hungry gods gather like flies. Utnapishtim is granted immortality by the gods. According to Anne D. Kilmer (1987b) we perhaps can even recover a rainbow covenant motif from the enigmatic passage describing Ishtar’s colorful necklace of lapis lazuli and her promise:

Then she [Nintu] approached the big flies

Which Anu had made and was carrying …

Let these flies be the lapis around my neck

That I may remember it [every (?)] day [and forever (?)]

(Atrahasis, 3.5.46–6.4)

The parallel passage in Gilgamesh is:

When at last the Great Goddess arrived,

She lifted up the great flies [jewels] which Anu had made light-heartedly[?]

“These gods—verily [by] the lapis round my neck and I shall not forget

These days—surely I will remember forever and not forget.”

(Gilgamesh XI 162–169)

Enki then chastises Enlil for sending the most destructive flood instead of a less severe disaster, such as a lion or a famine, to “diminish mankind.” In response Enlil makes Utnapishtim immortal.

The Flood hero himself, reluctantly at first, narrates this Flood Story to Gilgamesh, who is questing immortality and thinks that he too may obtain it by consulting Utnapishtim. Thus the rest of the Gilgamesh Epic offers no contextual parallel to Genesis, except for some isolated verbal and motif similarities.

(3) The Atrahasis Epic. However, the Atrahasis Epic, though the Flood portion of the text (Tablet III) is quite damaged, presents a narrative account of the Mesopotamian primeval history that parallels Genesis 1–11 inclusively. The Flood Story in Atrahasis (approximately 405 lines) is more than twice the size of the Gilgamesh flood story (approximately 190 lines). Although they seem to tell the same story (cf. Utnapishtim is identified as Atrahasis, “Exceedingly Wise,” in Gilgamesh XI.187), the function of the Flood in these two epics is quite different; in Atrahasis it is a population control measure and an epoch divider, whereas in Gilgamesh it explains how immortality was once granted to a mortal. A synoptic outline of the Atrahasis Epic and Genesis 1–11 is as follows:

Atrahasis

 

Genesis 1–11

 

A. Creation of Mankind

 

(Tablet I.1–248)

 

(Gen 1:1–2:25)

 

Summary of Work of Gods

 

Summary of Work of God

 

Creation of Mankind

 

Creation of Mankind

 

B. People’s Numerical Increase

 

(I.249–415)

 

(2:4–3:24)

 

Attempt to Decrease Numbers

 

Adam and Eve

 

Threat of Death by Plague

 

Near Death

 

C. Second Attempt to Decrease

 

Double Story (II i.1–vi.55)

 

(4:1–5:32)

 

1.   Threat of Death: Drought

 

1.   Cain and Abel

 

2.   Severer Means

 

2.   Lamech’s Taunt

 

D. Final Solution

 

(II vii–II vi.40)

 

(6:1–9:29)

 

Atrahasis’s Flood

 

Noah’s Flood

 

Salvation in Boat

 

Salvation in Tēbâ—Ark

 

E. Resolution

 

(III vi.41–viii.18)

 

(10:1–11:32)

 

Compromise between Enlil and Enki

 

Dispersion—Abram Leaves Ur

 

“Birth Control”

 

Exodus Motif

 

The Atrahasis Epic begins with the creation of humankind because the labor-class gods are fed up with the heavy tasks imposed on them by the management-class gods, and they make much “noise,” especially against the chief god, Enlil. As a result, the mother goddess Mami and magician god Enki create procreating people as a substitute for the laboring gods. The people multiplied so much in 1,200 years that they made a great “noise,” to the annoyance of Enlil. Enlil tries to exterminate them first by a famine, then 1,200 years later by a drought, and finally, yet another 1,200 years later, by the flood. Three times Enlil’s plans are foiled by Enki and his faithful worshipper Atrahasis. Now the thrice failing and furious Enlil convenes a divine assembly where a post-Flood compromise is reached among gods to limit the expanding population. At least three such population control measures (Kilmer 1972) are suggested, presumably by Enki and Mami:

Moreover, a third category let there be among people;

Let there be among people bearing women and barren women!

Let there be among people the pāšittu-demon;

Let him snatch the baby

from the lap of the woman who bore it!

Place Ugbabtu-priestess, Entu-priestess,

and Igiṣı̄tu-priestess;

Let them be taboo and

Thus cut off child-bearing!

(Atrahasis III vi.52?—vii.9)

Note Genesis 1–11 topically parallels the Atrahasis Epic but reaches exactly an opposite conclusion. Whereas the Atrahasis Epic suggests “birth control” as means to curb human population, Genesis offers “dispersion” as means to accommodate the expanding population in response to the initial blessing of Gen 1:28, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” Out of the dispersion of Gen 11:1–9, who but Adam, the first Hebrew, emerges.

Atrahasis may have received immortality in the end. We cannot be sure because of the broken text, but his longevity, known from the unbroken part of the epic and spanning over three generations of 1,200 years each, is extraordinary. This gave rise to the following speculation.

(4) The Enki and Ninmah Story. The longevity of Atrahasis has led to the thought that Atrahasis may be the first man, or at least the first baby. This speculation is based on a Sumerian story called “Enki and Ninmah” (Benito 1969), which deals with the creation of people in two stages (Kikawada 1983). Note in the following story of Enki and Ninmah, the same topics and motifs as in Genesis 1–2 and Atrahasis I.1–351 are found, i.e. in the first stage humanity is invented for the purpose of work, to have dominion over the other living beings (Gen 1:26), and to bear the toil of the gods (Atrahasis I.191), and in the second stage specific persons, Adam and Eve (Gen 2:7, 22) and seven pairs of people (Atrahasis K 3399+3934, Obverse iii 9–13), are created and destined to be self-propagating by establishing marriage (Gen 2:24, Atrahasis I.300–1).

The Enki and Ninmah story begins after the goddess Nammu gives birth to gods who work in different regions of the world. When the work becomes too severe for the worker gods, they complain to the manager gods. The creator god Enki first tries to ignore the complaint by sleeping, but mother Nammu persuades Enki to create “substitutes,” namely humanity, for worker gods. Nammu decrees the fate of the new creature; goddess Ninmah imposes work on humankind. Gods become very happy; and have a big feast where Enki and Ninmah get drunk. That is the first stage of creation.

In the second stage, Ninmah proposes a people-making contest to Enki, one to create and the other to decree fate. Ninmah begins and she creates from clay six (could be seven, see Lambert and Millard 1969) creatures with some physical weaknesses. Enki decrees fates for them:

Ninmah’s Creature

 

Enki’s Decree

 

1.         One with weak arm

 

Court officer

 

2.         One with blinking eyes

 

Singer

 

3.         One with weak feet

 

?

 

4.         One with uncontrollable semen emission

 

Made safe

 

5.         One barren

 

Appointed to harem

 

6.         One sexless person

 

court officer

 

All these creatures of Ninmah are appointed to appropriate stations in the society—hence they gain independence and livelihood. The apex of the second stage is the creation of the procreating woman and her first baby, Umul, who was miraculously sired by Enki, the magician god himself. An irony of this story seems to lie in the fact that Ninmah the mother goddess does not recognize a baby:

She [Ninmah] approached Umul and asked him questions

[but] he did not know how to speak,

She offered him bread for his nourishment

[but] he did not reach out for it,

On the … [his] heart could not rest,

he could not sleep,

Standing up he could not sit down,

could not lie down,

a house he could not build[?]

food he could not eat,

Ninmah said with a stammer to Enki,

“The man you have fashioned is neither alive nor dead, he cannot carry anything.”

(Enki and Ninmah 96–101)

Then Enki advises her to hold him on her lap and assures her that Umul, having Enki’s “form,” will be a pious man. By the bringing forth of the first baby the model for human procreation is established by Enki, who instructs Ninmah, saying, “pouring the semen of an erected phallus in a woman’s womb, that woman will conceive in her womb.”

If the Enki and Ninmah story and the Sumerian deluge story are viewed in succession, they together seem to offer a tantalizing parallel to the whole of the Atrahasis Epic (Kilmer 1976). For this reason, Atrahasis is suspected of being the first baby. The other link between Atrahasis and the first baby lies in the meaning of the names. The first Sumerian baby’s name, given at birth, is Umul, “my day [of death] is far”—suspiciously a longevity name! Note that Atrahasis’ other name is Utnapishtim, reading here as ūta-napištim, “I have found life”—a longevity name given at the “end” of life when he is made immortal (Gilgamesh XI.193–95). Perhaps it is even better to read his full name, Utnapishtim the Distant, as um-napištim-rūqi, meaning “day of my life is long,” which would give us a still closer parallel to the Sumerian hero. Note that the name of the hero in the Sumerian deluge is Ziusudra, which means “life of prolonged day(s)”—a longevity name as well. Mesopotamian Noahs all have longevity names. In sharp contrast (Cohen 1974) to these names, Noah (nḥ)may signify eternal “Rest” or “Repose” in Sheol (cf. Isa 57:2 and Job 3:17).

b. Indo-European. (1) Iranian. The Avesta, in Vendidad Book 2 of the Iranian tradition, preserves a Zoroastrian counterpart to Noah, called Yima/Yama, the first man and first king (Christensen 1943), entrusted with government as well as religion. Yima helps expand the overburdened earth in three stages to accommodate the increasing population. He lives through 1,200 years until he is directed by Ahuramazda to prepare for an impending flood resulting from the melting snow. Ahuramazda gives Yima detailed instructions on how to make an enclosure in the mountain to save himself and “the seed of small and large cattle and the mortals and dogs and birds and the red burning fire” (Vendidad 2.25). The end of the story takes on an eschatological tone and it appears as though Yima is still in the enclosure even at the present time. From this story, too, we can recover the overall outline of the primeval history. Yima, like Noah, stands at the demarcation point between the primeval era and the new age to come.

(2) Indian. From India we can observe the Flood hero in both the genealogical and narrative traditions. He is either the seventh (or fourteenth) Manu, the last sage of the primeval era. In genealogical material Manu Vaivasvata stands at the end of the primeval epoch that is terminated by the Flood. The succeeding epoch has a different form of social structure which is reflected in a different type of genealogy (Thapar 1976). The antediluvian genealogy is a linear type wherein only one leader in a given period is accounted for, as in Genesis 4 and 5. After the Flood, the style of genealogy changes to the branched type wherein all the contemporary leaders and their relatives are recorded, i.e., to describe a family tree as in Genesis 10. The same Manu, in a narrative tradition, is saved from the Flood by a giant horned fish, which he found when it was little and helped by giving it successively bigger containers in which to grow. Thus, Manu Vaivasvata, like Noah, is the hero of the epoch-dividing Flood.

(3) Classical. Another Indo-European flood tradition is found in Greco-Roman literature, featuring righteous Deucalion and his pious wife Pyrrha, the best example of which is preserved in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. This Flood Story is placed in the same relative position in the early history of humankind as in the Mesopotamian tradition and Genesis.

The Metamorphoses begins with creation, followed by deterioration of the world in four stages from the Golden Age of the righteous to the Iron Age of evil. Jove then intends to get rid of the evil; he tries this in three stages. First, the household of evil, Lycaon, is blasted by a thunderbolt. Next, Jove wants to do the same thing to the whole earth but he is dissuaded because of the fear that heaven would be burnt up as well. In the third and final stage Jove sends the Flood from which the righteous couple, Deucalion and Pyrrha, are saved; after the Flood the earth is repopulated for the new epoch.

A scholiastic commentary on Homer’s Iliad. (Il. 1.5, on Dios boulēn) preserves a progression of topics similar to that found in Metamorphoses. The commentary also alludes to and summarizes the lost composition by Stasinos, entitled Cypria, whose emphasis is on the unburdening of the overpopulated earth in three stages. The motif of overpopulation brings this tradition close to the Mesopotamian and the biblical traditions.

B. Noah in Judeo-Christian Tradition

Both in the Old and New Testaments as well as in the intertestamental literature there are references to Noah. The following are some obvious examples and some speculative specimens.

1. Hebrew Bible. a. Exodus 1–2, 15 Moses is an obvious Noah figure, perhaps even a double Noah figure, in the book of Exodus, although Abraham emerges as an even earlier reflection of the Noah figure in the Sodom and Gomorrah story (cf. 2 Peter 2:5–6 section of this article).

The Hebrew people, now located in Egypt, must go through the threefold trial and tribulation of Pharaoh’s effort to diminish their number; note the very close parallel to the outline of the Atrahasis Epic as well as that of Genesis 1–11. First, taskmasters are set up to impose hard work on the Israelites, but the harder they oppress the Israelites, the more the Israelites “multiply” (Exod 1:12, cf. 1:7 where “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth” of Gen 1:28 is already echoed and amplified). Then, Pharaoh orders that the infant sons are to be killed by the two midwives Shiprah and Puah. When this plan too fails, the third trial is commanded by Pharaoh, “Every son that is born to the Hebrews you shall cast into the Nile!” (Exod 1:22). This is the Flood in miniature: Moses is saved in the ark (tēbâ), the Hebrew word used exclusively for Noah’s ark.

The connection is underscored by the language (cf. Exod 2:3 and Gen 6:14), for this is the only time the word tēbâ is used outside of Genesis 6–9. The way in which the ark is built is the same in both instances: the one for whom the ark is made, the material of which it is built, and the number of times it is to be “pitched with pitch” are all designated in the same order. Out of this water ordeal there emerges an adult Moses, a hero for the new age, another Noah.

Moses along with the children of Israel, however, goes through another epoch-dividing Flood as depicted in Exodus 15. Here the war imagery of the Lord as a Man of War dominates, but the Flood as the means of salvation for Israel and that of epoch divider is also present. While the pharaoh’s army is drowned in the upsurging waters, Moses and Israel emerge as a new entity to be feared among the neighbors such as Philistia, Edom, Moab, and Canaan. A new era for Israel thus begins. Note the change in the form of genealogical reckoning (cf. Thapar 1976) as well. After Noah’s Flood up to this point the genealogy has been of the branched type accounting for the lines of brothers and sisters, but now it reverts to the linear type of reckoning, accounting again only for the main line of leadership.

The war image associated with the Noachian Flood is recoverable from the rainbow. Remembering that the biblical Hebrew does not have a special word for “rainbow,” what we have in Gen 9:12, 14, 16 is the expression “a bow [the weapon] in the cloud,” suggesting, perhaps, that the Lord is declaring a truce after a war by resting his bow in the cloud.

In the following section only a few prophetic reflections of Noah material are brought out, although there may be many other allusions that are hidden in unsuspected places.

b. Isaiah 54 The important verses here are 9 and 10, which read:

For this is like the days of Noah to me,

As I swore that the waters of Noah

Should no more over the earth,

So I have sworn

that I will not be angry with you

and will not rebuke you.

For the mountain may depart

and the hills be removed,

but my steadfast love

shall not depart from you,

and my covenant of peace

shall not be removed,

says the Lord,

who has compassion on you.

Along with Noah the Flood and covenant are recalled by Isaiah for the people who are afflicted and not comforted (nḥm, Isa 54:11), reminding them of the everlasting kindness and great compassion of God (rḥmh, Isa 57:7, 8). Isaiah plays on the folk etymology of the name Noah, i.e., nḥm of Gen 5:29, and adds rḥmh, “compassion,” to the continuing wordplay.

Isaiah renames the covenant, changing it from the “everlasting covenant” (Gen 9:16), to the “covenant of peace” in Isa 54:10. This may be seen as a commentary on the rainbow. It is based on a further play on the name Noah (nḥ), especially in reference to Isa 54:15–17 in which the Lord has caused the smith to blow (npḥ)the fire of coals (pḥm) to create weapons. But these weapons will not be used against God’s people. Realizing that Hebrew has no special word for rainbow, we understand that the Lord hangs the bow on the cloud, as a sign of the covenant and as a gesture of peace after a battle.

c. Jeremiah 31 In the context of the everlasting covenant, Jeremiah 31 may be appreciated in a new light. While Jeremiah’s new covenant (Jer 31:31–34) is explicitly based on the Mosaic covenant, the Noachian covenant may be implicitly referred to in the passage immediately following (Jer 31:35, 36). In it Jeremiah recalls both the creation of sun and moon and the perpetuity of seasons as promised by the rainbow covenant:

Thus says the Lord,

who gives the sun for light by day,

and who the fixed order of the moon,

and the stars for light by night,

who stirs up the sea and its waves roar—

the Lord of hosts is his name,

“If this fixed order departs from before me,

then shall the descendants of Israel

cease from being a nation

from before me all the days.”

Note that both Isaiah’s reinstatement of the Noachian covenant of perpetual compassion and Jeremiah’s updating of the Mosaic covenant of the Law are described in the cosmic setting of mountains and hills (Isa 54:10) and heaven and earth (Jer 31:37). Both prophets seem to invoke the primeval history, the earliest part of cosmic and human history, for the establishment of a new covenant. Perhaps they are recalling the very beginning of the world when and only when the entire creation is described as “good” and “very good,” insisting upon making the new covenant firmly based on the primeval goodness of the creation (Cf. Hesse and Kikawada 1984).

d. Ezekiel. The Lord’s speech to the Son of Man (Ezek 14:12–20) demands righteousness for salvation, recognizing no act of supererogation. Noah, Daniel, and Job are singled out as exemplary men of righteousness in sinful ages. Ezekiel sees the three men as having survived extraordinary ordeals by their own righteousness.

Noah, as the hero of the epoch-dividing Flood, may be hidden at the end of Ezekiel’s first vision (Ezek 1:1–18). The vision moves from “I saw and behold …” (Ezek 1:4) and “I saw … and behold …” (Ezek 1:15) to the audition, “I heard …” (Ezek 1:24). Ezekiel hears seven voices (qwl). One of the seven voices is that of many waters (Ezek 1:14), perhaps of the Flood. The six voices are clustered in two verses (Ezek 1:24, 25). As the seventh voice is about to be heard, Ezekiel makes a flashing allusion to Noah’s Flood by “the bow in the cloud on the day of rain” (Ezek 1:28). The seventh voice, climactically introduced, is none other than the voice of the Lord; and it is heard throughout the rest of the book.

Here, Ezekiel is apparently invoking primeval authority for contemporary speech, as did the poet of Psalm 29 In the Psalm we find the lone reference to the Flood, mabbûl (Ps 29:10), outside of the Noah story (Genesis 6–9).

e. Jonah. Within the ironic reversal of the whole narrative structure of primeval history, we find Jonah as another Noah in the episode of the tempest and the great fish. The overall topical outline of the book of Jonah that chiastically parallel Genesis 1–11 (Hesse and Kikawada 1984) is given in the table below.

 

 

Jonah

 

 

 

 

 

Genesis

 

 

 

A.

 

Fleeing to Tarshish

 

 

 

A.

 

Dispersion

 

 

 

 

 

Not going to Mesopotamia despite God’s will

 

1:1–3

 

 

 

Coming out of Mesopotamia according to God’s will

 

 

 

 

 

Nineveh

 

1:2

 

 

 

Babel/Shinʿar

 

11:1–32

 

 

 

Hebrew

 

1:9

 

 

 

Abram, the Hebrew

 

14:13

 

B.

 

Flood, nāhār

 

1:4–15

 

B.

 

Flood mabbûl

 

6–9

 

 

 

Ship of tribulation

 

1:5

 

 

 

Ship of salvation

 

 

 

 

 

Jonah = Dove

 

 

 

 

 

Dove

 

8:10–12

 

 

 

Fish, vessel of salvation

 

2:1

 

 

 

(Cf. Manu and Fish, Indian myth)

 

 

 

 

 

Waves passed over Jonah

 

2:4

 

 

 

Wind passed over earth

 

8:1

 

 

 

Tĕhômsurrounds

 

2:6

 

 

 

Tĕhôm bursts forth

 

7:11

 

 

 

Bottoms of the mountains

 

2:7

 

 

 

Tops of the mountains

 

8:5

 

 

 

Jonah remembered the Lord

 

2:8

 

 

 

God remembered Noah

 

8:1

 

 

 

In 40 days …

 

3:4

 

 

 

End of 40 days …

 

8:6

 

C.

 

Jonah’s anger and

 

 

 

C.

 

Cain’s anger and

 

 

 

 

 

Tôb in causative stem

 

4:4

 

 

 

Tôb in causative stem

 

4:7, 9

 

 

 

Driven out before God

 

2:5

 

 

 

Driven out of God’s face

 

4:14

 

 

 

Hebel = Abel

 

2:9

 

 

 

Abel = hebel

 

4:2

 

 

 

Jonah wants to die

 

4:4

 

 

 

Cain wants to live

 

4:13–14

 

 

 

Jonah yšb east of city

 

4:5

 

 

 

Cain yšb east of Eden

 

4:16

 

D.

 

Gourd and Worm

 

4:6–7

 

D.

 

Tree and Snake

 

2:5–3:24

 

 

 

Protection from evil

 

4:6

 

 

 

Cause for evil

 

3:22

 

 

 

Glad because of gourd

 

4:6

 

 

 

Tree is delightful

 

3:6

 

 

 

Worm causes gourd to wither

 

4:7

 

 

 

Snake entices to eat of tree

 

3:4–5

 

 

 

Gourd taken away = test

 

4:7

 

 

 

Tree given = test

 

2:17

 

 

 

Jonah wants to die because of gourd

 

4:9

 

 

 

Eat of tree and surely die

 

2:17

 

E.

 

God who care for both

 

 

 

E.

 

God the Creator of

 

 

 

 

 

Men and beasts

 

4:11

 

 

 

Beasts and men

 

1:1–2:3

 

 

 

Seven narrative days

 

 

 

 

 

seven days of creation

 

 

 

 

 

Cf. “God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land”

 

1:9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jonah is not only Noah (Jonah 1:4–3:4) but also he is Adam (Jonah 4:6–9), and Abel (Jonah 2:5–4:5). Moreover, we may even visualize Moses when Exod 34:6–7 is restated in Jonah 4:9, “… for I know that thou art a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and repentest of evil,” or recall Abram when Gen 14:13, 19–22 is echoed in Jonah 1:9, “I am a Hebrew, and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven who made the sea and the dry land,” as an answer to his shipmates.

2. Apocrypha. In the Apocrypha of the OT, references to Noah appear in such books as Tobit, Sirah, and the Wisdom of Solomon. In these books Noah takes a minor part in the list of people who are to be commended.

Tobit’s advice to his son Tobias (Tob 4:3–21) includes an admonition to marry his own kind as did Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Tob 4:12). Neither the Flood nor the covenant is recalled.

In Sir 44:17–18, Noah appears in the long list of praises to the fathers of old, a list that begins with Enoch and ends with Moses. Noah is regarded as a substitute/continuator in the new age and in the remnant left from the Flood which ended because of the covenant.

Wis 4:10 refers to Noah without using his name, for the main interest of the passage lies in the enumeration of the accomplishments of Wisdom. Adam, Abel, Noah, Abraham, et al. are all alluded to without names. Wisdom saves the earth by “guiding the righteous man’s course by a poor piece of wood.”

3. Genesis Apocryphon. Column II of the Genesis Apocryphon preserves fragments of an episode recounting Noah’s extraordinary birth. Noah is so extraordinary that his father, Lamech, is frightened and doubts the paternity of the child, suspecting one of the Watchers, the holy ones, or the fallen angels (for an Assyriological view on the Nephilim, cf. Kilmer 1987a). Lamech first goes to his wife, btʾnws, who assures him that the child is his, reminding him of her pleasure when the child was conceived. Still discontent, Lamech goes to his father, Methuselah, who in turn proceeds to Enoch, his own father, for explanation. Here the text breaks, but what happens next may be supplied from the pseudepigraphic fragment of the book of Noah (= 1 Enoch 106, see above).

ATRAHASIS

 

GENESIS 1–11

 

EXODUS 1–2

 

MATTHEW 1–3

 

A. Creation of Man (Tab I. 1–248) Summary of Work of Gods Creation of Man

 

(Gen 1:1–2:25)

Sum of Work of God

Creation of Man

 

(Exod 1:1–7)

 

A Genealogy

 

(Matt 1:1–17)

 

A Genealogy

 

B. Man’s Numerical Increase (I. 249–4 15 Attempt to Decrease Numbers Threat of Death by Plague

 

(2:4–3:24)

Adam and Eve

Near Death

 

 

(1:8–14)

Hard Labor of Hebrews

 

 

(1:18–25)

Joseph and Mary

“Virgin Birth”

 

C. Second Attempt to Decrease: Double Story (11. 1:1–4.55) 1. Threat of Death: Drought

 

(4:1–5:32)

1. Cain and Abel

2. Lamech’s Taunt

 

(1:15–22)

1. Two Midwives

2. Severer Means

 

(2:11–18)

1. 3 Wise Men

2. Infanticide

 

D. Final Solution (11. 7.–111. 6:40) Atrahasis’ Flood Salvation in Boat

 

(6:1–9:7)

Noah’s Flood

Salvation in tēbâ

 

(2:1–10)

Moses and the Nile

Salvation in tēbâ

 

(2:19–23)

Flight to Egypt

Exodus Motif

 

E. Resolution (111. 6:4 1–8.18) Compromise between Enlil and Enki

 

(9:8–11:32

Dispersion-Abram leaves Ur

 

(2:11–25)

Moses goes out to Midian

 

(3:1–17)

Baptism of John in River Jordan

 

“Birth Control”

 

Exodus Motif

 

Exodus Motif

 

Flood Motif

 

NOA.01. Comparative chart of Primeval History.

4. New Testament. a. Matthew 24:38 and 1:1–3:17 Matthew uses the Flood as an illustration for the eschatological coming of the Son of Man, who will come stealthily without the knowledge of incorrigible sinners. The Flood is seen here as the epoch divider and the Son of Man event will be analogous to it; the Son of Man is another Noah.

For Matthew, Jesus like Moses is another Noah from the outset (Kikawada 1974). In fact, the outline and themes of Genesis 1–11 and Exodus 1–2 as well as the ancient parallel to them can be seen in the first three chapters of Matthew’s gospel. See Fig. NOA.01 All four are relating the primeval history. Atrahasis and Genesis 1–11 are on a macrocosmic scale whereas Exodus 1–2 and Matthew 1–3 are on a microcosmic scale. All four symbolically tell their stories from the very beginning of the world through the epoch-dividing event, and then introduce the new era. In all the biblical examples the dispersion or Exodus motif emerges as a means of salvation in contrast to the Mesopotamian method of salvation, i.e., birth control. The motifs of mass killing of undesirable population and of the “Flood” as an epoch divider are present in all.

Jesus the Savior comes out of the water of salvation. Thereupon, he is met by the dove, linking him to the Flood tradition and making him another Noah.

b. 1 Peter 3:20 In a very enigmatic passage of 1 Peter 3:13–22 in which Peter may be claiming that Christ has preached the gospel to the dead (cf. 1 Pet 4:6), especially to the dead of the time of Noah, the Flood is made analogous to baptism as a means of salvation through water. Quite independently of this passage, however, the baptism of Jesus in Matthew’s gospel can be construed as a miniature Flood bearing the significance of an epoch divider within a miniature primeval history in Matthew 1–3

c. 2 Peter 2:5–6 Peter makes a reference to two Genesis figures, Noah and Lot, both of whom are righteous persons saved from disasters. It is difficult to know how much Peter wished to parallel these figures, but the stories of these two men are astonishingly similar. Consider the following (the present writer owes this observation to his student Hugo Garcia).

The whole area of Sodom and Gomorrah was said to be “like the garden of the Lord” (Gen 13:10); but the people of Sodom were very wicked (Gen 13:13). Despite Abraham’s plea on behalf of the people, they were to be destroyed (Gen 18:16–33). From this point on the parallel with Noah becomes closer. In both the Noah and Lot stories the sex offense episodes, including incest and homosexuality, frame the story and the sequence of events concerning the great disaster and salvation from it provides point-by-point contacts between the two:

Sodom and Gomorrah Story

 

Noah’s Flood Story

 

Sex offensive involving “angels” and “daughters”

 

Angels—homosexual (19:1–11)

 

Sons of God (6:1–4)

 

Announcement of disaster because of wickedness

 

To Lot (19:12–14)

 

To Noah (6:11–13)

 

“come in [boʾ]” and “shut [sgr]”

 

Angels brought Lot (19:10)

 

All flesh (7:16)

 

Instructions for salvation of a family

 

Lot and daughters 19:15–23

 

Noah family 6:14–18

 

“Rain”—himṭı̂r 19:24, mamṭı̂r 7:4

 

Brimstone/fire 19:24

 

40-day rain 7:4

 

All die but one family

 

Lot’s family 19:25–29

 

Noah’s family 7:21–23

 

“God remembered”

 

Abraham instead of Lot 19:29

 

Noah and animals 8:1

 

Living outside of city

 

Cave in hills 19:30

 

In tent 9:20–21

 

Drunkenness

 

Of Lot 19:32–35

 

Of Noah 9:21

 

Sex offense—Incest

 

Father/daughters 19:31–38

 

Father/son, homosexual 9:22–23

 

Thematically, note that Lot, like Noah, is the epoch-divider figure who, having experienced the end of Sodom and Gomorrah, ushers in the new generation of Moabites and Ammonites. The major difference, however, lies in the fact that Lot is not a covenant figure as is Noah. The reason for this may be that Noah obeys all that God commands (Gen 6:22; 7:5, 9, 16), whereas Lot twice modifies the angel’s instruction to flee to the hills—initially Lot wants to go to the little city of Zoar because it is closer than the hills, but eventually he settles (nwḥ) in a cave in the hills outside (mḥwṣ) of Zoar because he is afraid of the city! On the other hand, Lot’s cousin Abraham, the intercessor for Sodom and Gomorrah, is a covenant figure whom “God remembers” (Gen 19:29, cf. 8:1, “God remembers Noah”). Abraham vicariously participates in the “rain” of fire that sweeps over Lot’s cities, thus making both Lot and Abraham Noah-like.

d. Hebrews 11:7 In the list of righteous people of faith, Noah is used to illustrate the definition of faith as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Noah’s obedience of the divine instruction to construct an ark saves his household and preserves the seed of righteousness for the new generation. Noah is seen as a bridge between the condemned world and the new age.

5. Pseudepigrapha. a1 Enoch 106. Enoch tells the story of Lamech being frightened at the birth of Noah. At birth Noah’s “body was as white as snow and red as a rose; the hair of his head as white as wool and his demdema [an Ethiopic word describing his hair] beautiful; and as for his eyes, when he opened them the whole house glowed like the sun—[rather] the whole house glowed even more exceedingly” (1 En. 106:2). Lamech goes to Methuselah and Methuselah to Enoch; but note that Lamech does not go to his wife for explanation first as he did in the Genesis Apocryphon.

Enoch assures Methuselah that Lamech indeed is the child’s father, revealing the secret that there will be a Flood to destroy wicked humanity. Enoch advises Methuselah to name the child Noah. He will be saved from the disaster along with his three children (1 En. 106:18) and “he will comfort the earth after all the destruction” (1 En. 107:3; cf. 106:18). The folk etymology of the name in Gen 5:29 is reflected here also. Apart from the name and its folk etymology, this pseudepigraphic story, like that in the Genesis Apocryphon, has nothing to do with the Genesis story, although some connections with the Sumerian and possibly with the Babylonian stories may be adduced in terms of the miraculous birth of the Flood hero (see above).

1 Enoch. includes a few more references to Noah. The Most High sends the archangel Uriel to Noah to inform him of the impending Flood, so that Noah may escape the destruction and preserve his seed for the future generations (1 En. 10:2). In 1 Enoch 65, Enoch foretells the destruction of the world and the salvation of Noah in response to Noah’s outcry for help because the earth had “sunk down” or “became deformed” (1 En.65:1). One is tempted to speculate here that a tradition of preflood overpopulation as in the Atrahasis Flood Story and of overburdened earth as in Yima’s Flood Story may be reflected in this passage.

The word of God comes in 1 Enoch 67 and tells Noah that he has been “blameless” and “righteous” (cf. Gen 6:9) and that “the angels are working with wood [making an ark]” (1 En. 67:2). The divine speech also includes an echo of the blessings of Gen 1:28 and 9:1, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” In contrast to this passage, 1 En. 89:1 reports that Noah himself makes the ark, which floats on water to save him.

b. Book of Jubilees. From its own peculiar viewpoint of chronology and law, the Book of Jubilees recounts the history of the world from creation to Moses, with whom the new age of the Law begins. The Flood Story is retold in much greater detail in Jub. 4:28–10:17. Noah also appears in scattered references down to Jub.22:13 in the context of blessing (Jub. 22:24, 27; 22:13) and covenant (Jub. 14:20). Moses, however, replaces Noah as the epoch divider as in the book of Exodus.

Bibliography

Avigad, N., and Yadin, 1956. Genesis Apocryphon. Jerusalem.

Benito, C. A. 1969. “Enki and Ninmah” and “Enki and the World Order.” Diss. Pennsylvania.

Cassuto, U. 1949. Genesis. Vol. 2. Jerusalem.

Christensen, A. 1943. Les Types du Premier Himme et du Premier roi. Archives d’études orientales 14/2. Leiden.

Civil, M. 1969. Sumerian Flood Story. Pp. 138–45 in Atra-hasis, ed. W. G. Lambert and A. R. Millard. London.

Cohen, H. H. 1974. The Drunkenness of Noah. University, AL.

Hesse, E. and Kikawada, I. M. 1984. Jonah and Genesis 11–1. AJBI 10:3–19

Humphries, R. 1958. Ovid: Metamorphoses. Bloomington, IN.

Jacobsen, T. 1939. The Sumerian King List. Chicago.

Kikawada, I. M. 1974. Literary Conventions for Primeval History. AJBI 1:3–21.

———. 1983. The Double Creation of Mankind in Enki and Ninmah, Atrahasis I 1–351, and Genesis 1–2. Iraq 45: 43–45.

Kikawada, I. M., and Quinn, A. 1985. Before Abraham Was. Nashville.

Kilmer, A. D. 1972. The Mesopotamian Concept of Overpopulation and Its Solution as Reflected in the Mythology. Or41: 160–77.

———. 1976. Speculations on Umul, the First Baby. AOAT 25: 265–70.

———. 1987a. The Mesopotamian Counterparts of the Biblical Nephilim. Pp. 39–43 in Perspectives on Language and Text, ed. E. W. Conrad and E. G. Newing. Winona Lake, IN.

———. 1987b. The Symbolism of the Flies in the Mesopotamian Flood Myth and Some Further Implications. AOS 67: 175–80.

Lambert, W. G., and Millard, A. R. 1969. Atra-hasis: The Babylonian Story of the Flood. London.

Thapar, R. 1976. Genealogy as a Source of Social History. The Indian Historical Review 4.

Wolff, F. 1910. Avesta, die heiligen Buecher der Pasrsen. Strassburg.

Isaac M. Kikawada

NOAH’S ARK

Noah’s ark (Heb tēbâ) was the great boxlike vessel by means of which Noah and his family escaped the waters of the Flood. According to the story, God was dissatisfied with the violence of human creatures and decided to destroy them and cleanse the earth by means of a universal deluge. Because he was a righteous man, Noah was to be the exception. Consequently, God instructed him to construct a huge floatable “box” wherein he and his family could ride out the destructive waters. It was to be made of “gopher wood,” the identification of which is a matter of dispute among modern interpreters [Heb gōper, possibly the same as Gk kyparissos, Eng “cypress”]. The vessel was then to be caulked with pitch (bitumen), divided into three partitioned decks, and provisioned for Noah’s family and for pairs of land and flying animals. When it was completed, rain and subterranean waters devastated the earth for 40 days, covering the tops of the highest mountains. Approximately one year later, when the waters had subsided and the earth had become dry, Noah’s family disembarked atop one of the mountains of Ararat and repopulation of the earth began.

A. Dimensions of the Ark

The size of the vessel is given in “cubits,” the modern estimate for which is approximately 18 inches each. Thus, 300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide, and 30 cubits high converts into 450 feet, 75 feet, and 45 feet, and this yields a rectangular box which was more suitable for floating than for sailing. Its size is astonishing in comparison with some modern vessels (e.g., the English ship Mayflower was only ninety feet long).

There is reason to suspect that the dimensions reflect a preoccupation with the number 60, as was commonly the case in Mesopotamian mathematics and occasionally that of the Bible. (For example, the ages of the Mesopotamian antediluvians in the Sumerian King List are given in multiples of 602 years and those of the Bible in Genesis 5 are given in multiples of 60 months with the occasional supplement of 7 years.) Thus, the vessel of Utnapishtim, the Mesopotamian flood hero of the Akkadian version, is 120 cubits per side. (Allowing 19.7 inches for a Babylonian cubit, this yields 197 feet per side, for a volume about 5 times that of Noah’s boat.) The sides are thus (60 × 2) cubits, a reflection that Mesopotamian mathematics reckons in a place notation of base 60 (in contrast to the English system of base 10). This means that Utnapishtim’s vessel is two ideal (or base) units per side and has an ideal volume of (60 × 2)3. Good fortune, one may suppose, must thereby smile upon it.

The dimensions of Noah’s vessel, likewise, rather than being random or corresponding to actual measurement of Israelite boats, reflects the same idealization. It is 300 (60 × 5) cubits long and 30 (60/2) cubits high. The third dimension, the width, is a curious 50 cubits, but nonetheless the resultant volume is (603× 2) + (602 × 5) cubic cubits.

B. Claims that the Ark has Survived

Prior to the beginning of the Common Era, the claim was being made that parts of the Flood Hero’s boat yet survived and had been seen: “It is said there is still some parts of this ship in Armenia, at the mountain of the Gordyaeans; and that some people carry off pieces of the bitumen … [for] use chiefly as amulets” (Josephus, Ant 1.3.6 [1st century, c.e.], quoting the Babylonian priest Berossos [3d century, b.c.e.]). Berossos here speaks of the Sumerian hero, Ziusudra, whom Josephus happily identified with Noah. Thereafter (in Christian, Jewish, and Muslim literature), a number of sites were proposed as the landing place of Noah’s ark, most of which were alleged to have produced wooden remnants: in Arabia (Jabal Judi in the ʾAjaʾ Range), on the headwaters of the Tigris in SE Turkey (Cudi Daǧ/Jabal Judi in the Gordian Mountains), in the Caucasus Range (Mt. Baris), in W Turkey (near the city of Apamea), in N Iran (Alwand Kuh and Mount Demavand), and in NE Turkey (Masis/Aǧri Daǧ).

It is the last of these sites, a majestic mountain (39° 42´ N; 44° 18´ E) which rises dramatically to a height of 16,900 feet above the plain, that modern ark searchers have designated as “Mount Ararat” (a term which the Bible itself, at Gen 8:4, does not use; rather, it speaks of “the mountains of [the kingdom of] Ararat”). See Fig. NOA.02 for map of proposed sites. Although the literature of the native Armenian population knows this peak as the landing place only since the 11th–12th centuries c.e., the claim has recently been made (in newspapers, magazines, books, movies, and television programs) that this is undeniably the biblical site. Such claim has been supported by eyewitness testimony to a boat protruding from a glacier, by photographs, and by pieces of hand-hewn timber which reportedly date to high antiquity (up to 5,000 years of age, which might accord with Archbishop Ussher’s literal biblical chronology which puts the Flood around 2450 b.c.e.; Montgomery 1972; Navarra 1974).

 

NOA.02. Regional map of proposed sites for “Mt. Ararat.” 1, Jabal Judi in the ʾAjaʾ Range; 2, Cudi Daǧ (Jabal Judi in the Gordian Mountains); 3, Mount Baris; 4, near Apamea, on the Marsyas River; 5, in Adiabene (Pir Omar Gudrun/Pira Magrun); 6, Büyük Aǧri Daǧ/Masis.

None of this alleged evidence for the survival of Noah’s vessel has withstood rigid scrutiny (Bailey 1978; 1989). The eyewitnesses fundamentally contradict each other and some accounts have been shown to be fabrications. The photographs are either now missing or have been denounced as fake. The beams, based upon the best scientific evidence, are to be dated to the 7th century c.e. (Bailey 1977). There is no reason, then, to believe that remnants of Noah’s ark are to be found anywhere in the world (regardless of one’s decision about the historicity of the biblical account of the Flood).

Bibliography

Bailey, L. R. 1977. Wood from “Mt. Ararat”: Noah’s Ark? BA 40: 137–46.

———. 1978. Where Is Noah’s Ark: Mystery on Mt. Ararat. Nashville.

———. 1989. Noah. Columbia, SC.

Montgomery, J. W. 1972. The Quest for Noah’s Ark. Minneapolis.

Navarra, F. 1974. Noah’s Ark, I Touched It. Plainfield, NJ.

Lloyd R. Bailey

 

From The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary:

 

Genesis 9:18–29, Curse and Blessing in Noah’s Family

Commentary

On the far side of the flood story, the texts begin to reflect known historical realities. Even more, stories of individuals within a family begin to extend into relationships among larger communities. Although especially evident in chap. 10, such a move occurs within this text (assigned to J): intrafamilial conflicts within Noah’s family (vv. 20–24) lead to communal difficulties among his descendants (vv. 25–27). Noah’s sons may be understood in both individual and eponymous terms, thus preparing the way for the table of nations. Both Noah and Adam remain “typical” characters. Moreover, both their families produce sharp repercussions for their descendants. Even more, the relationships anticipated among the descendants of Noah’s sons apply to various historical situations. The narrative thus serves complex purposes, including typological, ethnological, and etiological issues.

This brief text consists of an unusual admixture of literary types, from genealogy to story to curse and blessing. This multiform text reflects a complex tradition history, which no redactor has smoothed over. Whether a fuller form of this story ever existed remains uncertain. The text presents numerous difficulties, often so intractable that little scholarly consensus has been achieved. What is the nature of Ham’s indecent act? Why is his son Canaan cursed? Why is Canaan to become a slave to his brothers? Why does Noah refer to what his “youngest son” has done, when Ham seems to be the second son (see 7:13; 9:18)? Why are Shem and Japheth aligned?

The redactor may have worked with two different traditions regarding the identity of Noah’s sons: (1) Shem, Japheth, and Canaan; (2) Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Two ways of conceiving the resulting amalgamation are thus: The first has been overlaid by the insertion of “Ham, the father of” (vv. 18, 22); or the second has been overlaid with material about Canaan, based on Israel’s later experience in the land. The latter seems more likely, but uncertainty abounds. No known parallels to this story exist in other ancient Near Eastern literature.

The story is enclosed by brief genealogical notices. Verses 18–19 resume earlier references to the sons of Noah and announce the spreading out of their families (detailed in chaps. 10–11). Verses 28–29 give chronological notes about Noah’s life and death, completing the genealogy of chap. 5. The references to grape-bearing vines and Canaan as a mature grandson make clear that the story takes place many years after the flood. Also, these verses present the first Genesis story in which God does not appear directly.

The story involves the themes of blessing and curse.

1. Blessing pertains to both nonhumans and humans in this text. God’s post-flood blessing begins to take effect amid the world of the curse in all its aspects, hence ameliorating the effects of the curse.

Noah is the first to plant a vineyard and practice winemaking, discoveries ascribed to the gods elsewhere in the ancient Near East. Noah’s skill at farming and crop development provides some relief from being totally at the mercy of what the ground brings forth on its own, so intimated in the words of his father, Lamech (5:29). As such, he stands in the tradition of the family of Cain (4:21–22), founders of other cultural blessings. He also functions as a new Adam, whose original calling was to till the ground and keep it (2:15).

This focus on vineyards and wine may seem a small matter for modern people, but these were important economic realities for Israel, celebrated in the feast of Booths (Deut 16:13–16). Vines, the grape harvest, and wine symbolize God’s blessings of life and fertility (see Pss 80:8–16; 104:15; Isa 5:1–7; 27:2–6; Hos 2:15; 9:10). Blessings can be abused, however; that which makes the heart glad can also promote drunkenness (see the warnings in Prov 20:1; 23:31–35; 31:6–7; Isa 5:11). What is good within God’s creation can be made perverse by inappropriate human behavior.

At another level, the blessing on Shem (v. 26) first hints at God’s blessing of Israel. Shem begins the line that will lead to Abraham, in and through whom this blessing will reach out to all the earth (see 12:1–3).

2. Sin and the Curse. The flood did not rid the world of sin (so 8:21). In this text, sin manifests itself in the effects of drunkenness, disrespect of parents, and familial conflict.

The narrator offers no explicit judgment about Noah’s drunkenness; yet, it opens Noah to victimization and provides the occasion for all the suffering and conflict that follow. He has drunk himself into an unconscious state and lies naked in his tent (see Lam 4:21; Hab 2:15). The theme of nakedness (chaps. 2–3) involves issues of shame and exposure, an issue of no little consequence in Israel, in both religious (Exod 20:26) and social (2 Sam 6:20; 10:4–5) life. The prophets use this same theme to portray Israel’s apostasy (Ezek 16:36) and the resulting divine judgment, in which Israel’s shameful behavior will be exposed for all to see (Isa 47:3; Ezek 16:37–39).

What Noah’s youngest son “had done” has prompted numerous conjectures. Some readers hypothesize about an inappropriate sexual act, from sodomy to incest. Some even appeal to Lev 18:7–8, which condemns “uncovering the nakedness of one’s father,” a reference to sexual activity with one’s mother. Yet, the OT does not normally shrink from “telling it like it is” (see chaps. 18–19). Here the text makes clear that Noah uncovers himself. Moreover, Ham’s seeing his father naked constitutes the problem, as confirmed by the detailed report of how his two brothers make sure they do not (v. 23; a chiasm of v. 22). Yet, the problem involves more than seeing (which may have been inadvertent); Ham errs in what he does with what he has seen. Rather than keep quiet or seek to remedy the situation, Ham tells tales to a wider public. The matter entails not simply a breach of filial piety, but the public disgrace of his father. Parent-child relationships were considered to be of the highest importance in Israel (see Deut 21:18–21, which prescribes capital punishment for sons who rebel).

When Noah awakens from his stupor, he learns what has been done, probably because it is now public knowledge, and speaks his first and only words. The reference to his “youngest son” may mean that earlier references to Shem, Ham, and Japheth (5:32; 6:10; 7:13) do not occur in chronological order. Noah’s blessing and cursing words stand in the tradition of Isaac (27:27–29, 39–40) and Jacob (49:1–27), though one cannot help wondering whether he is overreacting. The curse on Canaan appears most prominent; indeed, his enslavement also becomes part of the blessing of Shem and Japheth. Yet, for Canaan to become a slave of his brothers in an individual sense seems difficult. It almost certainly bears an eponymous force at this point, condemning the wickedness of the Canaanites in advance (see 15:16; Deut 9:4–5). In the blessings of Shem and Japheth (the NIV more literally translates that God is being blessed/praised, as in 24:27, but for unstated reasons), Noah calls for God to act (unlike the curse). The blessings request a future divine action and are not understood to be inevitably effective (see 25:23; chap. 27).

Noah’s cursing of Canaan is most puzzling: He does not curse Ham, but Ham’s son, Noah’s grandson. Perhaps both father and son were responsible in an originally longer text; this telescoping would be a way of involving both. Perhaps the author alludes to the effects of the sins of the parents on the children (see Exod 20:5). More probably, those reading the text in terms of ethnic units as much as individuals would not have made a clear distinction between Canaanites and Hamites (see 10:6). An original reference to Ham was narrowed to one Hamite group, the Canaanites, when they came into conflict with Israel. Not changing the details keeps the Hamite link intact.

Although chap. 10 identifies many peoples in the lineage of Noah’s sons, the author focuses on a narrower range, which is most prominent here: Shem represents the Israelites (but this is unique in the OT); Canaan the Canaanites; Japheth the sea-faring peoples, such as the Philistines; Ham the Egyptians, probably. The first three are the most prominent groups occupying Palestine in the early years of Israel’s life in the land; their relationships may be foreshadowed in these verses. The Israelites and the Philistines entered Canaan from east and west, respectively, in this period, resulting in the subjugation (i.e., enslavement?) of the Canaanites. The blessing regarding Japheth may represent a qualification of the fulfillment of the promise. Japheth’s dwelling in the tents of Shem may mean that Israel does not have the land to itself, but shares it with others, a situation prevailing at various times (as with the Philistines). Ham was the progenitor of nations in the Egyptian orbit (10:6; see Pss 78:51; 105:23–27); Canaan was controlled by (was the son of) Egypt from 1550 to 1200 bce. The various nations in chap. 14 may represent another level of the fulfillment of vv. 25–27, since all three branches of Noah’s genealogy are represented in that conflict.

Reflections

1. The often-cited parallels between this narrative and the Eden story, especially as interpreted through 5:29, make it typical. Noah, a new Adam, takes up the creational task once again in “planting” and tilling the “ground”; his skill leads to a taming of what the ground produces and hence ameliorates the curse (3:17; 5:29). Yet, Noah as the new Adam (and one child) also fails as miserably as the old Adam. Similar themes appear in both stories: nakedness after eating fruit, and intrafamilial conflict, including human subservience and its affect. The curse on the serpent and the ground parallels the curse on Canaan, both of which affect life negatively. Yet, the act of Shem and Japheth in covering the naked one mirrors earlier action of the deity (3:21).

These parallels strongly suggest that, in the post-flood movement to the world of nations, “good and evil” patterns in life persist. God’s work of blessing influences the worlds of human and nonhuman, family and nation; but there are also deep human failures due to the “evil inclination of the human heart” (8:21). This mix of goodness and evil will accompany every human endeavor, whether familial or sociopolitical, and every relationship, whether personal or communal, down through the ages to our own time.

2. It seems incredible that this story could have been used to justify the enslavement of Africans. Suffice it to say that, inasmuch as Canaan among all the sons of Ham, is not the father of a Negroid people (see 10:15–19, where all the peoples listed are Semitic or Indo-European), any attempt to justify the slavery of African peoples is a gross misuse of this text. Regarding slavery in general, however, neither the OT nor the NT condemns this inhumane institution. Various OT laws seek to regulate (never commend) this practice (Exod 21:1–11). And an increasing concern for issues of humaneness may be discerned in later laws (see Deut 15:12–18; Lev 25:39–46). The “enslavement” of Canaanites envisaged in this text probably reflects their later subjugation rather than any practice of slavery.

This text mentions enslavement in the wake of sinful behavior; such a human practice is thus clearly set at odds with God’s creational intentions. As with the sentence in 3:14–19, humans should, appropriately, work to overcome this effect of sin.

3. Noah’s word (no word from God occurs here) about the future of his sons should not be interpreted in fatalistic terms. What happens over the course of history affects what in fact will happen in the aftermath of such a word (see 25:23).

4. The chief point of this text may involve relationships between children and their parents, a negative illustration of the commandment, “Honor your father and your mother.” Israelites considered the family of extreme importance in the created order; any deterioration in the quality of family life could only disrupt the creational intentions of God. Such a perspective would be in line with chaps. 3–4, which speak of other familial relationships that have been distorted in the wake of human sin. At the same time, the author has in view broader relationships among peoples and nations, which are profoundly affected by what happens within families. Dysfunctional families affect our communal life together.

 

 

 

Ancestors: Adam and Eve

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

There are some characters and stories in the Bible that are better known than others.  Surely, the characters Adam and Eve and the story of their experience in the Garden of Eden are among the most familiar.  The way I was first introduced to this story was probably as a little tike being read to from a picture Bible created for toddlers.  I have no idea, actually, but growing up in a devoutly religious home, I’m sure this happened.  The primary thing I learned about this story was that it described how sin entered what had been a perfectly good creation – this is the text from which the doctrine of Original Sin was born.  The devil was involved, and so were bad choices – first by Eve, and then Adam.  There was accountability with consequences.  This was not a feel-good story.  It was a curse that would stay with us forever, a problem we couldn’t solve on our own.  The way I was taught, we could see our need for Jesus as the canceler of sins right there within the first three chapters of the Bible.  Our need for Jesus showed up from the very beginning.  I was in need of personal salvation from my sinful action, screwing up my own life.  The story explained why there is pain and suffering in the world, and Jesus was the solution for everyone’s individual redemption.  Original sin was equated with the story.  We assumed it always was.  But it wasn’t.

The very idea of original sin did not enter theological thought until St. Augustine came up with the metaphor over 300 years after Jesus lived.  Let that sink in a minute.  For the first 300+ years, the Christian message – the Good News – did not include the concept of original sin.  It was a new idea not known or discussed by the original audience – the Jews – since Genesis was put down on a scroll.

I was shocked to learn that “sin management” in that way was not how the original audience understood it nor how its authors meant it.  The story was written from a perspective that was historically informed.  This account wasn’t written like a newspaper article, but rather a history book with an agenda – to tell the story of the people of Israel.  Genesis was just part one of five – just the beginning (which is what “genesis” means).  The writers were less interested in solving our personal sin issues, and much more interested in developing the story of a nation.  The story found in Genesis 3 provided an allusion for what would come for all people in general, but specifically for the people of Israel.

The story rubs us a little wrong in our context.  We can understand why God would not want Adam and Eve to eat from the Tree of Life, which would make them like gods in that they could not die.  But knowledge?  We love learning.  We prize education.  We inherited this passion for understanding our world in a scientific, academic way from our Greek ancestors who valued “knowing” above most other things.  Greek thought is really the basis of Western thought, which is the way we think, and we generally don’t we’re doing it.  Naturally, we wonder what was God’s beef about restricting knowledge about good and evil – something we want for our own children from day one?

The problem here has to do with obedience to the wise way of God.  Adam and Eve’s disobedience was an attempt to jump the gun, to skip right to the end without regard to the process required for wisdom to take root.  What they wanted wasn’t inherently bad – to be like God.  The problem was how they were choosing to go about it, which, in this case, was to directly disobey the God that had provided everything – including their very lives.

When they ate of the forbidden fruit, their hearts didn’t stop beating, and yet they experienced an element of death in countless ways.  Their innocence was lost.  All of the things they were supposed to learn in time were circumvented, and that created issues going forward.  God, in this light, isn’t an unreasonable deity wanting to restrict his kids from good things.  God is a loving parent who appreciates the developmental stages of learning.  This is why good, loving parents restrict all manner of things from their kids depending on their age and stage.  What they are fed, what they are allowed to view, what they are allowed to say, who they are allowed to be around – there is a very long list of things that good parents restrict because their kid isn’t ready for it.  Highly paid professional athletes and lottery winners sometimes find themselves struggling to make ends meet after their respective ships came in.  How is that possible?  A fortune given without wisdom and experience to guide its handling can be overwhelming and doom the person to failure.  Even being given too much knowledge without the corresponding maturation process can be unhelpful.  Adam and Eve’s disobedience was against the process directed by God.  The problem wasn’t that they wanted to be like God, which is flattery.

They didn’t die, and God didn’t abandon them.  But things did change.  They got kicked out of the nest, and they found that life was going to be different than it had been.  They would not be alone, but the way they interacted with God would change.  This was the story of Israel.  After the exodus from Egypt, they were given the Law and told to follow.  If they obeyed, things would work out because the Law worked.  If they didn’t obey, things didn’t go so well because they stepped away from their source of life.  The journey of Israel is a cyclical saga of obedience, disobedience, repentance, and redemption.  Just like with Adam and Eve, God held Israel accountable, consequences ensued, but grace was still present.  This is the nature of God.

At the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, right after his baptism into a new mode of life, he went camping in the wilderness to sort things out.  During the journey, he faced three modes of temptation.  All of the temptations were like the forbidden fruit – shortcuts to power, influence, success, etc.  The difference was that Jesus didn’t fall to temptation.  He chose maturity instead.  He became the model for what Judaism was supposed to look like, a new Adam to follow.

How does your life story reflect Adam and Eve?  When in your life have you taken the shortcut instead of opting for the process?  When have you willfully disobeyed what you knew was right and true?  How did that work out?  How about right now?  Is there anything you need to rethink in light of the story?  You probably won’t die from your disobedience, but the consequences will suck.  It’s not the threat of an angry God we’re avoiding, it’s the invitation of a loving God we are rejecting.  Adam and Israel are cautionary tales.  Jesus is an encouraging one.  Which model do you choose to follow?

Nerd Out Notes…

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginningby the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary:

ADAM (PERSON) [Heb ʾādām (אָדָם)]. The Hebrew noun ʾādām generally denotes “human being,” “humankind.” The term is also used of the male individual in the Gen 2:4b–3:24 creation narrative.

A. Etymology and Use in the OT.

The etymology of the word is uncertain. ʾādām has often been associated with the root ʾdm “red.” Evidence cited in support of this association is widespread. In Akkadian, adamu means “blood, red garment,” and adamatu “black blood.” In Aramaic, ʾădām and other cognate terms refer to “blood,” while in biblical Hebrew ʾādōm means “red” (adj.), and the verb ʾādōm “to be red.” The Ugaritic verb ʾadm appears in several places in connection with bodily cleansing and anointing, and is usually translated “to rouge or redden.” It has been suggested that the use of ʾādām for “human” arises because of the reddish color of human skin.

The play on words in Gen 2:7 and 3:19 between ʾādām and ʾădāmâ “ground, earth,” has not been overlooked in the search for an etymology of the former. The name ʾādām is given to the human creature believed to have come from the ʾădāmâ. Of course, word plays in themselves do not necessarily indicate the etymology of a word. They could simply be used by writers or editors for literary effect. However, in this case the suggested etymological connection ought not to be ruled out. The Akkadian adamātu, “dark red earth” (used as a dye), suggests that the Hebrew ʾădāmâcould also be derived from the root ʾdm, “to be red.” ʾādām and ʾădāmâ could have been derived from the same root separately or the latter could have given rise to the former because of the similarity of skin tone to the color of the soil itself.

While we cannot draw any firm conclusions about the origins of biblical ʾādām, we should note that the word has cognates in other Northwest Semitic languages. ʾdm appears in both Ugaritic and Phoenician as “human being.” In the former, the high god El is called ʾab ʾadm, “the father of humankind.” The development of ʾdm for “humankind” would seem to have been confined to the Northwest Semitic domain since the Akkadian word for “human being” is awı̄lum/amı̄ (ē)lu. Thus, any etymological connection between ʾādām and either ʾdm “to be red,” or the root for “ground, earth,” would appear to be a localized Northwest Semitic phenomenon. The cognates for the latter two words range across the whole Semitic family.

B. ʾādām in Genesis 1–11.

ʾādām is used widely throughout the OT for “human-kind” or “human being.” It also occurs as the proper name of the first of the forefathers of the human family in 1 Chr 1:1. This may also be the case in Job 31:33, Hos 6:7, and Deut 4:32. In Genesis 1–5 the situation is more complex.

The use of ʾādām in J is concentrated in the primeval history of Genesis 2–11. In Gen 2:4b–4:25, the term refers to a specific male being. Elsewhere in the primeval narrative, it refers to humankind in general, even in Gen 8:21, which recalls the curse of Gen 3:17–19. In the context of Genesis 2–11, the individuality of the figure ʾādām in Gen 2:4b–3:24 must be seen as representative. No doubt the sources of the stories dictated in part the shape of the J narrative. ʾādām usually appears with the definite article hāʾādām (exceptions being 2:5, 2:20, and 3:17, the last two of which many scholars have amended).

While the individuality of the ʾādām figure in Gen 2:4b–3:24 is evident throughout the story, the restriction of ʾādāmto a male individual begins clearly only from 2:18. Thus the beginning of the story addresses the issue of human beings in general in the presence of Yahweh. The disobedience that follows is not to be blamed primarily on the woman in the garden, but is the responsibility of the whole human community, as the curses (3:14–19) reveal. In 4:1, 25, ʾādām is clearly used as the proper name of the father of Cain, Abel, and Seth. After these verses, J again employs the term in its broader context. We should note that the Septuagint and Vulgate begin to translate hāʾādāmas a proper name in Genesis 2:19.

In Gen 1:26–28, P uses ʾādām collectively as male (zākār) and female (nĕqēbâ). A single couple is not indicated here. ʾādām in its composite whole as male and female is the image of God. In Gen 5:3–5, however, P clearly understands ʾādām as an individual, i.e., the father of Seth and other children. The writer even records Adam’s age at death as 930 years. This transition in the P material cannot be properly understood apart from the intervening J narrative. Recent studies in the canonical shape of Genesis 1–11 (Childs IOTS, 148–50) have drawn attention to the interdependence of the J and P material and the theological import of their connection. Although Childs suggests that the J creation account plays a subsidiary role to that of P, he does point to the interconnection between creation (Genesis 1) and the history of humankind (Genesis 2). One should also note that, as the two chapters stand, they present a balanced picture of humanity. The creature made in the image of God, indeed invited into God’s presence, is also the creature primarily responsible for the subsequent alienation and enmity within creation. The two sides of humanity presented in Ps 8:4–7 are seen in reverse order in Genesis 1–3.

The closeness and yet enmity between humans and creation is highlighted by the play on words between ʾādāmeither as “human being” or the first male individual, and ʾădāmâ “ground, earth.” It is from ʾădāmâ that ʾādām is fashioned (Gen 2:7). The latter’s task is to till the ground (2:6). When ʾādām disobeys Yahweh, the ʾădāmâ is cursed (3:17–19). This in turn causes hardship for ʾādām. The end of ʾādām is again to return to the ʾădāmâ (parallel to ʿāpār“dust”). This wordplay continues through the flood story and is highlighted in 4:11–12 and 5:29. The link between ʾādām and ʾădāmâ in terms of sin and curse is only alleviated in 8:21–22. The dependence of fertility on human behavior, which remains wicked (8:21; 9:18–27; 11:1–9), is broken.

While the wordplay between ʾādām and ʾădāmâ is unique to the biblical material, the notion that humans are in part formed from earth or clay was widespread in the ancient Near East. We find it in the Sumerian account of the creation of humans where Enki, in order to fashion servants for the gods, calls on Mammu to “mix the heart of the clay that is over the abyss” (see Kramer 1961: 72–73). Likewise in the story of Atrahasis, Ea assists Mami, “the mistress of all the gods,” in fashioning humans by pinching off pieces of clay (Tablet I. 189–260; see Lambert and Millard 1969: 56–61; cf. ANET, 99–100).

C. ʾādām in Intertestamental Literature.

Little attention has been given to the ʾādām figure of Genesis 1–5 elsewhere in the OT. There are, however, possible allusions to ʾādām and the creation narrative in apocryphal literature (Sir 17:1; 49:16; Tob 8:6; Wis 2:23; 9:2; 10:1). Renewed interest in and speculation concerning ʾādām is found in pseudepigraphal, rabbinic, and gnostic texts. The Greek text Apocalypse of Moses is the most familiar of these. It tells of the life of Adam and Eve outside paradise, the death of Abel, the birth of Seth, Adam’s illness, and the journey of Eve and Seth to paradise in search of the oil of the Tree of Life which would cure Adam. Adam dies and his soul is taken into the presence of God by the Cherubim. Through the prayers of the angels, Adam is pardoned and taken back into the third heaven. While a good portion of this material overlaps with its Latin counterpart, The Life of Adam and Eve, the exact nature of the relationship between these two texts is difficult to determine (see OTP, 249–95 for a translation and discussion of both texts). See ADAM AND EVE, LIFE OF.

Emphasis in the Apocalypse of Moses focuses on two matters: (1) the nature of sin and the present human condition and (2) the hope of resurrection. The sin of Adam and Eve is their deliberate disobedience of God’s command (Apoc. Mos. 8:2; 10:2; 23:4, etc.). Eve is the one who initially succumbs to temptation and then dupes Adam into following her example (7:2–3; 9:2; 14:2; 21:1–6). Both lose the visible righteousness and glory of God which they had in the beginning (11:2; 20:1–2; 21:2). This sin brings hardship upon humanity. However, the image of God in which they were created is retained in their son Seth (9:3; 12:1), who is born according to the appointment of God (38:4).

While Adam’s death is a result of sin, it eventually provides an avenue to hope in resurrection. In his mercy God promises to pardon Adam and to raise him up to enjoy the benefits of paradise once again (28:4; 37:1–6; 41:3). This comes to fruition after his death. His former glory is restored (39:1–3) and the power of Satan is overcome, turning grief to joy. Just as others participate in the consequences of Adam’s sin, so there is hope that the “holy people,” those who adhere to the covenant, will share in his resurrection (13:3–5; 41:3).

Speculation in various noncanonical works also focuses on the figure of Adam. Philo stresses Adam’s perfection (Op 47:136–141), while various other works describe his honor and beauty above other living beings (e.g., Sir 49:16;Pesiq. Rab Kah 101). This beauty was lost with Adam’s sin (Gen. Rab. 11:2; 12:6). A motif of rabbinic thought is the enormous size of Adam, whose body stretches across the cosmos (e.g., Gen. Rab. 8:1; 21:3; 24:2; Pirqe R. El. 11; ʾAbot R. Nat. B8, etc.). Other passages note Adam’s great wisdom (Gen. Rab. 24:2; Pesiq. R. 115a).

D. Adam in the New Testament.

The most significant references to Adam in the NT are found in Rom 5:12–21 and 1 Cor 15:21–22, 45–49. Here Paul develops his Adam-Christ typology (on the debated origin of this typology, see discussion in Cranfield RomansICC, 269–95; Kasemann Romans HNT, 139–58; and Beker 1980). In Rom 5:12–21 Paul emphasizes the analogy between Adam, the one through whom sin and condemnation to death come into the world, and Christ, the one through whom life is offered to all. While this analogy presents Adam and Christ as those who shape the destiny of the world, the contrast is not to be ignored. The reign of grace and righteousness which comes through the second Adam confronts the reign of sin and death introduced through the first Adam and overcomes it.

In 1 Cor 15:21–22, the emphasis of the typology focuses on Christ as the one through whom resurrection to life comes. This theme is carried through in vv 45–49. In resurrection, one has a spiritual body, like that of the heavenly Christ, in contrast to the physical body which all humanity has in common with the earthly Adam. Paul draws on Gen 2:7 (LXX) as support. Here Paul could well be using the type of exegesis Philo exhibits in his discussion of Genesis 1:27 and 2:7, wherein he contrasts the heavenly, archetypal person with the historic Adam, made from dust (Legum Allegoriae, i.31). However, Paul understands these figures not as types but as eschatological and historical figures respectively (1 Cor 15:47).

Elsewhere in the NT, reference is made to Adam as the first generation of humanity (Jude 14 and Luke 3:38). In the latter text, he is foremost in the genealogy that leads to Jesus. In 1 Tim 2:13–14, the Eden story is used to justify the denial of teaching roles and positions of authority to women at that time. The writer stresses the prior creation of Adam, as well as the fact that Eve was the one deceived by the serpent. Adam is seen as completely innocent, while the woman in the story is labeled the transgressor. Such a line of argument is in keeping with early Jewish exegetical interpretations of Genesis 3 (e.g. Apoc. Mos. 15–21; Pirqe R. El. 1, 13).

Bibliography

Beker, J. C. 1980. Paul the Apostle: The Triumph of God in Life and Thought. Philadelphia.

Kramer, S. N. 1961. Sumerian Mythology. Rev. ed. New York.

Lambert, W. G., and Millard, A. R. 1969. Atrahasis: The Babylonian Story of the Flood. Oxford.

Niditch, S. 1983. The Cosmic Adam: Man as Mediator in Rabbinic Literature. JJS 34: 137–46.

Sharp, J. L. 1973. Second Adam in the Apocalypse of Moses. CBQ 35: 35–46.

Wallace, H. N. 1985. The Eden Narrative. HSM 32. Atlanta.

Westermann, C. 1984. Genesis 1–11. Trans. J. Scullion. London.

 

EVE (PERSON) [Heb ḥawwâ (חַוָּה)]. Eve, the first woman, is an enigmatic figure. Apart from Genesis 2–4, she is mentioned very rarely in biblical material and yet she has played an important part in theological discussion and debate over gender roles in society throughout the postbiblical period (Pagels 1988). The origins of both the name and the figure have been the subject of wide-ranging scholarly debate.

A. The Name “Eve”

The woman in the garden of Eden story (Gen 2:4b–3:24) is given the name ḥawwâ, “Eve,” in Gen 3:20. This verse sits awkwardly in the text and many scholars assume a different recension of the story is used here from that in Gen 2:23 where she is called ʾiššâ, “woman.” Such a doublet could, however, arise from the oral tradition behind the narrative. The origin of the name ḥawwâ is uncertain. In the story the woman is called ḥawwâ because she is the “mother of all living (ḥay). This suggests a derivation from the root ḥyh, “to live,” but no immediate connection can be sustained. J’s etymology is based solely on a wordplay. Note that the LXX translates ḥawwâ by zōē, “life,” in 3:20. Evidence from Ugaritic and Phoenician suggest another ancient word “to live,” ḥwy from which ḥawwâ could be derived. If this is the case, then the name itself is either borrowed or is an ancient traditional name.

The expression “mother of all living” has suggested to some a connection between Eve and various ANE mother goddesses. The Akkadian goddess Mami is called bēlet kala ilī, “mistress of all the gods,” and baniat awīlūti, “creatress of humanity” (Atrahasis 1. 188–260). Ugaritic texts refer to Asherah as qnyt.ʾilm, “creatress of the gods,” and mšnqt.ʾilm, “nurse of the gods,” in her role as mother goddess. A Carthaginian devotional text (KAI 89) dated to the 3d or 2d century b.c.e. contains the word ḥwt, which could be related to Hebrew ḥawwâ. It begins rbt ḥwt ʾlt mlkt. ḥwt could be the name of a female deity or an epithet of a goddess, possibly Asherah or Tannit. These two divine names can be identified as referring to the one figure. Of all the goddesses, she is most frequently given the titles rbt, “lady,” and ʾlt, “goddess.” If ḥwt is derived from a word for “life” or “to live” it is a fitting epithet for the mother goddess. These points suggest that the name given to the woman in Gen 3:20 could be a derivative of a title for the Canaanite mother goddess or at least an allusion to her.

Some scholars have pointed to the similarity of the name ḥawwâ to the Aramaic word ḥewyāʾ, “serpent.” In early Aramaic the word for “serpent” appears to be ḥwh. They have proposed that ḥawwâ was originally the name of an underworld goddess or that in an earlier version of Genesis 3 Eve and the serpent were identical. While this is conjectural, the possible connection of ḥawwâ to a word for “serpent” should not be overlooked. There is some tentative evidence suggesting a connection between the mother goddess Asherah/Tannit and serpents although the exact nature of the connection remains obscure. Both are strongly associated with fertility themes.

From this discussion it could be suggested that the name ḥawwâ in Gen 3:20 is meant to allude to the great goddess Asherah. The designation of Eve as the “mother of all living,” the presence of the motif of fertility, and the associations with the serpent and sacred trees all have possible counterparts in mythic material in which Asherah is mentioned. If such an allusion is intended, then we should note that the circumstances of the Gen 2:4b–3:24 narrative are the exact reversal of what one might expect in a story about the mother goddess. Rather than productivity and fertility, the outcome in the story in Genesis is death, sterility, and hardship (Gen 3:14–19). Even the “mother of all living” is to suffer in childbirth. The interaction between Eve and the serpent, also a symbol of fertility, ultimately leads to death. The man’s toil with the ground yields reward only at the price of pain and sweat. Thus Gen 2:4b–3:24 would seem to embrace a polemic against fertility themes of the Canaanite cult. This polemic, however, has been reworked by J so that now it forms part of the background of the story.

B. Theological Considerations

In Gen 2:20 it is stated that Eve is created to be an ʿēzer kĕnegdô, “a helper fit for him” (RSV). This expression has often been seen to indicate the subordination of Eve to Adam and hence generally of women to men in societal and family life. However, the word ʿēzer, “helper,” does not imply subordination. It can be used to refer to a superior person or even to God, e.g., Ps 146:5. The phrase ʿēzer kĕnegdô is best understood as meaning “a companion corresponding to him.” The fact that Eve is created second from one of the man’s ribs and that she is tempted and submits first have also been used to argue for either the superiority of men over women or of women over men. The former position has been strongly supported historically in the traditions of Judaism (e.g., Gen. Rab. 18.2), Islam (Al-Baghawi, Mishkat al-Masabih), and Christianity. The only references to Eve in the NT, 2 Cor 11:3 and 1 Tim 2:11–15, both develop this line. The argument can be traced to the present day. The latter position, arguing for the superiority of women over men, has been voiced more strongly recently but it had its early proponents, e.g., in the Talmud (Sanhedrin, 39a). In either case the arguments depend more on the presuppositions of the interpreters than on what the text of Gen 2:4b–3:24 states explicitly. The text in its original form is concerned about the potential for intimacy in the divine-human relationship and in human relationships in light of the alienation that exists in the world. The subordination of Eve to her husband (Gen 3:16) clearly stands as one of the curses of a broken creation.

Bibliography

Heller, J. 1958. Der Name EvaAcOr 26: 636–56.

Joines, K. R. 1974. Serpent Symbolism in the Old Testament. Haddonfield, N.J.

Kikawada, I. M. 1972. Two Notes on Eve. JBL 91: 33–37.

Pagels, E. 1988. Adam, Eve and the Serpent. London.

Phipps, W. E. 1976. Adam’s Rib: Bone of Contention. TToday 33: 263–73.

Trible, P. 1978. Pp. 72–143 in God and Rhetoric of Sexuality. Philadelphia.

Wallace, H. N. 1985. The Eden Narrative. HSM 32. Atlanta.

Williams, A. J. 1977. The Relationship of Genesis 3:20 to the Serpent. ZAW 89: 357–74.

Howard N. Wallace

 

Prince of Peace: Will the Followers Follow?

After Jesus spent a few years of public ministry proclaiming in word and deed a very different Good News than the Roman Empire and the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem, he was rewarded for his efforts with execution by crucifixion.  Such punishment for what both deemed insurrection was meant to deter would-be imitators who might consider doing the same.  The message they were sending was simple: go against Rome (or Jewish leaders), and you will suffer.  This mode of being flowed very naturally from an orientation of power and control.  Those in power (usually evidenced by might and money) keep it by demanding strict allegiance to their ideology.  Play by the rules and live, disobey and die.  The Romans created the greatest Empire of their time, and the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem knew the rules, played by them, and significantly benefitted from them (even if at the expense of those they were supposed to serve, which they rationalized away).  The lure of power and control usually wins.

 

After Jesus was experienced resurrected from the grave, how would his followers behave moving forward? Would they cower in the face of threat of death?  Would they simply stop the movement and go back to fishing or tax collecting or whatever they were doing before following Jesus?  Or would they alter their mission based on the resurrection, embracing a very different approach based on the victory of life over death?  Perhaps they would emerge as victors and wield their newly given authority over those who killed Jesus?

 

In the Bible’s book entitled Acts of the Apostles, written by the same author as the Gospel of Luke, we have a witness of what happened after the resurrection and the development of what would become Christianity (note: neither Jesus nor his disciples intended to create a new religion – they thought they were simply living out a new, reformed and refreshed version of Judaism). The happy surprise is that the disciples stayed on the same course they learned from Jesus.  The Good News stayed the same, essentially, despite challenging temptations that to some degree could have shifted the central message of Jesus’ grace for all approach.  The Prince of Peace remained even posthumously.

 

A follower named Stephen challenged the teaching of Rome and Jerusalem, proclaiming the Good News of Jesus, as was promptly stoned.  While his death surely created fear, it did not dissuade the earliest followers away from Jesus.

 

A devout, learned Jewish leader named Saul was given authority from Jerusalem to essentially hunt down Jesus’ devotees.  On his way to carry out his errand in the city of Damascus, however, the resurrected Jesus appeared to him as a blinding light, stopping him in his tracks.  The message Saul received was that Jesus was in fact anointed by God, and his message was true.  Everything for Saul changed that day, including his name – he would now be known as Paul, and his mission was to eventually carry the Good News beyond Jewish audiences into the rest of the world.  Paul’s ministry (which led to martyrdom), was one marked by peace as he proclaimed a radical grace for all.  Imagine what this shift entailed for him, moving from a position of power-based certitude to a more open trust in a God of love.

 

Peter, the infamous denier of Jesus, became one of the key leaders of the ongoing movement.  In a pivotal moment for him, Peter had to come to grips with his own prejudice and restrictive theology as he responded to a clear call from God to minister with a Roman Centurion and his household.  Frankly, he was really klutzy in his approach and delivery, yet the Good News broke through and the entire lot of them chose to devote themselves to following Jesus, marked by baptism.  Because the Spirit of God was so visibly present in the exchange, Peter could not keep himself from stretching himself and his beliefs.  When news of the baptism of such notable Gentiles made it back to the rest of the leaders, however, there was hell to pay.  Even among a group of people who walked with Jesus and witnessed the expansive love of God at work with so many who had been previously told they were not eligible for such grace, they themselves still had to grow with grace as the challenges came up.  Clunky as it was, they worked through the process.  In a critical general letter to all of the followers spread throughout ancient Mesopotamia, they came to the enormous insight that legalistic interpretations of the Jewish faith did not jibe with the teachings of Jesus, and therefore strict adherence to Law was not required.  Grace was the Way.

 

The last writings of the Jesus followers in the first century BCE come from John.  The Gospel bearing his name as well as his letter to the churches, and even his provocative Letter of Revelation give a glimpse to the shape of thinking held by these foundational believers.  Love and grace abound in his theological-historical remembrance of Jesus, and his letters followed suit, where he boldly asserted that God is love, and the true mark of God’s followers is the prevalence of love.  Like so many other Jesus followers, such a message got him in trouble.  Revelation was written from his perch in a penal colony on the island of Patmos.  The letter to the churches was meant as an encouragement to stay the Love Course, holding accountable churches that had strayed and celebrating those that stayed.  Many interpreters recognize that John was giving a picture of things that had already happened using imagery that would be understand by Jesus followers but not Roman authorities (who would dismiss it as prophetic hogwash).  The central thrust of the writing?  The love of God would prevail, and, in fact, already had.  The New Jerusalem emanating life and grace was open and available to all who would choose to enter, where life and healing would flow freely for all who would humbly choose it.

 

From the manger, throughout his life, enduring torturous death, and through resurrection where the Spirit of Life reigned free, Jesus was and still is the Prince of Peace.  His invitation to follow as embracers of such radical love still beckons to all and is no less challenging than it was originally.

 

The world always has been – and always will be – driven and guided by power and control where the strongest and richest win and command strict allegiance to their ideology (lest you pay the price).  The lure is incredibly tempting and easy to embrace.  The Church itself gave into it in the fourth century and only now is beginning to fully wake up to the mistake.  Once we think we have power and control, it is hard to make the shift toward truly trusting love and grace.  The everlasting invitation of Jesus continually calls for a humble walk as we love mercy even as we head toward justice for all.  

 

Faith isn’t about learning to toe the line. Faith is about walking freely in love and grace and seeing where it takes us.  Our inner fears caution against such foolishness, thinking love to be weak, when in actuality it is stronger than any other force on the planet and is the creative power of life itself.  Once embraced, the way we think about everything and how we live is illumined on every level, challenging everything from how we assess our success and manage our failures, to the way we raise our children, to our view of friendship and romantic love, to citizenship, to being part of a global community, to leaving a legacy – everything.  And the choice really does come down to what this Prince of Peace placed before us: are we going to live out of the fear-based modus operandi of power and control or the love-based Way of grace and freedom?

 

Prince of Peace: Pressure Cooker

It was time for Jesus to make his entrance into Jerusalem for the final showdown with the leaders of the Jewish temple who had become corrupt, controlling, and self-serving at the expense of those they were supposed to serve.  Jesus came to make his stand.  He had been prepared for this moment.  He was ready for everybody to see, yet again, what he was all about.  He prearranged transportation for his arrival.  Not a war horse, but a borrowed donkey.  Not a sign of bloody, violent conflict, but rather one of humility and peace.

Later in the week he had dinner with his disciples where he reminded them that it is incumbent upon disciples to follow in their leader’s footsteps.  He told them this immediately after he lowered himself to the position of a hired servant, washing their filthy feet as they squirmed in discomfort.  Around that Last Supper table with whom he broke bread was Peter (who would deny him three times that very night) and Judas (who would soon betray him into his adversaries’ hands).  Everything leading up to this moment was consistent with what he had been living and teaching, and everything that was coming for him would be, too.

Jesus knew he was sold out by Judas.  It would only be a matter of hours before everything was going to change.  For the worse.  He was stressed out.  He couldn’t sleep.  He prayed through the night until the temple guards arrived looking for him.  Peter reacted defensively, wielding his sword, whacking off one of the serviceman’s ears.  How would Jesus get out of this spot?  Would the other disciples do the same?  Was this going to be known as the Mount of Olives Showdown?  Would Jesus still maintain his peaceful posture when his life was threatened?

Stress can sometimes reveal our strengths and weaknesses that are otherwise not as obvious.  The above scene ended with Jesus telling Peter to sheath his sword along with a quip: he who lives by the sword dies by the sword.  Jesus then proceeded to heal the guard, reattaching his severed ear to his head.  Prince of Peace still…

Things didn’t get any better.  During an illegitimate trial, false witnesses were brought in to accuse Jesus of blaspheme.  Depending on which Gospel you read, Jesus was either silent or responded with comments designed to focus attention on the veracity of the statements and the trial itself rather than fight back defensively.  It didn’t turn into a shouting match.  With his attitude and behavior, Jesus kept his side of the street clean.  Things would likely continue to devolve, but only because of the religious leaders’ scheming.  He would maintain his posture of peace.

Facing Pilate, the Governor of the area including Israel, Jesus was brief in his responses.  Yet pointed. When he stated that his kingdom is not of this world, he was making plain that he did not believe Caesar to be the sovereign over the universe, and that the former was far more powerful and would far outlast the latter.  Pilate’s call to place the onus of the decision to crucify Jesus with the Jewish leadership suggests a couple of things.  First, that he didn’t care all that much who got killed.  Secondly, it shows that he really didn’t think Jesus was the criminal he was portrayed to be, which is why he washed his hands of the case. Jesus made very strong statements against Rome in his quiet way, and yet did not insult Pilate – otherwise he would not have excused himself from the process.  Once again, Jesus chose to operate in peace, nonviolently challenging the status quo.

We have no record of Jesus spewing insults or threats while he was severely beaten – way more than one headed to crucifixion would deserve.  He simply held his head up high as if to direct a spotlight on the injustice of his circumstances.  Even at the point of his greatest agony on the cross, he uttered love toward his mother as he asked his disciples to adopt her as their own.  Perhaps his most dramatic statement was focused on those who were responsible for putting him on the cross in the first place.  Instead of returning the dehumanizing behavior back at his assailants, he chose a nonviolent response that brought with it both accountability and grace: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Obviously, it is a prayer offering grace, a decision to do his part to end the cycle of violence.  And yet, at the same time, it carried a sting as it clearly implied that the Jewish leaders were ignorant, or defiant, in their violent actions.  This second part of the statement, stated as he was lifted above them on the cross, forced them to look up to him.  Like turning the other cheek, going the extra mile, and giving the shirt off one’s back, his behavior provided a similar result.  The oppressed one who was treated with inequality and inequity chose in his last breath to assert his humanity.

Three days later Jesus appeared in a mysterious resurrected form to the disciples.  Having endured death itself and now operating in a resurrected state that was unrecognizable and incomprehensible to his followers, he surely had every right to declare his disdain about how things transpired.  More, he could have surely made a lasting impression on the Jewish leaders who put him through hell or even Pilate who allowed it.  He could have, at that moment, called that legion of angels to take care of business.  But he didn’t, because that’s not the Way that brings peace.  In resurrection as in life, he operated from the same center and by the same rule.  Humble.  A lover of mercy.  And in his pastoral conversation with Peter (and eventually Paul), a pursuer of justice.  

As we celebrate once again the birth of Jesus, it makes sense to take a step back and not only commemorate the narratives of his birth, but to fully appreciate that narrative in context.  All the imagery of one coming in humility and peace provided and allusion to the life that would follow.  This Jesus came first for the lowest members of the society to proclaim Good News – God loved them and was really, really with them even though the circumstances and voices around them suggested otherwise.  Throughout his life he walked humbly as he promoted justice for all with a merciful, loving presence.  He was a man most everybody liked, except for those his truth challenged.  He invited all who would hear him to follow the same Way he was on, knowing that it led to life at its best for the most.  

Because of the way Jesus began, and lived, and died, we have a richer understanding of the power of love and grace.  We have a model of what other-centered living looks like.  We have seen the face of God, and it is love and forgiveness and kindness.  What began in a humility stayed humble and changed the way we think about everything.  This Christmas, may we all think long and deep about the person we are celebrating.  May such mindfulness inform how we treat those we know and love as well as those we don’t.  May our Christmas gift to ourselves and the world be a decision to follow in his footsteps and discover we have brought love and peace with us because, after all, the one we claim to follow is known as the Prince of Peace.

Prince of Peace: Live the Life

Last week we looked at the two birth narratives of Jesus found in the Bible’s books of Matthew and Luke.  The primary point I wanted to highlight was that the beginning of the Jesus’ life provided an allusion to what was to come.  His was not a “rags to riches” story, but a rags to rags to rags story.  His origin story was predictive of what was to come, as is the case to varying degrees for all of us.

Jesus’ parents, Mary and Joseph, are rightly celebrated for the role they played in the story.  Each in their own way were forced by their circumstances to choose a different path than they would have preferred.  The way forward required great humility, which is always an act of great courage as it necessitates a level of exposed vulnerability that forces a new perspective into being.  The baby wasn’t the only thing brought to life in this origin story.  A new way of thinking and being began as well, which lasted well beyond their check-out time from the makeshift barnyard accommodations.  The young parents were thrust into a way of life that continued to demand an open stance toward their future.  Nothing in the origin story was predictable except that their faith was going to be challenged in ways that instructed Jesus for the rest of his life.

Mary was simply invited to trust that God was with her from the beginning and would not leave.  Her song of response to the announcement-invitation of her unusual pregnancy is deeply inspiring and informative for anyone venturing into a living faith.  Joseph was invited to set aside customary expectations and embrace a different path that was marked by love and grace.  His initial decision to divorce Mary quietly, followed up with saying yes to God’s invitation to stand by Mary’s side and walk forward in love and grace at grace cost to his ego speaks volumes about who he was choosing to become. Combined, these two parents set the foundation for the development of the Prince of Peace that Jesus became.  In short, they both learned to live with a humble openness to the life God was leading them into, trusting that the Spirit of God was trustworthy and strong enough to bring about something greater than they could have possibly imagined.  Their lived faith is a picture of the real deal, and it surely was the greatest factor in Jesus’ development. 

Like we noted last week, there was no shortage of wannabe messiahs.  Longing for rebellion that would invite and ignite God’s power to restore Israel to glory was running at fever pitch.  Plenty of young Jewish men threw their hat into the ring to take on Rome.  They pretty much all endured the same future: they slowly died as they hung naked on crosses.  Spoiler alert – this is how Jesus died, too!  The rebellion he was punished for, however, was very different than that of his contemporaries.  His was marked by profound love and grace that promoted peace even as it challenged the status quo.  His was so radically different that when most people came to grips with what was being asked of them, they walked away.  Jesus didn’t call for people to take up arms to overthrow Rome.  He called people to live in response to the active Spirit of God who was and is always calling us toward a life of love and grace.  He learned well what his parents taught and took it further than anyone had seen.

One of the things that made Jesus such a standout was his view of humanity.  He really, really viewed everyone as loved children of God worthy of being treated with dignity and grace.  This is part of the reason he was so popular – he treated everyone with kindness.  He had the audacity to suggest that God loved people who didn’t feel like they were loved by God, and then backed it up with healing and forgiving sin.  Such a level of love and grace had not been seen like it before, really, and those who received it loved it!  You are loved like that – do you know it?  That message has never changed, and it never will.  The love of God is for you and with you regardless of your circumstances. It was true for tax collectors and prostitutes and lepers and foul-mouthed manly men and rich people and poor people and sick people and powerless people and powerful people and white people and brown people and… you get the idea.  Have you embraced it yet?  Have you really let it sink in?  It truly changes our lives when we do.  So please do it! 

Of course, one of the changes that God’s unconditional love fosters in our lives is exactly what led to a lot of people walking away both then and now.  We’re very welcoming of God’s love for ourselves and those we love.  But not for our enemies.  The most hated group of people in Jesus’ Jewish community were called Samaritans.  They were mixed race.  They believed differently about the faith than traditional Jews, and they returned the hate.  Jesus undoubtedly grew up fully exposed to such hatred.  The love of God transformed him, however, and he could no longer see them as anything less than loved by God, even when they treated him with disrespect.  That’s why Jesus made a Samaritan the hero of one of his best-known parables – it was meant to disturb deep, long-held, popular attitudes about people that we “okay” to hate.  When Jesus taught about this radical love of God and backed it up with his actual living, it really upset people.  It still does.  How do we know if this is happening for us?  Usually we know it when we are made uncomfortable as we think of certain others.  There’s plenty of offending to go around!  Who do you struggle to believe that God loves and is therefore worthy of being treated as if it were true?  People with a different political perspective than you?  People with different skin-tone than you?  Different language?  Different religion? Different culture? People who love differently than you?  The key word here is “different” (and has been the critical variable for all time).  We are more likely to like and love people who are like us, and less likely to like and love those who are different than us.  This is one of those areas, however, where we are invited to follow.  Will you trust like Mary and Joseph and Jesus that the Spirit of God is trustworthy?

Another thing that we at first love but then struggle with has to do with how we affect the culture around us.  We already know that many people were ready to go to battle with Rome.  Jesus was all for challenging those in power.  A major difference between Jesus and the other would-be messiahs was the approach to resistance.  The vast majority of others were in favor of violent rebellion.  Not so with Jesus.  He was nonviolent in his resistance, and brilliantly so.  Turning the other cheek, going the extra mile, and give the shirt off your back were statements Jesus gave as instruction for nonviolent protest – statements that today are interpreted very differently than in the first century.  As Ronald Sider notes in his book, If Jesus is Lord, what have become cliché statements for us were highly provocative moves in a Roman occupied Palestine:

     Jesus’s advice to turn the other (left) cheek conveys a surprising suggestion. Normally, an inferior would simply accept the insult (or on occasion fight back). But by turning the left cheek to the person insulting one, one almost forces the attacker to use his fist if he wants to strike again. (It is much harder to hit the left cheek with a back slap than with a fist.) The effect, Wink believes, is that the inferior person astonishes the superior by a dramatic act that asserts the inferior’s dignity, not by striking back but by forcing the attacker either to stop or use his fist and thus treat the inferior as an equal. Thus Jesus is urging a nonviolent but nonetheless activist response to evil. One cannot assert with certainty that this is Jesus’s intended meaning (45). But that conclusion is certainly plausible (65).

     The disgrace for nakedness fell not only on the naked person but also on those viewing the naked person (50). By stripping naked, the debtor exposes the cruelty not only of the creditor but also of the oppressive system the creditor represents. “The entire system by which debtors are oppressed has been publicly unmasked” (51). Rather than recommending a passive response to injustice, Jesus urges a dramatic nonviolent protest (66).

Jesus was definitely radical in his resistance, which is in part what led to his execution.  But his resistance was nonviolent.  Are we so inclined to do the same, or do we prefer what seems to be the more efficient approach of violent speech, attitude, and action?  Again, as Jesus followers wanting to honor his birth this December, we must ask ourselves if we actually want to follow this guy or not.  For some of us, it means getting off our butts and actually do something to bring about justice in an unjust world, especially for people that may be different than ourselves (whom we don’t understand and may dislike).  For others, it may mean that we need to love mercy as we pursue justice instead of mimicking the violent behavior that is all around us.

Jesus’ behavior still got him executed, but never defeated.  Rome may have remained as the reigning empire, but Caesar was not in charge.  The life and teaching of Jesus modeled what faith is supposed to look like, and delivered a life of hope, meaning, purpose, and love that prevailed regardless of the circumstances.  That way of living in faith still works today, and still promotes love and peace for all.  It is still unpopular as is it remains counter-intuitive and counter-cultural.  It challenges power at all levels and calls for humility.  It may even result in death of various sorts at the hand of those who are threatened.  And yet it remains the answer and hope of the world.  When we say yes to Jesus, when we accept him as the leader of our lives, we are saying yes to living in that way.  We are saying yes like Mary and Joseph said yes – not knowing exactly how things are going to roll out but trusting the heart of God to be with us, guiding us, holding us, providing life even in the face of death.

Prince of Peace: The Birth Narratives

If someone took on the task of writing your biography, what might they include about the early years in your family of origin that would inform the reader of what to expect as your story unfolded?  What from your past shaped you in ways that can be traced back to childhood?

I was born into a Dutch-and-German heritage middle-class home in Overland Park, KS, a suburb of Kansas City.  I was the youngest of four kids.  My parents were happily married (and still are).  Home was devoid of negativity for the most part, and was a calm, stable space.  I have no Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs).  My dad being a pastor, we never missed church, and we enjoyed the community we found there.  Faith was central to our lives and we practiced it religiously.  All six of us can sing well and can read music.  All six of us can play musical instruments, too.  Between us all we hold six Bachelors, three Masters, and two Doctorate degrees.  We all like each other (and our spouses and kids), and when we get together, laughter abounds.

Based on my family of origin story, what would you guess would be true of me as I grew up?

We need to think similarly about Jesus’ birth narratives.  The Gospels of Matthew and Luke are the only ones that give us such stories, and while they share some details, they are also very different from one another – they really don’t match up in some respects.  This very old truth comes as breaking news to many who have simply assumed that the stories fit together seamlessly.  If that’s your experience, don’t fret – the point of the birth narratives is to set us up for the rest of Jesus’ life, alluding in the beginning about things we will see again and again in his life, his death, and reflected in the lives of his followers.

The Jewish people living in what we refer to as Israel had been living under the thumb of foreign oppressors for centuries (with a short blip of independence before being pummeled once more).  At the time of Jesus’ birth, they were fully aware that they were no match for the Roman Empire, and were also aware that there was a degree of corruption at the top of their Jewish leadership.  They could count on Rome to be very Roman in their tyranny, and they could count on the High Priest and the Jewish elites in Jerusalem to look after their own wellbeing to the neglect of the poor, which comprised the vast majority of Jews (including Jesus’ family).  As one might guess, many of the everyday folks were enraged, and wondered if God would come to their aid as God had in their stories of old.  In their view, even a rag-tag pitchfork militia could defeat the military machine of Rome if God showed up.  As Ronald Sider fleshes out in his book, If Jesus is Lord (Baker Publishing Group, 2019):

The evidence is clear. From the time of the death of Herod I in 4 BC, there were repeated violent rebellions against Roman rule in Palestine. Both in Galilee and especially in Jerusalem, “revolution of one sort or another was in the air, and often present on the ground.” The sources often indicate a religious motivation. Frequently, N. T. Wright points out, these movements “were led by messianic or quasi-messianic figures.” And the Romans frequently squelched them with crucifixion. Violent messianic revolt, grounded in the belief that God would intervene to bring the messianic kingdom if the Jews would dare to rebel, was clearly part of Jewish life in this period. (37)

Historians provide evidence that there were many wannabe leaders around the first century BCE who claimed to be messiahs anointed by God to raise up an army of peasants to challenge the Empire.  Centuries-old prophecies were employed to encourage people to trust them (and God) to bring victory.  One after another were squashed by Rome, very often using the most horrific means of torturous and publicly humiliating form of execution ever exercised: crucifixion.  Stripped, beaten, and hung up to very slowly and painfully die, this means was meant to send a warning to every would-be messiah to come.  Yet the desire to overthrow Rome with some sort of violent uprising remained at fever pitch.

Imagine if this was happening all over again, and we were looking for such a figure today to lead us in some sort of military offensive to overthrow the Roman Empire.  What sort of person would help make the case for their designation as the anointed messiah?  What would you want?  I imagine we would look for someone who may have been born into a successful, strong family that had patriotic sensibilities, and even more, military heritage.  We’d want Grandpa to be a WWII hero, and Dad to have worked his way into the upper echelon of leadership throughout the Cold War, perhaps.  We’d want the child-messiah to be at the top of his class, a multi-sport gifted athlete, and an incredible musician.  (Well, I guess the musician part is wishful thinking for all performing artists everywhere…)  We would want to see this kid grow up and become the man that would make his dad and grandpa proud: a military standout.  This kind of beginning would signal to us that the one calling for our allegiance had everything he needed to lead the charge.  The childhood narrative of the leader would serve as an allusion to the adult he would become and the worldview that would shape his vision for the future.  I imagine that the first century Jews would be looking for something relatively similar.

Now consider Jesus’ birth narrative.  His mom was of no particularly impressive social status.  His dad was a carpenter – a day laborer – a loser by societal standards.  They made their way to Bethlehem (on/in a donkey/Chevy S10 not a horse/Hummer) for a census, but there wasn’t any room in any inn, and nobody would take them into their own home.  Think about that: a woman at 40 weeks gestation in a culture where hospitality is a core value, and nobody would welcome her inside?  The option the story provides: a shitty cave (vulgarity intended!) to be shared with filthy animals – could there be a worse setting for a distinctive birth?  Of course, there are other figurines in our Nativity sets: shepherds who were treated to a heavenly announcement about the child’s birth, and wise men from afar who saw a star signaling a new king had been born.  Both of these character sets would serve to validate that God was somehow endorsing this humble beginning. This narrative of humility and humiliation sets the stage for what is to come.

What are we to make of this?  Regardless of where you come down on the historicity of the story – that it is factually true because God wanted it to be so, or that the stories were fabricated to provide context for Jesus’ life – the truth of the story is clear: we’re not looking at a militaristic messiah when we read the Christmas Story.  Far from it.  As far away from it as one could get.  Have you ever given this any deep reflection?  If you were living back then, and you were hoping to violently overthrow the empire, how would this story inform your understanding of what Jesus was likely to become?  If his origin story serves as an allusion of things to come, would you want any part of him?

Being Change: Daniel 6

Pastor Pete began a series of talks he called Being Change six weeks ago.  He used the story of Daniel from the Jewish Bible as the story line to contemplate what Being Change might look like.  


It is the right story for Daniel’s homeland is devastated by the Babylonian army.  Everyone is exiled as slaves and separated to different regions of the empire. Kings often would look among the boys of the people they conquered to find the brightest to serve in their courts.  Daniel being good looking and intelligent was forced into the kings service. He experienced the humiliation of a name change and likely emasculation. Daniel would never see his family or homeland again.  Neither would he ever set foot into a Jewish temple or synagogue again.  


That was six weeks ago.  Today we catch up with Daniel.  He has served the Babylonian empire, but  Babylon has now fallen to the Persian Empire.  The Babylonian empire lasted 70 years so Daniel is an old man now.  So let’s pick up the story. Daniel always served with integrity. Each king valued him for his exemplary attitude, wisdom, intelligence and honesty.  Belshazzar promoted him to third highest in his empire and now Darius recognizing the same virtues intends to promote him over the entire kingdom.  


The politicians who served alongside Daniel were jealous and started looking for anything that they could find to bring against him.  Daniel’s service to the king and empire was impeccable. Aware that Daniel would not compromise his faith, a perfect plan was devised.  A law was crafted that would secure king Darius authority, boost his ego and put Daniel in a predicament.


For thirty days prayers could only be offered to King Darius.  Anyone defying the law would be thrown to the lions. Daniel does not protest, nor does he cave in.  He does what he always did. Went home and prayed three times each day. The trap worked, Daniel was sentenced to the den.  But the Lord is with him so he is protected from the lions.


That miracle is often the highlight of this story.  I’d like to ask another question and propose another point to the story.  The Daniel story is about when life is disrupted. It’s about isolation. I am wonder what sustains Daniel over 70 years enabling him to continue to Be Change?


“When Daniel learned that the decree had been signed and posted, he continued to pray just as he had always done.  His house had windows in the upstairs that opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he knelt there in prayer, thanking and praising his God.”  Daniel 6:4


Daniel spent regular time with God renewing his spirit and faith.  He listened for God’s voice and gave attention to the Lords character and ways for his life.  He experienced intimacy being known in his weakness and vulnerability. He was reminded that he was beloved in the Lord’s eyes.  He prayed for others; specifically finding forgiveness for those who conspired against him. And he remembered his hope. Looking toward the ruins of Jerusalem and the temple believing that the Lord as in the past would restore God righteous and just rule on earth.


Today is the first Sunday of Advent.  We continue the Danielpractice of looking back to the Lord’s faithfulness and forward with the expectation that God is bringing change and we are part Gods plan that Kingdom of God rule will be present in our lives and therefore in our world as well.

Being Change, Daniel 6

Handling the Sacred: Being Change Daniel 5

Ivern Ball was an amateur writer who created some memorable aphorisms, including:

·       Most of us ask for advice when we know the answer but we want a different one.

·       Knowledge is power, but enthusiasm pulls the switch.

·       Nothing makes your sense of humor disappear faster than having someone ask where it is.

·       The past should be a springboard, not a hammock.

·       Ever notice that people never say ''It's only a game'' when they're winning?

·       A good marriage is like a good trade: Each thinks he got the better deal.

·       These days, the wages of sin depend on what kind of deal you make with the publisher.

·       A politician is a person who can make waves and then make you think he’s the only one who can save the ship.

·       Most of us can read the writing on the wall, we just assume it’s addressed to someone else.

“The writing on the wall” is a phrase with biblical origins, coming from another story of Daniel-as-the-Jewish-hero as he interacts with King Belshazzar (Daniel 5).  In this tale, the king has thrown an enormous feast to showcase his immense wealth.  To show off a little more, he called for some specific items to be brought from his treasury: gold and silver cups taken from the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem.  While he and his guests were drinking from the spoils of Babylonian conquest, a hand appeared out of thin air and wrote a message on the wall, which Daniel was called in to interpret since nobody else could (or would):

 “This is the message that was written: Mene, mene, tekel, and Parsin. This is what these words mean: Mene means ‘numbered’ – God has numbered the days of your reign and has brought it to an end. Tekel means ‘weighed’ – you have been weighed on the balances and have not measured up. Parsin means ‘divided’ – your kingdom has been divided and given to the Medes and Persians.” – Daniel 5:25-28 NLT

That night, the king was murdered and according to the Book of Daniel, he was succeeded by Darius the Mede.  The writing was on the wall and it was addressed to him.

What was the big deal, here?  Why were his actions worthy of such a dramatic intervention by God?

The are a couple of things happening here.  The first has to be appreciated through the lens of context.  Remember that the Daniel stories were circulated and relished for hundreds of years before they finally came together sometime roughly a century before Jesus was born.  The entirety of that period of time for the Jews was under the oppressive power of a foreign empire.  They were never home in their own dwellings – they were never really theirs to enjoy.  They lived under constant threat, and were extremely poor.  The opening scene itself was offensive: the leader of the empire that controlled their land and stole their property was now using their former riches to throw a lavish party to which they were not invited where food and wine would flow from the endless resources of the king, while they lived in squalor and went to bed hungry.  Wealthy people treating the poor with indignity is a major foul in the Bible as it dehumanizes those who do not have the power to meaningfully object. Recall that in the previous story, Daniel encouraged King Nebuchadnezzar to turn from his wicked ways and show mercy to the poor.  The much-misinterpreted story of Sodom and Gomorrah was not a judgment related to homosexuality, but about hostile inhospitality and mistreatment of the poor.  Every poor, hungry Jewish person who hears the setting of this story already loathes the king – long before he calls for the silver and gold cups. 

This week, many of us will gather together for a Thanksgiving feast, where we will eat to the point of discomfort, throw out a lot of wasted food, and feast on leftovers until Christmas.  It is good to be with friends and family to pause and share love with each other and say out loud that we are grateful.  As we do, perhaps we can be extra grateful that we have more than enough food to eat, and maybe we can take an extra step and give toward an initiative that feeds those who aren’t so fortunate.  CrossWalk has two local initiatives that provide food for those who struggle – you can use this link to do that now.

The feast was bad enough.  Then the king added insult to injury by calling for the gold and silver sups used for ceremonial rituals from the Jewish Temple that the Babylonians destroyed when they wiped out Jerusalem.  Using these cups was a way to communicate to the world that they were, indeed, the victors, and that their gods were far more powerful than those whose idols were now in the hands of others.  Jews didn’t worship images, so they couldn’t do that, exactly.  The second best option was to misuse their sacred items as a means of desecration.  It was these two things that literally tipped the scales of judgment against the king: mistreatment of sacred people and symbols.

The writing on the wall were all words of accounting. Numbered.  Weighed. Divided.  Everything about the king was taken into account and viewed on a balance sheet.  He was found wanting so badly that his kingdom was liquidated.  Bummer for him.  What does this have to do with us, though?  The writing on the wall was addressed to the king, not to us, right?

I think we all need to read the writing on the wall and wonder if it could be addressed to us.  How are we treating the “sacred” around us?

People are sacred.  Our Jewish origin story-poem at the beginning of the Bible sets our thinking straight: all human beings are created in the image of God.  Sometimes we determine how we treat others with our own accounting system.  If we think they are unworthy of respect based on their actions, then we withhold it, and may even treat people in very disrespectful ways that dehumanize them.  This is a violation of a core principle in our faith.  People are sacred and deserve to be treated as such.  This doesn’t mean we’re doormats, but it does mean that there is a higher calling to follow regarding our interaction and treatment of others.  How will you treat the people you are with this Thanksgiving as sacred?  When you hear stories of other people, how will you choose to use speech and tone that is dignified and not demoralizing or dehumanizing?

How are you doing with sacred objects?  I think we struggle a bit with this one.  I wonder if those of us who have been brought up in church are numb to sacred objects because they were worshiped in some cases more than what they were pointing toward, which has left us empty and disillusioned with that which was once considered sacred.  Some churches try so hard to provide sacred space that they become silent museums instead of centers of life.  Communion in some churches is treated with such reverence that it’s a little spooky – I’m confident that’s not the vibe of the original partakers.  Sometimes it’s orthodoxy that becomes a holy cow that cannot be touched or challenged.  Why did we forget that men and their king put the early creeds together and are therefore necessarily open to ongoing review?  Was it because the Church said the creeds were sacred and therefore immune to revision?  Perhaps we have made our faith sacred in an untouchable way that has transformed it into an out of touch venture for many?  Has faith become less sacred for you because it has been so sani-sanctified in your past?

I am confident that 20+ years into the information age, we are learning that our access to absolutely everything has watered down our sense of the sacred where it really needs to be restored.  Pornography is a really easy target, of course.  My take is that the sexual revolution was, in part, a revolt against a Puritanical vision of human sexuality and a way overdue liberation of women as well.  The freedom to be who we are is wonderful, and the increasing equality is, too.  But we have forgotten that we are sacred, and some things are meant to be reserved for limited eyes to maintain that sacred reverence.  Simply because a person is willing to put their sacred bodies on display doesn’t make our gazing appropriately sacred.  Who are we as people of God?  How is our behavior informed along these lines?

Social media is benign.  But the freedom it has allowed for us to anonymously say unholy things to our fellow sacred human beings has caused great strife in our world.  Our US intelligence tells us that social media has been used to disrupt us as a nation, to pit us against each other.  Social media has been weaponized, allowing some to use it to dehumanize and defame entire sacred people groups.  How are we holding the line, choosing to treat others as sacred beings in the midst of temptation to do otherwise?

What other sacred “things” can you think of that we have not handled as such?

For most of us, when we realize that the writing on the wall is actually addressed to us, we will not likely experience the same fate as the king.  But that is not to say that mishandling the sacred is without consequence.  The truth is all of our actions have consequences.  When we mishandle the sacred, when we treat the sacred as not worthy of respect, it usually means more death and less life is fostered.  It often means people are wounded, relationships are strained, and we experience greater isolation.  Our lizard brains in their self-preservation mode may regularly opt for selfish behavior that does not even treat self as sacred.  This means we must read the writing on the wall regularly as a means of holding ourselves to account. The call of God runs deep, inviting us to discover our own sacred identity and help others find their own.  Investing in such a sacral venture tips the scales in the direction of flourishing life for all, which is truly our deepest dream because it is rooted in the source of life itself.  God is at the heart of it, with love emanating forward eternally, wooing us to see new words written and eventually heard: well done, good and faithful servant.

May this Thanksgiving be informed by reading someone else’s mail – King Belshazzar’s to be precise.  May the words deepen your Thanksgiving as you consider what and who is sacred, and treat them all with the reverence they deserve.

 

Notes for Daniel 5 (Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, “The Book of Daniel,” In New Interpreter’s Bible, edited by Leander E. Keck, Vol. I–XII. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994–2004):

 

·       We are reminded of the exile by the gold and silver vessels taken from the Jerusalem Temple by Nebuchadnezzar. This is an important point. The Babylonian policy was to commandeer the religious icons or statues of the gods of the conquered people. In the case of the Jews, since no image of their God could be found in the Temple, the ritual vessels were taken instead.

·       Feasting was typically used in biblical narratives, especially post-exilic writings, to portray the abuse of power and privilege by the wealthy, and especially foreign monarchs. Taxes were paid in kind, and such great feasts would be resented just as much as the waste of tax money to fund government programs!

·       Whatever these words may represent in terms of a sequence of empires, all scholars agree that they are essentially monetary terms, denoting coins and weights. In fine biblical fashion, the obsessions of the empire (power and monetary gain, tribute payments and accounting) become the symbolic basis for judgment. The judgment takes place not so much in the courtroom as in the bank lobby! The place of judgment and the language used are significant. “Mene” is related to the term for “count,” and “Tekel” is related to “weigh.” “Peres” is an Akkadian loan word meaning “half-mina,” but it is taken also to mean “divide.” Thus the king has been counted and weighed in the balances (audited?), and has been judged at a deficit. In short, the interpretation of these words offered by Daniel 5 sounds like the activities of a countinghouse—weighing, counting, and dividing. This chapter, then, parallels the theme of chapter 4: Just as Nebuchadnezzar suffered the same fate he subjected the exiles to, so also Belshazzar will be audited in the midst of his wasteful, demeaning opulence.

·       Finally, Daniel 5 is a call to modern Christians to involve themselves in prophetic delivery of God’s judgment on the gluttony of the hundreds of “Belshazzar’s feasts” that have victimized so many people over the centuries. Perhaps it needs to be said that for many Christians who have been born to the privileges afforded by the dominant culture, such a prophetic task begins by excusing ourselves from Belshazzar’s table!

Being Change, Daniel 4: At Home

This week, we are looking at the story of another nightmare experienced by Nebuchadnezzar (Daniel 4).  Recall that the audience for the stories in Daniel were Jewish people who had been oppressed by one empire after another for over 500 years.  They did not have the military strength to overcome the regimes.  They fought back here and there, but could not sustain themselves in the face of the greater military strength which came against them.  How do people press on when their life experience feels like one attack after another, where there is little to no hope for seeing things turned around in the foreseeable future?  (See Psalm 137 for a sense of their anguish).  Such seasons of life come to all of us in one form or another, forcing questions that we otherwise avoid while in our comfort and ease.  Where is hope, really?  Who are we?  What are we really made of?  Who do we want to be?  Where do we put our trust?

The Jewish listeners no doubt took solace in the stories of Daniel, including this one, where the mighty King Nebuchadnezzar was given a warning-dream by God, the only one who could interpret it was the Jewish hero Daniel, and the truth of the dream came to pass just as Daniel predicted.  This story (and the others) would serve to give hope to the Jews in exile, who weren’t at home physically.  It reminded them to keep placing their trust in what they knew to be true about God, and who they were as God’s people.

I think this theme still plays today.  The world is – and always will be to varying degrees – one in which people of faith will not feel at home. There will always be those whose greed, self-centeredness, and desire for power will lead toward great conflict and pain in systems great and small.  In marriages, families, schools, churches, communities, states, nations – history is filled with ugly examples of humanity at its worst.  When we feel stuck in a moment we can’t get out of, we can feel drawn in a number of directions, including feeling absolutely hopeless and apathetic.  The Jewish people as a whole found strength in their faith, believing that even if life wasn’t treating them the way they had hoped, the God they believed in was still the source of life and hope (and not the Emperors who pretended to be God).  This informed their identity and their actions: who are we as people of faith?  They discovered that they could feel at home in their faith even if their circumstances were hostile.  Contemplative prayer is especially helpful in this regard, as it serves to ground us in the presence of God who is always seeking to heal, restore, and give strength for our respective journeys.  And it works.  There are simply too many stories of faithful people who, especially when facing their most challenging moments, were filled with the presence of God’s love and peace.  They may not have been where they wanted to be, and yet they were simultaneously at home in God.  If you are feeling particularly exiled, I hope you will join our Jewish ancestors in claiming anew your faith and the identity it brings.

Let’s turn our attention to the two primary characters and see what they can teach us.  Daniel once again modeled incredible grace as he courageously spoke truth to Nebuchadnezzar.  Of course, as he realized that the interpretation of the dream was bad news for the king, he was really wise to be gracious lest he lose he head!  In the Bible’s New Testament Letter to the Ephesians, we read in verse 4:15 that we are called, as mature and maturing followers of Jesus, to speak the truth in love.  Some days I am pretty mature.  Some days I am not.  Sometimes I am shocked at how quickly my maturity in Christ goes out the window.  How fun it could have been for Daniel to turn the dream into a “you’re going to get yours” moment.  But he didn’t.  Even with the enemy, Daniel chose to be graceful.  Jesus told us not just to love the people we easily love, but to even love our enemies.  This becomes an indicator of who the Jesus people are – they love even those who don’t “deserve” it, because everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect.   Because this is who we are.  Do you have a conflict situation in your life?  How are you doing on this front?  Are you at home in the way you treat others whilst in conflict?

Obviously, the last character we face is King Nebuchadnezzar.  Once again, the megalomaniac found out he was wrong and eventually came around to honoring God (at least momentarily).  The dream, he found out, was a warning.  If he did not turn from his current path which was in contrast to the Way of God, things would go very badly for him.  Daniel begged, “King Nebuchadnezzar, please accept my advice. Stop sinning and do what is right. Break from your wicked past and be merciful to the poor. Perhaps then you will continue to prosper” (Daniel 4:27 NLT). Nebuchadnezzar didn’t heed the advice and instead lived out the dream.  He lost his mind and his freedom to continue the path he was on.  He was no longer at home, but in a wild place.  He was living an experience of what he had forced on countless others whom he exiled, living in bondage for seven seasons.  Seven, not an accidental or arbitrary number as it represents perfection or completion: he was in bondage for “enough” seasons for him to come to his senses.

Has anybody ever called you Nebuchadnezzar?  They could, because his is the human experience.  We may not get such a fancy dream and a Daniel to interpret it, but we get warning signs none the less throughout our lives that we can either recognize or not, respond to with wisdom or not.  Just like with some weird dreams that we might chalk up to spoiled food, we sometimes just don’t want to take the signs seriously.  To get back to the “at home” metaphor, sometimes we get so comfortable with our homes the longer we are there that we get used to things, put up with things, ignore things, and hope for the best.  But if we put off cleaning and maintenance long enough, we will find ourselves not at home like we once were, and our living conditions – the condition of our lives – barely livable.  Neb’s story offers a cautionary tale about heeding the warning signs.  Inherently, it offers hope as well, because Daniel’s encouragement meant that a course correction was possible for the king.  It is possible for us, too.  If you are not at home in your own body or life, the good news is that God is always on the side of our becoming whole, which is the fullest definition of the word salvation.  Free from the past – forgiven – and called to a new life.  Daniel would have applauded the Apostle Paul who wrote to a church that was tempted toward former ways of faith that leaned toward legalism instead of viewing life as a response to grace. Here are some words to that community (Gal. 6:1-10 NLT):

Dear brothers and sisters, if another believe] is overcome by some sin, you who are godly should gently and humbly help that person back onto the right path. And be careful not to fall into the same temptation yourself. Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ. If you think you are too important to help someone, you are only fooling yourself. You are not that important.

Pay careful attention to your own work, for then you will get the satisfaction of a job well done, and you won’t need to compare yourself to anyone else. For we are each responsible for our own conduct.

Those who are taught the word of God should provide for their teachers, sharing all good things with them.

Don’t be misled—you cannot mock the justice of God. You will always harvest what you plant. Those who live only to satisfy their own sinful nature will harvest decay and death from that sinful nature. But those who live to please the Spirit will harvest everlasting life from the Spirit. So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. 10 Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone—especially to those in the family of faith.

This Jewish folktale has a lot to offer, doesn’t it?  Hope when you’re feeling oppressed, with encouragement to be faithful as a subtle means of standing against the oppressor.  Hope for how to speak truth to power – and to everyone else.  Encouragement to speak with grace even to our enemies.  And hope for when we begin to recognize the signs that our homes – our lives – need attention.  The hope is that the signs mean we have a window of opportunity to change our course.  We may need to go through some tough seasons to come to our senses – but that doesn’t mean health must allude us.  It might not always end how we want, but in choosing to be faithful, we maintain who we want to be.  Even if the circumstances won’t allow for more hospitable conditions, at least we will be at home with our whole, healthy selves.  In many cases, that is enough.

Being Change, Daniel 3

Being Change, Daniel 3

The story of Shadrach, Meschach, Abednego and the fiery furnace in Daniel 3 is popular.  It has been covered by some great jazz artists including Louis Armstrong, Ford Leary, Johnny Cash, and even the Beastie BoysVeggie Tales also worked the story into its vegetable platform.  It’s a cool story about a megalomaniac who wields his power in truly horrible ways, demanding those under his power to comply or die.  In this story, these three Jewish guys refused the mandate to honor a statue presumably made in King Nebuchadnezzar’s image.  True to his word, Neb stoked the fiery furnace and had the guys thrown inside.  Instead of becoming instantly incinerated, Neb himself looked inside and saw the three of them walking around with a fourth unknown person.  He had the guys dragged back out and to everyone’s amazement, there were no signs of fire on their persons – not even the smell of smoke!  Instead of being killed some other way, King Neb honored them and decreed that their god should be honored, and that those who defamed the Jewish god would be destroyed.  What’s not to like about this story?

While the sci-fi side of the story is really cool, what surely was more important for those who circulated the stories for centuries of oppression before they were written down was the faithful behavior of the three Jews who refused to honor the golden idol.  Their brief statement undoubtedly emboldened the hearts of those who recounted the tale: “If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up” (Daniel 3:17-18 NLT).  I imagine the three words, “but if not”, were especially powerful as a model of unwavering faith.  It turns out that God was with them in the fire – their hope was not disappointed.  When they came out, they experienced yet another miracle: King Nebuchadnezzar reversed his position, making defaming the Jewish god punishable by death.  Faithfulness sometimes produces unexpected results.

In the United States, freedom to practice one’s preferred religion – the Christian religion more than others – is a constitutional right.  It is extremely unlikely that a person will be killed in the United States for worshipping in a Christian way.  And, since the dominant theological language and paradigm in the US is Christian, expressing the Christian faith will likely not be met with much worse than indifference.  God is referenced – usually in a Christian way – by politicians in a variety of settings, and Christian symbols and statements are everywhere.  Since some of the earliest settlers in what would become the United States were leaving European religious intolerance behind, and founding their colonial life on Christian principles, many believe that the United States is a Christian nation.  Yet this is not the same as being a people truly guided by the Rule of Christ, evidenced by an ethic and ethos resembling Jesus’.

Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego had the “luxury” of a completely obvious choice to make between their Jewish faith and the order of the king.  To honor the mandate would be in direct violation of one of the Ten Commandments!  No subtlety here!  In the United States, it’s not always so obvious.  In fact, I would suggest that it is sometimes very difficult to know that we are being wooed into honoring false idols at times because the US has been so closely associated with Christianity, and blessing has been invoked even for things that are anathema to God – and then God is worshiped for the very thing I do not believe God desired or was involved with in the first place.  The US dropped two atomic bombs on Japan which served to end war with that country.  Is there anything “Jesus” about wiping out tens of thousands of innocent lives?  I know, this is a pretty easy one to pick on, and yet my experience is that we as a culture are more prone to celebrate our military might than lament the horrible amount of pain, suffering, and death we have inflicted – even if in the name of peace.  There are other easy examples from the past, of course, which include the mistreatment of Native Americans, American enslavement of people from Africa, Japanese internment camps, lack of child protection, lack of women’s right, lack of civil rights – it’s a long list of infractions.

The violations against the Way of Christ are not only in the past.  They are very present.  They confront us every day on a personal, community, and national level.  The three Jewish men were clear on what they believed and what it meant for what they would and would not do.  They believed it so strongly that they were willing to stay faithful even if it cost them dearly.  Do we know what we believe so well as to recognize when we are being tempted to honor something contrary to our faith?  Are we so passionate about our allegiance to God that we would be willing to pay a significant price for not bowing down to the idols worshiped on our culture? As biblical scholar Daniel L. Smith-Christopher notes:

Christian faith involves the refusal to bow before the golden statues of Nebuchadnezzar. But what is critical in the modern era is the realization that in our time Nebuchadnezzar is now perfectly capable of building his statues with the face of Jesus—evil appears as an angel of light. (E.g., a U.S. nuclear submarine capable of dozens of Hiroshimas was named Corpus Christi, “the body of Christ”!) For Americans who believe that they live in a “Christian” country, it is far too easy to accept political or economic policies that involve bowing to golden statues in the name of national interests. The bombing of Baghdad during the Persian Gulf War resulted in thousands of civilian deaths and continued to wreak havoc for the poor of that society years after the cease-fire through the destruction of a vital infrastructure for distribution of medical supplies, food, water, and other essentials of peaceful existence. Yet, the bombing was accompanied by a political rhetoric of “faith and patriotism” that played as sweetly on international television as did Nebuchadnezzar’s orchestra. But the Christian is called to resistance, and to “atheism” in the face of all false gods. If chapter 1 was a call to resist the enticements of the king’s food and wine, chap. 3 is just as clearly a call not to lose heart before the sight of the monumental self-importance of the conquering regime, both then and now. Modern Christians ought to refuse all attempts to serenade violence and exploitation with the tunes of patriotism. It is precisely the responsibility of Christians to point out the falsehoods of using Christian symbolism and language to defend exploitation and military brutality. The beginning of that task, however, is for us to refuse to be moved by the music of national interest. Mishael, Azariah, and Hananiah, then, are Hebrew apostles of a radical faith that is, at the same time, a political atheism. (“The Book of Daniel,” In New Interpreter’s Bible, edited by Leander E. Keck, Vol. I–XII. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994–2004)

Where does your primary allegiance lie?  The United States?  The US military?  Donald Trump?  The GOP?  The DNC?  How do you determine your stance on the following issues: immigration, Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, LGBTQ rights, health care, fender equity and equality, prison reform, global warming, income inequality, public education, taxation, prison reform, housing affordability, civility, – what would you add to the list?  What about on the personal front – what informs your decisions about what you do with your time, money, voice, passion, etc.?  In all of the above, if we call ourselves Christian, how do we know we are being faithful and not simply adopting a sort-of-Christian-sounding-but-not-much-like-Jesus alternative?  These are things to think about for the duration of our lives. 

Thinking about such things, and allowing our attitudes and behaviors grow from such reflection actually make a difference, too, both personally and on the larger scale.  Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego’s nonviolent response led to significant political change.  Nebuchadnezzar not only backed down from his edict – he came to the defense of the Jews!  I wonder if we are aware of the potency of being faithful in a nonviolent way.  As Ronald J. Sider notes in his book, If Jesus is Lord (Baker Publishing Group, 2019): “A recent scholarly book examined all the known cases (323) of both major armed and unarmed insurrections from 1900 to 2006 and discovered an amazing result: ‘Nonviolent resistance campaigns were nearly twice as likely to achieve full or partial success as their violent counterparts’” (25).  Because we live inside and are guarded by a global superpower which protects itself with super power, we can be very easily tempted to believe that more violent forms of power is the only way to affect change.  Our national political culture certainly believes so, as violent language and chest-puffing prevail.  Many sociologists believe that the significant uptick in hate speech in the United States is in part due to the normalization and consequent legitimization of derogatory speech from our top leaders.  Hate has been popular-rised.  Yet many people claiming to follow Jesus fail to do so when it comes to standing with and for those on the receiving end of such violence. Instead, many Christians – even high profile leaders – are silent as they turn a deaf ear on rhetoric that disparages people rather than honors.  This is a direct contrast to the way of Jesus, and suggests that a golden idol of sorts, perhaps in the shape of an elephant or a donkey, has won allegiance over God.

I wonder who might be a modern-day Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego?  I wonder who might be willing to declare their allegiance to God even if it results in significant personal sacrifice?  I hope I might be more like them than not.  I hope the same for you, too.  For the sake of our own faith.  For the sake of our nation.  For the sake of the entire world which God loves.

Being Change

Daniel 2

On October 31, 2019, I completed 20 years of service as Pastor of CrossWalk Community Church.  I celebrate that as a pretty big deal for anyone in any organization.  I am very grateful that CrossWalk has taken time to celebrate this with me and for me and for each other.  I know that this is, in itself, a gift, as there are many who pass major milestones with no recognition whatsoever.  Thank you, CrossWalk!  The median tenure for pastors at one church has risen some over the last 20 years.  It used to be around 4 years, but now it’s 6years.  The increase likely stems from a range of factors that make a lot sense: younger pastors are not driven by the “climbing the corporate ladder” temptation; Boomer pastors are staying longer for multiple reasons; pastors are sensing a call to a community (not just the church); and pastors stay if they are being cared for.  As I reflect a bit today, I want to say first that I am so grateful for my wife who has supported me in my role from day one, even if she didn’t want to move across the country.  She has been a great asset in each of my 20 years here, usually serving behind the scenes in our Children’s Ministry, but also with bringing her touch to beautify our facility.  Being a pastor’s wife is a very complex role that most people really don’t fully understand.  Being an introvert who doesn’t like to be in the spotlight makes her role all the more challenging.  Yet, in spite of all of that, she has been faithful to me, she has served the church consistently, and she has represented CrossWalk with dignity, grace, and class.  I am so grateful for her, and for my kids who she has loved with great passion and presence.

Secondly, I am so thankful that CrossWalk has supported me in so many ways over so many years.  Many of the perils that pastor families face did not happen as much for us, in part because of the love of this congregation toward my family. We have been through more change in 20 years together than any of us could have possibly imagined on every front.  Some changes have been more welcome than others.  I am at times amazed that we are not just still alive but are really healthy and poised to handle the future as best as we can imagine.

The folklore-laden story found in the Book of Daniel (Chapter 2)  actually provides an interesting metaphor for me to reflect on and teach at the same time. King Nebuchadnezzar was haunted by a dream he couldn’t shake.  In that time and place, some cultures believed that evil forces used dreams to taunt and torture people.  He sought the help of his international team of advisors to make sense of it, but with a twist: to test their capacity as seers, he refused to tell them the details of his dream – they had to both recount the dream and interpret it.  If they failed, they would be put to death.  This speaks to the humanity of the king, which I relate to a lot.  The dream ended up being a warning about potential things to come beyond his reign.  The image of the statue communicated that things were going to get worse and worse, and finally be completely destroyed by a wrecking-ball stone from God – going against the flow of the Spirit catches up with us.

Nebuchadnezzar, Megalomaniac.  Neb was reacting out of fear at the outset of this story.  Fear of the unknown, fear of whatever his imagination was running away with, fear of destruction, failure, and lots of other stuff every human being faces.  In his fear, he didn’t operate optimally.  He wasn’t thinking straight, he didn’t treat people as good as he should, and he added to the chaos he was trying to quell.  This has certainly been true of me over my career.  Most of the time I’ve hidden it pretty well (I am an Enneagram Three after all!), but there have been moments when my fears have bested me.  Like Nebuchadnezzar, I was not as graceful, loving, present, open, appreciative, receptive, and professional as I would have liked.  The downside of being a “3” is that I ruminate on such things – I see them as failures instead of simply part of being human.  So, if you’ll allow me, I want to apologize for missing the mark here and there in ways that certainly impacted our organization, and perhaps you personally.  If we need to talk about specifics so that I can more fully understand how I may have hurt you, let’s make it happen.  I know that Neb wasn’t much for admitting he may have made mistakes – megalomaniacs don’t admit wrongdoing and don’t apologize for anything as it takes away from their sense of having absolute power and control.  So, the good news is I guess I’m not a megalomaniac!  And to insure that none of us are, it’s good to ask questions about our attitude and behaviors, to examine ourselves regularly to wonder about what may be motivating us.  How and when do you do this?  How do you stay in touch with yourself?  How do you course-correct when needed?  How do you own your junk and clean up the relational damage caused?

The Statue: Fixed or Flexible? I can also relate to the dream Neb had of that statue representing a potential future.  The writer of Daniel was doing so with the advantage of being well beyond the actual date of this exchange – perhaps well after it had all come to pass.  I was invited to be pastor of this church because I had experience and passion to help churches that were struggling come alive again.  Churches that are barely making it don’t get to that place overnight.  There are systems that develop over time that move organizations toward failure and death.  The good news is that systems can be changed which will also potentially change the future.  I was invited to come lead this church out of a death dive that was looming and was given authority to do whatever was needed.  I really had no idea how hard it was going to be on the church and on myself.  Back then, the church was comprised primarily of the older faithful members who had weathered incredible storms faced by this church,  good people who were willing to entrust a guy young enough to be their grandson with the keys to their Cadillac.  I always believed in our potential.  I believed in the decisions we made along the way, and for the most part, they paid off.  I am grateful for those saints who are no longer with us who were so supportive during their last season.  I think about how incredible it is and was that they chose to welcome change when so many others at that stage in life much prefer what is known and comfortable.  I think the challenge of leadership is to look forward and make decisions that are going to keep things on the “golden” side rather than the untenable mix of “clay and iron” that leads to destruction. 

This is no small challenge in an age when the Church is seeing unprecedented decline in our country, largely, in my opinion, because of poor modeling of Jesus by the Church!  Statistically, the job of pastor commands just a little more respect than being a used car salesman.  Times are a changing…  I celebrate what we have before us now.  A church that is deeply valued and recognized in Napa for all she does to serve Napa.  I believe CrossWalk is incredibly well positioned to both continue to serve Napa well and continue to be on the leading edge of working out what it means to be a faith community in ways that resonate with those who gave up on the Church.  While we must constantly stay awake to where we are and where we are going, we have pulled out of the death spiral and are in a great space to keep moving forward.  God is moving in powerful ways here, ways that are largely not understood by Church culture.  We’re doing our part to do incredible good empowered by the Spirit of God.  On a personal level, I think it is a good thing to be aware of where we are in our personal lives, taking stock of the trajectory we fin ourselves in.  Are we doing things that ensure that our relationships are healthy?  Are we doing things personally to make sure we’re a healthy part of any relationship? Are we aware of systems we are part of – and helped create – that need changing lest we find ourselves in holistic decline?

Daniel, MDR. Another facet of the story I relate to is Daniel’s extremely daring and courageous move to demand audience with the king who had recently order his death, to ask for the very same thing that had already been refused for the other seers.  Daniel recognized a terrible injustice was about to go down, and he couldn’t stand for it.  Using my voice for those who aren’t heard has been a part of me as long as I can remember.  Most of the vocalizing has been in my context of church – encouraging new thinking related to those who have been marginalized and quieted – women, divorcees, the abused, the LGBTQ community, the extremely poor, the hungry, the refugee.  Standing up for people is daring because it is catalytic: we often don’t see things that are right in front of us unless we are caused to.  When the thing to see is unflattering to ourselves, we generally dismiss it, deny it, and defend ourselves against association with it.  Throw in some “God is against it” horsepower to fuel prejudice and it becomes a mountain to overcome.  This is the work of Jesus, you know, and therefore, as Jesus followers, it becomes our work, too.  It got Jesus in a lot of trouble throughout his ministry.  He had a megachurch until he told the large crowd what it actually meant to follow him – they walked away at that point.  Eventually, Jesus’ “being change” led to his demise.  When we stand with and for those among us who need justice, equality, equity, and dignity, we are poking bears.  If we dare calls ourselves Jesus followers, however, the choice is made.  Courage required.  We will keep poking…  To take this home a bit, perhaps it is a good idea to ask ourselves how we are being part of the solution to the problems in our world rather than a part of the problem.  We may not feel like we are part of the problem, but I would suggest that if we are not doing something to understand and in some small way engage the issues of our day in a Jesus kind of way (for Christians), we are essentially silently complicit with the troubles that ail us.  Might I suggest that you identify a few issues that perhaps bother you in our culture and choose to learn more about the issue in its complexity?  Perhaps simply gaining greater understanding might in itself be the beginning of seeing a new future for your role as a change agent?

Daniel, PsyD. The final aspect of the story with which I resonate has to do with managing dreams.  Knowing what the dreams are and being able to interpret them is a part of our grand calling as people of faith.  While no large formal studies have been done comparing the dream themes of people of different socio-economic positions, there have been some observations.  The extreme poor in our world dream of winning the lottery, feasting at a grand banquet, and living in a magnificent home.  Surely this is in part related to the fact that money, food, and safe shelter are in short supply for the extremely poor.  Those who are doing better financially yet recognize that those in power are controlling the system to keep themselves on top dream of varying degrees of revolution where those in power are removed.  Perhaps this dream theme is born out of the injustice they know they are experiencing?  The Great Recession we recently experienced was caused by the wealthiest 1% in our country who were doing illegal things to increase their wealth at the expense of the other 99%.  Effectively, none of them went to jail for the immeasurable harm their greed caused.  That’s injustice.  Those in power have nightmares about losing what they have, no doubt because they are aware that they “have”, especially in light of the “have nots.” Daniel’s ability to articulate specifics about Neb’s dream and interpret it correctly stood in contrast to other seers from other traditions who failed, and thus made Jews feel affirmed in their faith even when oppressed. 

The Spirit of God is with and for the deepest dreams shared by all human beings – that we would experience an abundance of life, that we would all be able to flourish.  The specifics may change with context, of course, but this core theme is a golden thread that unites us all.  As agents of God, we are given the wonderful opportunity to speak these dreams into the lives of people who perhaps gave up on dreaming. We get to speak greater dreams into people’s lives than they may have previously imagined.  More than that, we are also given responsibility and authority to help people move forward in realizing those dreams.  Jesus is one who experienced a life of abundance, a flourishing existence even though he lived under the oppression of the Roman Empire and a power-hungry religious elite.  In following in his footsteps, we discover how to live into the dreams that reside deep within us.  Dreams come true – bigger dreams than we imagined – of hope, joy, and love despite the harshest of circumstances.

I had a dream of what this church could become when I started 20 years ago.  I am so happy to tell you that it did not come true!  If it had come true, we would have simply been a big church with lots of people coming on Sundays.  That’s a typical dream held by pastors.  It’s wonderful for egos.  But it is and was a very small dream.  We made a range of decisions that pretty much guaranteed that that would never happen.  I am so glad a much bigger dream began to emerge – we tripped into it, really.  Or were wooed into it by the love of God.  The dream was one that would create a CrossWalk where all are welcome – “Everybody. Always.”  The dream was that we would be known for our genuine love of the community expressed through radical hospitality – sharing our “home” with as many as we are able to sustain.  The dream required a shift in theology toward an open, relational approach that provided space to think differently about God and the Bible.  The dream would lead us to champion the cause of those who needed our presence and our purse alike: voiceless poor and abused, and people who have been on the receiving end of prejudice right here in Napa and across the world.  What dreams have you had that are probably better left unfulfilled?  What are the deepest dreams in your being?  I bet they have a lot more to do with experiencing deeper meaning, love, and joy than simply bigger barns to put more stuff.  How are you managing your own dreams? How are you speaking hope into the lives of others who may have given up on dreaming, even though our deepest dreams can be realized to some degree despite our past – because love is free and always in abundance if we’ll tap into it.

Who knew Daniel’s second chapter would have so much to offer for our processing where we are and where we’re going?  May it stick with us.  May we remember our potential to give into egocentric Nebuchadnezzar tendencies.  May we be cognizant of the way we are living and leading now with an eye on the future so that we keep things golden (or at least silver).  May we stand for justice when we see it threatened even if it requires great risk and therefore great courage.  May we be dream proclaimers in a world that longs for bigger dreams, and may we be dream realizers as we model and announce the Good News that God is with us, in us, and guiding us toward abundant, flourishing life for all.

Being Change: God Can't Save the World Without Us

When I was a kid, I remember being taught about Paul Bunyan.  Do you?  Statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox can be found in different parts of the country, the oldest being in Minnesota.  Have you ever visited one of those statues?  What do you remember about Paul Bunyan?  Check out this video for a refresher.

Why do we have Paul Bunyan stories?  Why do we tell the stories to children?  He was not an historical figure, after all – so why get so much attention?

Paul Bunyan’s stories are an example of American Folklore.  The stories are of historical interest because of their enduring popularity which also shed light on the aspirational values espoused by the those who created and shared the stories.  Paul Bunyan stories were more than entertainment around a logging campfire – he was a reminder of the American spirit and therefore an inspiration to follow, all offered in a memorable, fantastic package.

There are stories in the Bible that work the same way.  The first six chapters of the Book of Daniel are looked upon by leading scholars as Jewish folklore – the factuality of whether or not a literal Daniel and his friends existed is not really where the power of the story lies.  One scholar notes:

“Although some of the court details seem, at first sight, to be impressive, most scholars argue that the Daniel stories as well as the stories of his friends Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah are fictional accounts that represent the folklore of the diaspora communities. Furthermore, these details are something that a healthy imagination could create, drawing from the gossip and speculation of the surrounding peoples under Persian occupation. There was similar speculation about the pomp and circumstance of the Persian court among the Greeks as well” (Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, “The Book of Daniel,” In New Interpreter’s Bible, edited by Leander E. Keck, Vol. I–XII. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994–2004).

This may be disturbing for some readers who have been taught to believe that the stories in the Bible – if they are not clearly labeled as parable – must be factually accurate.  That perspective is historically new, however, and does not reflect the earliest understanding of biblical texts held by our Jewish ancestors generally and Jesus specifically.  The real power of the stories we will look at over the next several weeks is not about God miraculously saving people from burning alive in a fiery furnace or from hungry lions, or about dream revelation and interpretation.  The stories didn’t resonate with the earliest Jews for that reason, but for quite another: subversion.

While the context of the Daniel stories in chapters 1-6 places him centuries before the birth of Jesus, the stories actually circulated and developed throughout those centuries and finally became organized a century or so before Jesus was born, when the Roman Empire was gaining control of the Mesopotamian region.  What we think of as Israel today was a piece of land that ran with blood throughout its history.  Once scholar estimates that somewhere around 200 wars took place on its soil during the time the Jewish people lived there before the Common Era. The stories in Daniel resonated with the Jewish people because every storyteller and hearer only knew what it was like to live in an occupied land.  For hundreds of years, the name of the empire changed from the Assyrians to the Babylonians to the Persians to the Hellenists and finally to the Romans.  Israel was an organized, unified country with clear governmental structure for fewer years than the United States has survived.  There were only a few kings who presided over the unified nation before it divided and eventually fell apart.  The Book of Daniel was popular – and subversive – because it shared stories of how to live in occupation while honoring their culture and religion and challenging their oppressors.

The first chapter tells the story of how Daniel and company got to the foreign kingdom in the first place – they were removed from Israel!  Exiled.  Not their choice.  Once in the new land, they were put through a program which sought to erase their sense of identity as Jews while giving them new identities to go along with their new zip code.  Thus, they were given new, non-Jewish names.  These are not cool new nicknames – this is removing their very names, similar to what took place in American slavery.  Sometimes the occupation empires are cast in a favorable light which may give a false impression that being in exile isn’t so bad.  That would be a mistake.  The stories we will explore are life-and-death-on-the-line stories.  Those in exile have no rights – their lives hung in the balance.

The first act of non-violent resistance we encounter in the Daniel tale has to do with his diet.  He refused to eat the food provided by the court because it apparently violated his faith commitment (pulled pork sandwiches, perhaps?).  Refusing to eat was to risk his life.  He asked for a trial period to see if his diet would produce better health performance results than the local fare.  It turned out that it did.  Daniel’s diet won the day.  This may seem innocuous to our eyes, but it wasn’t.  This was an act of defiance, an act of rebellion, and in this case the powerless Jew outsmarted the Babylonians who held all the power.

Most of those who are reading this are not in an exile like that experienced by Daniel.  We have not been forcibly removed from our homes and taken to a different land and required to abandon everything we hold dear – even our names – and required to embrace a new culture.  Yet we can still relate to Daniel because when we choose to follow Jesus, we follow him into a type of exile.  The exile isn’t anywhere near as harsh as that experienced by our faith ancestors, but ours, like theirs, requires us to be thoughtful about the choices we make as people living in this world but not of this world.  The Way of Jesus is different than the dominant culture in which we live.

My guess is that there are some attitudes and behaviors that have crept into your life that you know don’t really fit with Jesus’ Way.  Can you name them?  I am certain that all of us who have been born and raised in the United States have adopted some “isms” that don’t fully fit with the ethos of Jesus.  Capitalism.  Consumerism.  Militarism. Racism. Sexism. Classism. What other “isms” would you add?   These are often unchecked, and we end up looking more like the “isms” than we do Jesus.  We typically don’t check them unless something bad happens that wakes us up or when we choose to actually study the Way of Jesus and adopt it.

Here’s a challenge for you: for the next week, drop at least one the attitudes and behaviors you know are incongruent with the Way of Jesus.  Be aware of what makes the dropping difficult – what pressures are keeping you stuck in unhealthy patterns?  What will replace what you’ve let go?  Some of the things you will drop are heavily supported by our culture – especially things related to consumerism.  We are constantly barraged with commercials encouraging us to buy new stuff and eat unhealthy stuff all the time.  Record your experience so that you can learn from it.  Are you up for this subversive Daniel challenge?

God Can't: God Needs Our Cooperation

Thomas Oord’s book, God Can’t, has taken us on a journey that has helped both deconstruct some unhelpful and probably unexamined theological beliefs, and has also served to offer insight into new ideas that work toward reconstructing a sound theology as it relates to God, free will, determinism, and evil in the world.  Oord has encouraged us to embrace the following ideas: God can’t prevent evil singlehandedly, God feels our pain, God works to heal, and God squeezes good from bad.  In conclusion, Oord addresses one last piece that we need for our reconstructive purposes: God needs our cooperation.

This concept may make us extremely uncomfortable if we hold a belief that keeps God powerful in the sense that God doesn’t really need anyone or anything to do whatever God wants to do.  We may be more comfortable with the more popularized concept that God invites us to cooperate, which is quite different.  Oord notes:

Many people accept the less radical form of this fifth belief. It says God invites us to cooperate with God’s work to promote healing, goodness, and love. We can participate in God’s plan to make our lives and the world better… The more radical form says God needs us and others for love to win. Our contributions are essential to establishing overall well-being. Without cooperation, God cannot attain these positive outcomes. Creatures play a necessary part in God’s goals to restore creation and help us all flourish (Oord, God Can’t, 95).

Oord understands this cooperative dance with God as indispensable love synergy:

Indispensable love synergy. Synergy means energies or actions working together. It comes from the Greek word synergeo, and biblical writers use it to describe creatures working with God. Indispensable indicates that God requires creaturely cooperation for love to reign. Neither God nor creatures generate positive outcomes alone. The “love” in “indispensable love synergy” identifies God’s way of working and how we must respond to experience true happiness. God needs our positive responses to foster flourishing… Not even God can save the world singlehandedly… Indispensable love synergy implies that what we do matters. Really matters. Our lives are not extraneous; our actions are consequential. We make an ultimate difference — to ourselves, to others, and to God. Our lives and actions count! (95-96)

If we have eyes to see this, we realize this is the dominant reality throughout the Bible.  Even in the Jewish myth of Noah and the Ark, God doesn’t drop a container ship out of the sky ready to load up the animals.  Throughout the Bible people experience the nudge of God to move forward with what God is doing.  God needed Abraham to move away from his homeland to what would become Israel in order to create a new faith community and people.  God needed Moses to go back and challenge Pharaoh.  God needed Joshua to lead the charge into the Promised Land. Fast forward: God needed Jesus to say “Yes!” countless times to communicate, model, and embed the Good News with those he encountered.  God needed the disciples to do the same to move the Good News from a very localized Jewish movement to a global, multi-cultural phenomenon.  Oord notes, “Indispensable love synergy says creatures must cooperate with God for love to reign. My friend Nikki nicely sums up what’s at stake: ‘If God needs me to co-labor with God’s loving plan, then the people around me literally need me to act. They need me to do what God wants done to bring about peace, harmony, justice, etc.’” (104).

Because God’s love is uncontrolling, and because God is Spirit, God needs physical people with hands and feet and mouths and wallets with open minds and hearts to follow God’s lead.  How do we foster cooperation with God in indispensable love synergy?  Oord:

The psychologist-theologian Mark Gregory Karris captures the meaning of love synergy when he talks about “conspiring prayer.” In this form of prayer, “We create space in our busy lives to align our hearts with God’s heart, where our spirit and God’s Spirit breathe harmoniously together, and where we plot together to overcome evil with acts of love and goodness.”… Karris says the traditional view of petitionary prayer considers God the sole agent of change. It’s like rubbing a rabbit’s foot and hoping something magical happens. “The petitioner believes that if she prays hard enough and with the right words along with the right behavior, God will, without any cooperation from other agencies, instantly fulfill the request.” By contrast, says Karris, conspiring prayer “is a collaborative dialogue, a friendship, a two-way street, an intimate dance between lovers…” When I pray, I share my worries, concerns, requests, and more. I “listen” for a still small “voice,” believing that although I may be mistaken, that “voice” may be God calling me to love a particular way. I ask God how I might play a role in establishing compassion and justice in the world. I thank God for working beyond my small sphere of influence. And I often commit to imitating the loving ways of Jesus (105).

I appreciate Oord noting that he may get it wrong.  Truly, we all have the capacity to both get it right, kind of right, and really wrong depending on how clogged our ears are with our personal inculturation.  The Apostle Paul penned a verse that, properly translated, gives up hope even if we are off at times:

We are assured and know that [God being a partner in their labor] all things work together and are [fitting into a plan] for good to and for those who love God and are called according to [His] design and purpose. (Romans 8:28 Amplified Bible)

God is our partner, working a plan with unconditional and uncontrolling love as God seeks to work with us in the renewal of all things.  When I was wondering whether I should stay put as a pastor in Illinois, or start a new church in the Kansas City area, or come to Napa, I called a seasoned pastor to get his input.  He said that if I had done all the due diligence work necessary, was doing my best to discern God’s voice, and my intentions were to honor God, I really couldn’t go wrong.  God would work with me in the decision I made.  That brought great comfort.  Still, the process can be laden with real fear and anxiety, as Oord admits:

I sometimes fear what government or religious leaders might do to me and others. I fear I will succumb to unhealthy desires for fame, power, and wealth. I’m afraid my children will make foolish decisions. I fear I’ll die before I grow old, although I fear the aches of growing old too! I’m afraid I’ll make sexual choices that hurt my wife and others. I fear what the earth will be like for me and others because of climate change. I fear violence, war, and torture. I’m afraid I’ll be betrayed or falsely accused. I fear I’ll grow tired of fighting for what’s right. I’m afraid my past choices will hamper future happiness. And more (111).

What might God be calling you to do?  Not as a polite invitation, but because something needs to be done?  Sometimes events that shake us shape the need we are invited to meet.  A lot of people enter the field of psychology because they experienced trauma and want to help others who have had traumatic experiences, too.  Some are struck by a need they cannot ignore, and they act.  Darlene Tremewan noticed 100 years ago that some members of our church needed food and our Food Pantry was born!  Jeni Olsen was wrecked by two teen suicides that happened pretty close to each other, and Teens Connect was born.  My friend saw a need to meet in the slum of Huruma outside Nairobi, Kenya, and Furaha Community Centre went from a back-stoop tutoring program to one of the top schools in the region (thanks significantly to CrossWalk, I might add!).  Some of the most recognizable charities in the world were born similarly – someone saw a need and felt a nudge from God.  Fred Teeters has had a growing concern regarding immigration, and is working to get involved in doing something to help those who are here for asylum awaiting their court date.

These larger, high profile concerns that God needs our help with are inspiring, and yet we need to also recognize the more common experiences that are also critically important, as Oord notes:

I don’t want to imply that only dramatic acts of courage matter. Sometimes the best we can do is far from heroic. In the midst of horrific evils, depression, and pain, the best we can sometimes do is stay alive. Saying, “I’m still here,” may be the most loving action we can take. Taking another step or another breath may be all God asks of us, given our circumstances… Whether acting heroically, simply staying alive, or something in between, God smiles when we affirm our self-worth (114)… Because I believe God does not and cannot control, what I do every moment makes a difference. When I’m confident and accomplishing goals, my life matters in ways that seem important. On days I’m feeling low, depressed, or not confident, my life matters in ways that simply amount to living another moment, taking another breath, moving another inch… And that counts too (116).

When we know we are truly needed to respond to a situation, the human race often responds with great enthusiasm.  World War II caused an entire nation to sacrifice in ways that simply would not have been considered apart from such a need.  When natural disasters strike, people respond to the need with great generosity, as we have witnessed firsthand.  When we really see the need and that we are needed, we tend to move, don’t we?

My friends, the needs abound in the world, and they are not going to go away by themselves or by God waiving a magic wand.  Out of uncontrolling love, God desires to see every evil addressed from the greatest, most obvious examples to the most private, personal sources of pain.  God cannot heal it alone.  God is not passively inviting you to join in on such significant, make-your-life-meaningful work.  God needs you.  And you need the work.  The La-Z-Boy, couch potato life is not living, it’s existing.  It doesn’t deliver for you and it certainly doesn’t serve to make the world a better place.  God needs you and you need the role you play.  Significance and meaning contribute to a flourishing life.

What are you sensing God saying to you?  What is the need?  What is the nudge?

May we share the insight of a spiritual giant from the 16th Century, Teresa of Avila (104):

Christ has no body but yours,

No hands no feet on earth but yours,

Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world,

Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,

Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world.

Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,

Yours are the eyes, you are his body.

Questions to Process

1.       How do you feel about the idea that God needs us for love to flourish?

2.       Why do the No God and All God views fail to establish that our lives matter?

3.       Why does the view that says God could control mean God is condescending?

4.       What does the relentless love view say about the afterlife?

5.       How does God work to protect us?

6.       Why does it matter to say our lives — every one of us — matter?

7.       How might God be calling you to cooperate?

God Can't: God Squeezes Good From Bad

Thus far in our series engaging Thomas Oord’s helpful concepts from his book, God Can’t, about the nature of God and how it intersects with the real world we live in, we have learned that God can’t prevent evil singlehandedly (because God is Spirit and not a physical being and God’s love is uncontrolling), that God feels our pain (and we can feel God feeling our pain with us), and that God works to heal everything as much as possible (given physical limitations and varying levels of cooperation with the breadth of creation).  We focus now on another question that many faithful people struggle with when they face really challenging situations: how do we make sense of the awful things that sometimes happen to human beings – is God behind them in any way for some grand purpose?

In the Spring of 2001 I rolled by brand new little red sportscar heading down into Pope Valley beyond Angwin.  The car was totaled, and I walked away with a bunch of staples in my head after my scalp got ripped open from dragging on the pavement after my sunroof blew out.  I was a bit out of it for a few days afterward.  I led a service later in the week on Maundy Thursday, where I shared the experience with the crowd.  One well-meaning person came up to me at the close of the service and said, “God must have really been trying to tell you something to go so far to get your attention!”  I felt so comforted by her kind empathetic words.  It reminded me of the words of Jesus, “Greater love has no man than this, than to cause his friends great harm in order to make a point.”  Good luck finding that verse in the Bible!

I would not be surprised if you have received similar feedback from well-meaning friends and not-so-well-meaning enemies alike.  Or perhaps you’ve made a similar statement to someone when it hit the fan for them.  Or maybe you’ve asked yourself that question after going through something awful.  Perhaps you really wanted good feedback and posed the question to Facebook?  We lose a job.  We get in a wreck. We get a bad medical diagnosis.  We lose our investment due to a crooked investor.  We lose a loved one.  We have a string of bad luck.  We get rejected by a loved one.  Earthquakes, tsunamis, wild fires, hurricanes, tornados ravage the earth, wiping out peoples lives.  Diseases like HIV/AIDS devastate and threaten some parts of the population more than others.  Could God be pulling some strings to make these things happen to communicate with us?

Oord recalls the work of Joni Eareckson Tada, who experienced a tragic diving accident that left her paralyzed from the neck down.  Her story is well known in the Evangelical world, where she has become a popular author, speaker, and artist.  Her theological construct explains her accident as God’s will for some greater purpose.  She further came to believe that God was punishing her for her sin with lifelong paralysis that then led to her extraordinary life of ministry.  She was 17 years old when the accident occurred.  She was pretty sure she would have become involved in even more sinful behavior in her college years, and thus this cleansing (of sorts) prevented her from damaging herself and others further.  She refers to a couple of verse to make her case:

And give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. – Ephesians 5:20 (NLT)

“My child, don’t make light of the Lord’s discipline,
and don’t give up when he corrects you.
For the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes each one he accepts as his child.” – Hebrews 12:5b-6 (NLT)

It appears from these two texts that we are to be thankful for even the horrific things that happen to us and humanity in general (since it must surely be God’s will), and that we should interpret the hard things as loving punishment from our Heavenly Father.  In an earlier chapter, Oord noted that God’s love has to be at least as good as human love, that there has to be some level of congruency between the two.  It does not make sense for a young woman to be thankful for being sold into prostitution by her extremely impoverished parents who need the money to put food on the table.  It does not make sense to thank God for widespread starvation, for terrible natural and man-made events that take scores of human life.  Oord offers a nuanced understanding of the meaning we can get behind:

“If God doesn’t want, cause, or allow evil, we are not obligated to thank God for it. Evil is not part of a divine conspiracy. Making sense of gratitude requires that we believe God cannot prevent evil singlehandedly… Victims needn’t say, ‘thank you, God,’ because evil occurred. It wasn’t God’s will. But they can believe God works in every situation, trying to squeeze good from the bad God didn’t want in the first place. They say, “In spite of pain and tragedy, I’m grateful for the good that is in my life, good that has God as its source” (Oord, God Can’t, 81-82). 

As for the idea of “punishing discipline as truly loving”, I mean, come on.  Will that logic hold up in our court of law?  Why would we imagine it would hold up in God’s court?  Oord:

“Good discipline does not mistreat, abuse, or humiliate. Helpful discipline uses nonviolent measures. Healthy discipline of children involves teaching them the negative consequences that come from unhealthy behavior. Good disciplinarians warn of the harm that comes from wrongdoing… If the discipline mentioned in Hebrews is like instruction from a fitness trainer, life coach, or tutor, we understand discipline as positive. Positive discipline isn’t imposed. It’s non-coercive instruction, correction, or training… A loving God disciplines us in non-coercive ways for our good. God’s discipline isn’t punitive; it’s instructive and encouraging. Good discipline promotes well-being by training us in ways that help us live well” (85-86).

Recall that the Bible is not one book but rather a collection of 66 books with a variety of authors from a wide range of life experiences, education levels, living in different times and cultural contexts, writing in multiple genres.  There is not one theology expressed in the pages of the Bible, but several, with differing views on the character and nature of God.  While the general theme of God’s love, grace, and faithfulness is very evident, the particulars of how that plays out are considered differently depending who you are reading. 

One story that seems to validate Joni’s claim is that of Joseph in the book of Genesis.  His father, Jacob, made it clear to his ten brothers by his actions that Joseph was the favorite.  Joseph likely flaunted it a bit which didn’t help.  After awhile, the brothers had had enough.  They sold him into Egypt’s slave trade, thinking they’d never see him again.  Good riddance.  Joseph went through some incredible trials while a slave.  He was falsely accused of attempted rape, which landed him in prison.  He put his leadership skills to use while there, and was gracious to some fellow prisoners he hoped would return the favor on their release.  But it took forever and a day until it panned out.  Eventually, Joseph won the trust of Pharaoh who gave him nearly unlimited power and authority to rule with his wisdom, which ended up saving Egypt and much of the world from global famine.  His brothers caravanned to Egypt to buy food, and ended up coming face to face with their brother, who they did not recognize.  Joseph eventually revealed his identity to them and said, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives” (Gen 50:20).

When we read Joseph’s statement, it is easy to agree with him, isn’t it?  And it seems as if Joseph was convinced this whole thing was God’s plan: brothers selling their sibling, false imprisonment, all for future good.  What do you think?

Thomas Oord offers insight here:

“A better translation of this passage overcomes this misunderstanding. That translation supports the view that Joseph’s brothers wanted him to suffer. But it does not imply his suffering was God’s will. This translation says God uses evil to bring about good.

‘You wanted to harm me, but God used it for good,’ Joseph said to his brothers.

God took what God didn’t want and squeezed good from it. God brought good from bad, positive from negative, health from hate. God redeemed” (79).

What a very different rendering of the passage!  This, of course, jibes with Oord’s construct of God’s uncontrolling love.  Oord continues with alternative thoughts on how to get our head around the terrible things we sometimes experience in life:

“I believe God uses suffering to mature us. And God responds to evil by helping us and others in positive ways. But I don’t think God causes or allows suffering and evil for this purpose. After all, evil doesn’t always produce a mature character. Pain and suffering sometimes bring positive results, but sometimes they don’t. Adversity may lead to maturity, but not always. Enduring and persisting can but don’t necessarily form resiliency.

“This is a better way to think about God and evil. It stands between, on the one hand, believing God is either uninvolved or doesn’t exist and, on the other hand, believing God causes or permits horrors with some purpose in mind.  This better way rejects Joni’s view that God punishes. It opposes her view that God allows what He hates or hurts those He loves. It denies that God designs evil with some goal in mind.

“This better way accounts for the good that sometimes comes after evil by saying God works with creation to wring right from wrong. God does not singly decide whether to protect us from pain and destruction. Instead, there are natural negative consequences to sin, evil, and some accidental events” (91-93).

As I think about all of the things Oord is encouraging us to consider, I remember my car wreck.  I never thought that God caused it – I knew it was my oversteering to avoid a deer that led to the accident.  Therefore, I never entertained the idea that God was trying to tell me something by totaling my car.  However, I do recall laying on the side of the road while an off duty EMT put pressure on my wound while we awaited the arrival of an ambulance.  I remember not having any fear of death whatsoever through the entire experience.  Most clearly, I remember coming to grips with how close a call the wreck was, how much worse it could have been, and it gave me pause.  Laying there, I was reassessing my life priorities.  I made the wreck a meaningful experience in the process. 

Instead of wondering what the meaning of your particular crisis might be, as if it were divinely appointed, how about a better question: how are you going to make your pain a meaningful part of your life?  Richard Rohr, in his book, Everything Belongs, encourages us to allow all the parts of our lives – especially those painful parts we usually avoid or reject, and allow them to speak to us, to help us grow.  All the parts of our personal stories are, after all, part of our story.  All provide fodder for growth and understanding, even integration, which serves to free us to be grateful – not for the trauma, but for the growth we have experienced in our meaning-making process.

How are you going to cooperate with God to squeeze good from your bad experiences?  How are you going to cooperate with God so that you might grow and create meaningfulness from your painful past?

Questions to Process…

  1. When has suffering produced mature character in your life or others? When has it not? 

  2. What’s the problem with saying “everything happens for a reason?” 

  3. Why might some think discipline should be abusive? 

  4. Why should we say an uncontrolling God does not punish? 

  5. Why does it matter to think there are natural negative consequences to sin and evil rather than seeing negative consequences as God-caused or allowed?

  6. Why do some people think natural disasters, accidents, or illnesses are God’s punishment?  

  7. Why is it important to be thankful not because of evil but in spite of it? 

Hidden Interstices

Rev. Doug Avilesbernal, Executive Minister of The Evergreen Association of which CrossWalk is a part, shares about the counter cultural and counter intuitive Way of Jesus that chooses to love enemies as the way to transform a world of adversaries into one that is more oriented toward peace. Note: on the front end of the talk, Doug gives a description of who The Evergreen Association is and how it operates differently than most similar organizations.

God Can't: God Works to Heal

The two big ideas Oord has offered so far in his book, God Can’t, are first, that God can’t prevent evil singlehandedly (God doesn’t have hands since God is Spirit, and God’s love is uncontrolling), and second, God feels our pain (and the more ways we open ourselves up to the Presence of God, the more likely we are to experience God’s empathy and compassion).  Now, on to the third big idea from Oord: God works to heal. “God responds to evil by working to make things better. The healing God pursues for us can be emotional, physical, relational, or spiritual. Restoration takes many forms” (Oord, God Can’t, 57).

 There are a number of stories that share accounts of God healing through Jesus.  This one seems particularly relevant as we wonder about God’s work in the area of healing:

      14 When they returned to the other disciples, they saw a large crowd surrounding them, and some teachers of religious law were arguing with them. 15 When the crowd saw Jesus, they were overwhelmed with awe, and they ran to greet him.

     16 “What is all this arguing about?” Jesus asked.

     17 One of the men in the crowd spoke up and said, “Teacher, I brought my son so you could heal him. He is possessed by an evil spirit that won’t let him talk. 18 And whenever this spirit seizes him, it throws him violently to the ground. Then he foams at the mouth and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid (weak). So I asked your disciples to cast out the evil spirit, but they couldn’t do it.”

     19 Jesus said to them (the disciples), “You faithless people! How long must I be with you? How long must I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”

     20 So they brought the boy. But when the evil spirit saw Jesus, it threw the child into a violent convulsion, and he fell to the ground, writhing and foaming at the mouth.

     21 “How long has this been happening?” Jesus asked the boy’s father.

He replied, “Since he was a little boy. 22 The spirit often throws him into the fire or into water, trying to kill him. Have mercy on us and help us, if you can.”

     23 “What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes.”

     24 The father instantly cried out, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!”

     25 When Jesus saw that the crowd of onlookers was growing, he rebuked the evil (unclean) spirit. “Listen, you spirit that makes this boy unable to hear and speak,” he said. “I command you to come out of this child and never enter him again!”

     26 Then the spirit screamed and threw the boy into another violent convulsion and left him. The boy appeared to be dead. A murmur ran through the crowd as people said, “He’s dead.” 27 But Jesus took him by the hand and helped him to his feet, and he stood up.

     28 Afterward, when Jesus was alone in the house with his disciples, they asked him, “Why couldn’t we cast out that evil spirit?”

     29 Jesus replied, “This kind can be cast out only by [fasting and] prayer.” – Mark 9:14-29 NLT

 Matthew remembered Jesus’ concluding comments to the disciples a little differently, saying,

 “You don’t have enough faith,” Jesus told them. “I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move. Nothing would be impossible.” – Matthew 17:20-21 NLT

 Have you ever prayed for something as hard as you possibly could, with as much faith as you could, maybe even trying to cut a deal with God to secure the outcome you wanted?  Have you ever had that prayer answered with a “no” that you didn’t get the role in the musical or play you wanted, you didn’t get the position on the team you wanted, you didn’t get the grade you wanted, or accepted into the college you wanted?  Or perhaps the “no” meant the relationship you were praying for was not going to recover to health and it was over.  Or maybe it meant that you didn’t get the job you wanted, or the promotion, or the offer you put on the house.  Or it meant that you didn’t get the results on your medical tests you wanted, and it means a really challenging future for you.  Or it meant that someone you dearly loved did not heal from their disease or injury, and they died.  Have you ever had this happen to you?  I sure have.

 Because I grew up in the church, I was very familiar with the story of Jesus healing the kid plagued by some condition that caused convulsions and grand mal seizures, which they attributed to demon possession (what else could they possibly imagine as the cause?).  The disciples tried to handle it but were failing.  Jesus rebuked them, calling them faithless, then went on to tell the father that anything is possible for those who believe.  Jesus then healed the kid.  The take home lesson many people walk away with?  If you don’t get your prayer answered, it’s because you don’t have enough faith, or you didn’t pray or fast (enough).  Some add to the equation unconfessed sins that are prohibiting God from healing: since you failed to tithe, or stop smoking or drinking or swearing or stealing or masturbating or lusting or dishonoring your parents or keeping the Sabbath holy or (fill in the blank), God is not going to heal your loved one from their disease, because God is that petty and God’s love and care are, therefore, conditional.  Have you ever heard this line of thinking in some fashion?  Have you ever struggled with this issue of God’s apparent healing of some and not others?  I sure have.

 In response, Oord offers Four Steps to Understanding God’s Healing Work.  First, Oord notes that God is always present to all creation and always loves to the utmost. God is omnipresent and omniloving.  He offers a great slap-in-the-face, wake up statement for those of us who are looking around, waiting for God to do something: “God never intervenes, because God is always already present!... The God who always loves is already working to heal. We don’t need to cajole, plead, or beg. No need to grovel or crawl on all fours, cowering in hopes that God will relent and come to the rescue. God doesn’t enter a situation from the outside as if previously away on other business… God is always at work everywhere healing to the utmost possible, given the circumstances” (63).  Perhaps instead of wondering if God is present, we should learn new ways to recognize the presence and work of God that is always at hand.

The second step to embrace is the idea that God works alongside people and creation.  Oord notes, “To say, ‘God works alongside’ does not mean God only works indirectly. God knows us personally and loves us specifically by working to heal directly… ‘God works alongside’ people and other entities in creation means God is never the only cause in any situation. Other agents and causes — good, bad, or indifferent — also affect what happens. We are relational beings in an interrelated universe, so we’re always affected by others. We live in a social network” (64).

The third step is to recognize that God cannot heal singlehandedly. Oord: “When we understand that God cannot heal singlehandedly, we solve the problem of selective miracles. If God always works to heal but cannot control anyone or anything, it’s not God’s fault when healing does not occur (65)…  Because God can’t heal singlehandedly, lack of cooperation or inopportune conditions in creation thwart God’s restorative work” (66).   Related to the healing passage we started with, Oord offers clarification regarding the “you lack faith” concern: “Believing that God needs creaturely cooperation or the proper conditions does not mean everyone ill, abused, depressed, suffering, sick, or dying does not have cooperative faith (67). When we or other creatures cooperate or when the conditions are suitable, God heals. Thanks be to God! When creatures fail to cooperate or the conditions are not suitable, God’s efforts are frustrated. Blame creation!... Prayer alters circumstances in our bodies and world. It presents new opportunities for God to heal.  Prayer opens up new possibilities for God’s love to make an actual difference (68). ‘Instead of believing God is uninvolved, perhaps we should believe God is always guiding but never dominating, always influencing but not manipulating’” (72).

The fourth and final step Oord offers is to trust that God’s uncontrolling love extends beyond death.  He notes, “We continue living beyond the grave because God’s loving presence empowers continuing experience after our bodies die. There is a future life free from our current bodies and physical conditions that resist God’s work. Our dream of existing without bodily pain, abuse from others, trauma, and other evils can one day become a reality” (69)!  This is one of the gifts of the witness of Jesus’ resurrection – the unlikely Messiah who was defeated by the Jewish leaders and the Roman Empire ended up being victor over death itself, and therefore took the championship!  We are so accustomed to the idea of life after death that the entrance of such an idea for common people is lost on us.

So, what do we do, then, with unanswered prayers and people left unhealed?  It depends.  If I ravaged my body with alcohol abuse and ruined my liver, or chowed down an extra crispy bucket of KFC every day for 40 years and clogged my arteries, I can’t get too mad at anybody but myself for my failing health.  In that case I have thwarted God’s efforts to heal me.  Praying for global peace seems like a worthy cause (it is), yet peace is unlikely if the people involved are more interested in defending their territory to the death than extending life through mediation.  We can have confidence that Jesus was known to be a healer, and that there are examples today where people experience healing.  What is not known are the list of variables that factor into the equation.  With this rubric, however, we can stop blaming God for not doing anything, because God is doing much more than we likely realize.  How many people have had their lives extended because of medical breakthroughs from brilliant minds trying to understand how to be more helpful?  Many breakthroughs require incredibly powerful paradigms to be shattered.  Herculean effort in some cases.  Don’t you think the Spirit of God might be involved in that kind of work?  As for the passage we started with, how about we allow the writers (and Jesus) to speak from a First Century vantage point?  Maybe the dynamic changed when Jesus got involved because he was the rock star and not just one of the groupies.  Let us not forget that the healing didn’t last forever.  Every single person Jesus healed eventually died.

Sometimes the healing prayers we lift up are related to our physical life.  To get really practical on the physical dynamics of healing, I need to be aware of how I am cooperating with the healing nature of God in my body?  I am asking God to do all the work while I continue bad habits that thwart God’s healing work?

Sometimes the healing prayers we lift up are related to our emotional life.  How are we cooperating with God on that front?  Are we choosing to be aware of what is happening inside, or are we hoping that ignoring our inner turmoil might somehow help?  Are we seeking any help with this from professionals equipped to help us and God heal emotional pain?

Sometimes the healing prayers we lift up are related to our relational life.  Casual, acquaintance-level relationships require little or not work to maintain because they are often confined to a very limited part of our lives (work, the gym, school, etc.).  The relationships that mean the most, however, take work to deepen and grow.  That’s because they do not allow for hiding our crap.  We can get away with a lot in other relationships because they are sort of like Facebook friends who only see what we want them to see.  In our more critical relationships, we are seen and we see – the veneer is off.  Lynne and I are empty-nesters, except for summers when at least one of our kids will be home.  We are more in love with each other than ever.  But we dis not get here simply because the kids went to college.  We have worked through a lot of stuff together, and have had to own a lot of our own crap on our side of the street.  It is hard work.  But this is our most important relationship with another human being.  We have at times not cooperated with the healing work of God and have paid the price with times we did not feel very connected, or anger was swept under the rug, or frustration swallowed.  Those were and are difficult times. When we have chosen to be humble with ourselves, each other, and God, however, we have experienced God’s Spirit softening us, opening us up, loving us into deeper love with each other.

Sometimes the healing prayers we lift up are related to our spiritual life.  Do you sometimes feel distant from God, like God is just not around or caring?  If we believe that God is always active and present, loving us and feeling our pain, and works toward our healing, we have to at least look at what we are doing in our lives that might be hindering or encouraging our spiritual relationship.  What are we doing to foster our relationship with God?  If we aren’t really doing anything differently than what has not worked in our past, why would be expect any different result?

Of course, we don’t always get our prayers answered during life on this plane.  I’ve walked with hundreds of people through the grief of losing a loved one.  I have lost people to death that I prayed for desperately.  It is excruciatingly painful.  The hope issued at the resurrection is real.  There is a final healing that I believe really does take place for us which Jesus spoke into.  While there remains a lot of unknown about what exactly that experience is going to be like, we can take from Jesus that it will be fully immersed in the Presence of God, which can only mean the reigning quality in the afterlife is love.  Those whose bodies were ravaged, whose lives were cut short, who experienced horrible trauma yet have now gone forward are, I believe, truly at rest.  Living with that hope gives me great strength.  That hope is very strong in me because I have nurtured my relationship with God and have experienced healing in various forms in this life – why would I be any less confident that more and better await us in the next experience of life beyond this flesh?

How is this framework sitting with you?  I am feeling freed.  I am feeling like this makes a lot of sense.  I am feeling more hopeful with this construct than those that may have felt more powerful but really didn’t deliver deep or lasting peace.  I hope you are feeling freed as well.

Questions to think about (Oord, God Can’t, 75)

1.       From your experience, what good arguments do the Deniers of healing make?

2.       What good arguments do the True Believers of healing make?

3.       Why might people feel inclined to add, “If it’s your will,” when praying for healing?

4.       Why might people like or not like the claim God always works alongside creation when healing?

5.       What’s at stake in believing God cannot heal singlehandedly?

6.       Why does it matter to believe God can’t control our cells and other bodily members?

7.       What importance does life after death play to understanding healing?

 Fifteen Myths and Realities of Healing (Oord, God Can’t, 73)

 1.       Myth: God healed long ago but doesn’t any longer.

Reality: God always works to heal; this was true in the past and true in the present.

 2.       Myth: God may not heal until we beg or pray hard enough.

Reality: God works to heal even before we ask.

 

3.       Myth: To heal, God supernaturally intervenes in our lives.

Reality: God is always already present and doesn’t need to “come into” our lives or circumstances.

 4.       Myth: We should add, “If it’s your will” to prayers asking God to heal.

Reality: It’s always God’s will to heal, so this add-on phrase is unnecessary.

 5.       Myth: Our pain, suffering, and abuse are part of God’s preordained plan.

Reality: God’s plan does not include causing or allowing evil.

 6.       Myth: God only loves sometimes and is only present in some places.

Reality: God always loves everyone and is always present working to heal.

 7.       Myth: God is the only cause of healing.

Reality: Creaturely causes — whether small or large — also play a role in healing.

 8.       Myth: God can heal singlehandedly.

Reality: God cannot heal singlehandedly, because doing so would require God to control creatures or creation. God’s love is inherently uncontrolling.

 9.       Myth: There is natural healing, healing by doctors, and divine healing.

Reality: All healing involves God and creaturely causes.

 10.   Myth: God selects whom to heal and whom will suffer.

Reality: God wants to heal everyone, but creaturely conditions or lack of cooperation frustrate God’s efforts.

 11.   Myth: Those not healed did not have enough faith.

Reality: Those not healed often have plenty of faith, but their bodies or other factors prevent healing.

 12.   Myth: God controls cells, organs, and larger entities in our bodies and the environment.

Reality: God expresses uncontrolling love to all creation, great and small.

 13.   Myth: Our prayers for healing don’t make any difference.

Reality: Our prayers alter the circumstances and may open up possibilities for God’s healing.

 14.   Myth: There is no hope for those whose healing is thwarted by actors, factors, and circumstances.

Reality: There is hope, but some healing must wait until after our bodies die.

 15.   Myth: God only heals in heaven.

Reality: God works to heal in this life. When we, our bodies, or others cooperate, or the conditions are right, we are healed now.

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