Mourning for the one we have pierced--Thoughts on Zechariah 12:10 (not 10:10)

 

“I will pour out on the house of David

and on the people of Jerusalem,

a spirit of grace and prayers,

and they shall look on him whom

they have pierced and they shall mourn

as if for an only son, and they shall grieve

as one grieves for a first born…”

 

Zechariah 12:10

 

 The familiar passages of scripture, the ones we hear over and over again—year to year—are often the most comforting.  They show up, unannounced, like old friends or family –and (like family & friends) often just in time for the holidays.  And, we know them so well everything feels automatic.  We hear that familiar voice, the cackle of a familiar laugh, and we are suddenly transported. For instance, when my oldest friend (David) stops by for coffee, we almost immediately become a couple of 4^th graders again—talking about teachers and kickball, St. Jerome’s and Ridgecrest Elementary, trips to K-mart and T,G & Y. We don’t think about it, we just fall right back into the old days and ways without even trying. 

 

For me, it is he same with familiar sayings and bits of information.  I can’t help but see the number 714 without thinking of Babe Ruth.  That was how many homeruns he hit.  Until Hank Aaron came along, it was considered the unbreakable record in baseball. For me, it is still the most important statistic in all of sports history.  But is that because I see it through the lens of nostalgia? I read that number on a sheet of paper, a computer screen, and without thinking, automatically, I see Babe Ruth circling the bases on those impossibly twiggy legs of his. 

 

I read these words from Zechariah and I immediately think of the Stations of the Cross. I picture Jesus pierced by the Roman soldier’s spear.  And –to some extent—that is appropriate.  The words evoke that image, and they are often read as part of the liturgy during Lent,  often included as part of the Stations meditations we read, when we pray the Stations of the Cross.  But, the other morning when I was reading these words, for some reason I paused for a moment and wondered: Wait a minute!  Why? Why would the Israelites return from exile in Babylon, be restored to their homeland, have a spirit of grace and petition poured out upon them, and suddenly begin mourning? Who do they look at? Who have their pierced?  Not Jesus, because these words were written at least 300-500 years before He was born.  Who have they pierced, and who are they looking upon? 

 

You see.  When I automatically think of Jesus, I’m not really reading the words? I’m not really paying attention to the text (or the context).  In a sense, I’m only reading what I expect to read—not what is actually on the page. And that’s not actually reading. 

 

So I went back to the words on the page in my Book of Christian Prayer, and then I looked them up in my Bible. And when I did, two things stood out to me: first, the citation in my prayer book was wrong; probably a typo.  It referenced Zechariah 10:10-11a, however, the words actually come from Zechariah 12:10-11a.  That stood out to me, because it reminded me that even experts with all their degrees and training can make mistakes.  Can get things wrong. Second, rereading the words in my Bible, I found myself struck by the context of the exiles returning to Jerusalem.  God promises to smite their enemies and to pour upon them a spirit of grace and petition. So why does the author include those words about that pierced one and mourning as if for an only child?  It sounds like it should be a time for celebration and cheers of joy, prayers of thanksgiving. But Zechariah speaks of mourning as if for a first-born child. Why had I never noticed that before?

 

Because I was blinded by prejudice—by pre-judgement. I had already made up my mind what the words meant, what they prefigured, and so I didn’t actually read the words, I read only what I expected from them. Sometimes 714, is just a number—not a statistic.

 

But this year, reading these familiar words with new eyes, I was astonished by their power and beauty and profound and personal message.  And it all started with a bit of curiosity: Why do people who are being saved begin to mourn? And who, exactly, is this pierced one that they are looking at?  And suddenly I knew. They are morning not for an only child, but as if for an only child.  They are being blessed by God, and they are mourning because they know they do not deserve God’s grace. They are mourning because the one who saved them, the one who is blessing them, is the one they pierced—not with a lance, but with idols and betrayals and hypocrisy and sin.  And I was stunned.  Suddenly I remembered the times that I too had experienced kindness and generosity at the hands of someone I had betrayed or gossiped about, or just thought ill of. I felt again the shame and the sorrow of knowing my own failing, my own weakness and smallness. How little I deserved the generosity and kindness, and how ashamed (and yet grateful) I was to receive them.

 

And that image recalled to me the reason these words are so important to our reading for Lent, for Holy Week, for contemplating the Passion of Our Lord. Because they remind us, not just of the lance of the Roman Soldier, but of he lance of my own sharp tongue, the piercing lance of my own selfish heart, my self-serving pride, and of the one who poured out His blood for us anyway.

 

And so, today—as I write this—on easter Monday, I read these words and think not of Lent and the Passion, but of Easter and the Resurrection.  I look upon the one I pierced and see Him resurrected,  pouring His spirit upon me, upon us all, as He brings us forth from the exile of sin (and death), restoring us to life and opening for us gates of a new Jerusalem: His Blessed Kingdom.

 

Reading these familiar words, I had my eyes opened. I realized something about God’s word, that it requires vulnerability and curiosity—if we want to really read it, we have to open ourselves up to the risk of having our ideas and our hearts changed. A reading lesson for an old librarian—and a life lesson for all of us. Pre-judging something (or someone) can cause us to miss out on so much…

The discipline of reading

“He had a daughter, Sheerah, who built Upper

and Lower Beth-Horon and Uzzen-Sheerah.”

--1 Chronicles 7:24

In chapter 11 of 1 Chronicles there is a list of names; one more list. The story was just getting started when the author gave us another list of names.  So far this book has felt like one long list; name after name. In fact, the first 10 chapters are really just a series of genealogies. Many of the names are utterly meaningless to me, names like Abishua, Gera and Shephuphan… They were sons of someone or fathers of someone and the author of this book felt it important to list them here, but rarely offers supporting evidence or an explanation why.  On the other hand, the genealogy does go back to the very beginning, so I do recognize some of the names: Adam, Cain, Nimrod “the first mighty warrior[1],” Noah, Shem, Abraham, Isaac, Israel [aka. Jacob]…  And I understand all of this is important as a kind of build up to the Kingship of David.  But it really is (for the most part) just a bunch of names, just genealogical lists tracing paternity; for example: “Sons of Reuben, first-born of Israel: Henoch, Pallu, Hezron, Carmi. Sons of Joel: Shemaiah his son, Gog his son, Shimei his son…” etc. etc. (cf. 5:3)  Every once in a while we get clues about where someone lived or what they did; for instance we learn that there was a clan of linen-workers at Beth-Ashbea and there were potters who lived at Netaim (cf. 4:21-23), and temple singers who worked around the clock (cf. 6:16) but almost nothing else in the way of details. And almost totally the list is of sons and fathers… a patriarchal genealogy.

On occasion, and it stands out because it is so rare, we hear of a woman.  Usually only because she is the mother of a son.  But, very strikingly, in chapter 7 we hear of Sheerah, daughter of Ephraim. And about her we are told not that she was someone’s mother, but that she “built upper and lower Beth-Horon and Uzzen-Sheerah.” (cf. 7:24). Coming so abruptly amidst this flood of male names with little or no details, this odd –and seemingly important-- detail stands out even more. It makes me wonder about this woman, and it makes me wonder about these long-forgotten towns she built and about the author. Who was she and why was she so important to the author that he/she would include such details? And then I wondered about her name, and whether the creator of He-Man and She-ra was inspired by this powerful builder of towns.

And then I wondered why nothing was made of her in the footnotes in my Study Bible?  Surely one of the editors must have realized that readers who get this far will be curious about her. Why does this woman stand out in this way? But there is nothing in my study Bible. I would have appreciated even a note that acknowledged my curiosity by noting that the towns are unknown and their builder is mentioned nowhere else in scripture (which is basically what I found on Wickipedia).   

But as I continued reading Sheerah fades into the endless flood of more and more names. Many readers might choose to skip over these first 10 (or 11) chapters because of the lack of narrative.  They seem like an extended (almost endless) footnote to the story of David & his kingdom. But not me. I have made a commitment to read every word of the Bible, and so I trudge on. I intend to read every the and and and thus and such—and even every name of every begotter who ever begotted or was begotten by such or thus or…well, you get my drift.  My approach is this:  If this is the Word of God, then every single word of it must be worth reading; not a comma or a consonant to be skipped.  And yes, before you say anything, I understand that this is not necessarily the correct or scholarly or even most efficient way to read the Bible; but it is part of my spiritual exercise (or discipline) to read it and to read it all. I also know that this doesn’t make me special; I am informed that there are many people who have read every word of it multiple times and to them I say wow[2]!  My approach is to surrender to the text; whatever God gives me to read each day, I read it.  If it is beautiful and inspiring, I read it.  If it is a simple (and tedious) list, I read it.  My plan is to just follow Him, page by page, chapter by chapter.  At my reading rate, it will certainly take a while (years and years), and I know it will take patience and will-power (which I sometimes lack) and humility; I had to humble myself and read all those laws in Deuteronomy, and all those census tallies in Numbers, and all those details about the ark and the tent and the altar and the bowls and lampstands and ephods in Exodus… Or was that Leviticus?

Barely a ¼ finished, already I am looking toward reading it all again and hoping more sticks the second time around.  But for now, I am just submitting; I am just opening the book each day and reading the next verse, the next chapter, the next page.  Meeting whatever or whoever the Lord puts before me… And learning what I can from it.  My plan is to simply follow the Lord wherever He leads.  And isn’t that a good lesson in itself? 

---

[1] At least Nimrod gets a kind of epithet.

[2] I’m impressed.  For me, this effort/exercise is taking a lot more time.  After about 2 ½  years I just arrived at 1 Chronicles (about ¼ of the way through).

Lent and the practice of dying

“I will place my heart law within them

And write it upon their hearts…” –Jeremiah 31:33

“Unless a grain of wheat fall to the earth

And die, it remains but a grain of wheat…”  --John 12:20-33

 I’ve been thinking for some time about that grain of wheat.  It is an image that speaks to my soul.  It feels like something inexhaustibly true; as if that is exactly how God will write His law upon my heart –upon our hearts.  He will give us opportunities to die, to die to something, to our ego, to our security, to our dreams, to our appetites, to our self, and each time we die to something –no matter how small—God will write another piece of His law upon our hearts.

            This morning I read the passage in Mark about the rich young man (10:17-22). The young man comes to Jesus asking Him what he must do to “inherit eternal life,” and Jesus reminds him of the commandments.  The young man affirms that he has followed all these, and Jesus tells him this:

“One thing you lack: go and sell all you possess and give

it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven;

then come, follow me.” (10:21)

And it is then, scripture tells us, that the young man went away sad.  Because Jesus was asking him to die to his wealth, his power, his place at the table.  Apparently, the young man had received God’s law, thus far. He had lived a life honoring that law –thus far.  But now Jesus is asking him to take the next step; to die to himself, to let go of everything that protects him and keeps him safe from the hardships of life and the insecurities of the world, and “come and follow me.” And he went away sad.  Dying is hard. Letting go of control and security and comfort (and potato chips –for me!) is very hard.  I imagine the young man was looking for some kind of affirmation from Christ, and maybe an easier kind of dying.  But the easy that Jesus offers us, looks too much like the cross.  We tend to not want that. We tend to turn away from it, trying to rationalize our decision to hold onto things like wealth and treasures and comforts, not because we are bad people, but because we need them, or we plan to use them for some future good or just in case!

            It is hard to die to our wealth, yes; but even harder to die to our identity.  This is the “rich” young man, and Jesus is asking him to go and sell everything he owns and give it to the poor.  He will no longer be the “rich” young man in the eyes of the world. He will no longer be a man of importance and distinction.  He will no longer be the self he has become.  His charity, his righteousness, his success –they are his; they are who he is.  But Jesus is asking him to die to himself; to let go of that identity and come and follow Him.  And the promise is this: if we die to ourselves, if we fall to earth –like that grain of wheat—then, we will bear much fruit.  We will become a fruitful vine.  And I’m wondering if it isn’t through that fruitful vine that God reaches out to the world; and through that vine taking root inside us that God writes His law upon our hearts.  But for that vine to take root, there must be a death. And dying can be hard gift to receive –as we see in the rich young man’s reaction.

            But there is no sign that Jesus has given up on this rich young man. What we see is that Jesus looked at the rich young man with much love (cf. 10:21).   And that Jesus understands how hard it is for the rich to let go of their wealth and enter empty handed into the Kingdom of God: harder than a camel passing through the eye of a needle.  

So we must put our trust in God’s love, and in God’s patience. And we must day by day learn little by little to let go.  Most of us are not going to be Dorothy Day or Francis of Assisi. We are not going to simply let go of everything in one glorious gesture of dying to our old lives. For most of us, we must trust in God’s patience as He waits for us, like the soil waiting for the seed.  Trust that God waits for us to let go that we might receive the gift He has instore for us; in fact, that He might write it on our hearts.  

Lent is a time to practice dying.  And I was told by a priest last week (during confession) that it is never too late to begin a good Lent.  This was a difficult Lent for me, but I finally started mine.  And I have already failed --twice-- and started again. And like that other wonderful example from Mark’s gospel, I continue to pray:  Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. (9:24)