Mornings on the Porch... God--sanctuary or stumbling block or both?

 

Mornings on the porch

 

“He will be a sanctuary,
a stumbling block...
a snare and a trap...
over which many will stumble
and be broken...”

--Isaiah 8:14-15

 

This is a fascinating image from early in Isaiah, and it seems oddly discordant. In context, it is part of the prophet’s marching orders—his message for Israel and the people of Jerusalem. But what does it mean? How can the same God be both a sanctuary and a stumbling block? A place of safety and a snare –a trap? And why?

 I’m wondering if this message has something to say to us of God’s love and our free will. Perhaps even something about how we might experience a blessing as a stumbling block...  For instance, this morning I woke early—before the sun—and after feeding the cats and setting out my leftover coffee from the night before, I went out to meet the sunrise. I had a wonderful breezy walk around the park, greeted a few neighbors, petted a couple of dogs, but the drifting clouds and the gray sky kept the sunrise hidden. Oh well... At home, I warmed up my coffee and went out on the porch with my record player and put on Ernest Tubb’s Greatest Hits. Listening to his plaintive voice promising to “get along somehow...” I thought about writing a poem or maybe I should be reading my morning Bible chapters or... and then I noticed all the leaves under my chair and around my feet and remembered my promise to my wife the night before that I would sweep the porch in the morning.

 But what about my coffee? I just warmed it up... And what about that poem... If I don't write it, who will? Or all that reading I was wanting to do?  I could always sweep the porch afterwards; after I write or read or drink or make a fresh pot of coffee and a batch of muffins and turn the record over and listen to the other side and... And besides that, there will always be more leaves; didn’t the weather man say it’s supposed to be windy all weekend?  So many “good” reasons to put off that sweeping--at least for a while-- to wait until later...  But... I promised.

And so, instead, I found the broom and got to work—going at it with as much care and skill as a 65 year old poet/librarian can muster. As I worked I found two reactions tussling inside of me.  One was a faint sense of embitterment –fear really—that I was wasting valuable time. I should be doing something important, like writing! Or meditating! Or reading the Bible. Anything but sullenly sweeping up leaves that would only be blown back before lunch!

 But another voice inside me said: You promised. Keep your word. Sweep the porch and listen to the sound of the broom on the concrete and the cries of the birds and the singing of the Texas Troubadours. Let that be your meditation. Let that be your comfort and let it become your poem and your prayer...  Rest in it; in the work and in the peace that comes from doing it. Of being true to yourself and to the one you love. Rest in the grace that flows from serving another, the grace of God’s self-giving love. The love that flows through even the simplest work when done for the sake of another, flows not just out of us, but through us and flows from the original source (and sanctuary) of all Love...

When love calls us, it can be a sanctuary and a comfort, but it can also feel like a snare or a trap. The call of love to die to self, to give up your own plans for the sake of another doesn't change, but how we encounter it... That is up to us.  It’s a choice we all must make. 

To paraphrase Joshua 24... As for me and my porch, I know which one we will choose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Assumptions and the aftermath: on Joshua 22:12

"At this news, the whole community of the Israelites

mustered at Shiloh, to march against them and

make war on them.” –Joshua 22: 12

Out of context, one might read this passage and assume that the Israelites are mustering to go to war against an enemy, perhaps some nation that has become an abomination before the Lord. But, in fact it seems to me, a perfect sign of what is to come for God’s chosen people: in-fighting, mistrust, suspicion and jealousy; the human condition (one might say).

Here, near the end of the book of Joshua, when the battles are finished, and all of the tribes have been allocated their land, one would imagine –expect, even—peace to reign, at least for a chapter or two.  However, almost immediately after the fighting stops as the tribes of Rueben, Gad and “the half-tribe of Manasseh” head home, they stop and build an altar (possibly in Gilgal). In reading the Torah (the first 5 books of the Bible) how many times have we seen the great figures from Israel’s history stop and build an altar of stones to honor God? To memorialize some victory? To remember some great, life-altering event? Abraham does it (cf. Gen 12:7 -8;13:18; 22:9) . Jacob does it (Gen 35:7). Moses builds one (Ex. 17:15). Heck, even Joshua does it (Joshua 8:30).  But now, when the rest of the tribes hear of this particular altar they muster at Shiloh and prepare to march against them because they find it suspicious and threatening. Here they are, finally settled after 40 years of wandering and fresh from the seemingly miraculous victories over their enemies, and what happens? They declare war not a pagan enemy, but on their own brothers (and sisters) who have just fought along side them to win them their homelands. Already in this nascent moment, the community of God’s people is crumbling.

As a prelude to war, the priest Phinehas is sent (with ten elders) to declare to these three (or 2 1/2) tribes their sin and to demand an answer:

“What do you mean by this infidelity, which you have

committed against the God of Israel…?” (cf. 22:16)

Phinehas asserts that this altar puts all of Israel in danger.  But the two and a half explain that Phinehas (and the others) have been rather rash in their judgment. This altar has been built not out of idolatry, nor infidelity, but out of fear that these others –the tribes that sent Phinehas, et al—might some day forget that the Reubenites and Gadites and half tribe of Manasseh too are children of Abraham, and say to them:

“What connection do you have with the Lord, God of Israel? Has not the Lord set the frontier of the Jordan between us and you, you Reubenites and Gadites. You have no share in the Lord.” (cf. 22:24-25)

They have built this altar as a witness for future generations, as a reminder that they too are a part of God’s people; they too have a stake in His blessing.  They have built it that they might point to it as an image of what they once stood near, as an assurance to future generations that they too “have a right to worship the Lord in His presence…” (22:27b)

            Oddly enough, nowhere in this story is there any mention of God’s approval or disapproval of the altar. The same God who was so precise and exacting in his directions to Moses for building a tent and an altar and special poles and bowls and tent cloths –even to the number of loops in the cloth—and who and when and where anyone could approach the altar-- doesn’t seem to have any opinion on this one.  So, I ask myself: what lesson are we to derive from this story? If it isn’t a lesson about altars and infidelity, then what is it? A lesson about trust? About faith? About rushing to judgment? About making assumptions? One side assumes the other is doing something sinful. The other side assumes that they will be forgotten. And neither side seems to remember God’s strangely reassuring words from Deuteronomy:

“It is not for your righteousness or for the uprightness of your heart that you are going to possess [this] land, but it is because of the wickedness of these nations that the LORD your God is driving them out before you.” (Deuteronomy 9:5)

But as we see again and again in scripture, that is the key mistake people make over and over. We assume it’s all about us. God is rewarding us because we deserve it, or God is punishing us because we deserve it. At least for me, it is always about me. My wife is mad because of something I did. My kids are sick because I’m a failure as a father. My poem got rejected because I’m no good as a writer. But as we see in the book of Judges, every time things seem to start going right, every time the Lord blesses His people with victory and protection and peace, they begin doing what is evil in the sight of the Lord. It happens so often that it becomes a kind of refrain. The main lesson I am hearing from this passage is: Don’t assume this all about you. And don’t assume you know all the facts. And don’t assume you know God’s will…  And don’t assume that just because God loves you, He approves of everything you do.  In fact, just don’t assume.

“…do everything for the glory of God…”

“…whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God.”

--1 Corinthians 10:31

“My son, give glory to the Lord, God of Israel,

and confess…” –Joshua 7:19

This past Sunday we heard the story of the leper who said to Jesus, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.” (Mk 1:40b) After the Lord heals him, this man goes about telling everyone about the miracle and the man who “made him clean.” He is understandably excited, but it is interesting –and always troubled me that as soon as this man leaves Jesus, he does exactly what the Lord has told him not to do. Jesus tells him:

See that you tell no one anything, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses prescribed… (Mk 1:44)

So, why isn’t the leper called on the carpet? He received a miracle, was given a pretty simple directive (basically for a leper to be declared clean required a priest to sign off that the sores were gone) but instead of obeying it, he does the opposite. You’d think that if this was a fable or morality tale or something like that, there would be some kind of consequences for this vociferous leper; even if it just meant Jesus wagging a miraculous finger at him.        But, instead we get only the lovely detail that this man sang the Lord’s glory so successfully that Jesus couldn’t make it into the towns because people kept streaming out to Him. All because of this “disobedient” leper. That’s interesting to me.  He does explicitly what the Lord tells him not to do, but clearly he does it for the glory of the Lord, and thus becomes an early and highly successful evangelist.  Whatever you do, do it for the glory of the Lord!

Another twist on this might be found in the Old Testament reading from Leviticus which shows how a leper was supposed to behave:

“The one who bears the sore of leprosy shall keep his garments rent, his head bare… and shall cry out: unclean, unclean… He shall dwell apart, making his abode outside the camp.”  (Leviticus 13:44-46)

To submit to this treatment must have been devastating to a person and to a family. But, to endure it with anything more than resignation and growing despair or resentment requires a deep, a profound trust in God. But how?

Reading Joshua the other morning, I came across the idea of giving Glory to the Lord in a very different context.  It is in the story of Achan who is to be put to death for stealing loot that had been put under the ban. When Joshua discovers what Achan has done and how it has brought a curse upon the Israelites, he goes to him and says:

My son, give glory to the Lord, God of Israel, and

confess what you have done, hide it not…

And Achan does confess. Directly he takes Joshua and shows him the items. And immediately Joshua has him (and his family and livestock) lead out of the village and stoned to death.  That’s pretty brutal, that swift shift from the tender sounding, “My son, give glory to God, confess what you have done…” to:  Take him out of the camp and kill him. And his family! And while you’re at it, let’s kill and burn his livestock, too![1]

            That is a hard shift and a hard bit of glory to be asked to give to the Lord.  But if we take Paul seriously (and please tell me if this sounds too Calvinistic), we must do everything for the glory of God. When we are healed let it be for the glory of God, and when we feel cursed, let that too be for the glory of God. St. Therese reminds us that even our tiniest acts --to stoop and pick up a dropped pin—we should do for love of God. 

Do everything for the glory of God!  That in itself is the greatest witness we can offer. And, like Bernanos’ Country Priest said:  All is grace… Yes, even the stones they throw at us.

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[1] (Of course there is a lot more to be said for the story of Achan. And there is some scholarly debate about whether the original words mean the family is stoned or merely forced to witness his stoning. Read Joshua. I dare you.)