King Hezekiah and the pandemic of selfishness

“…for he was thinking: there is

going to be peace and security

in my lifetime.”  --Isaiah 39:8

“My lifetime…” Me, my life… How will this affect me? How will it benefit or trouble me?  How often is that our only concern, our one true focus? And yes, I am thinking of all the people who are hoarding food, hoarding disinfectants, hoarding toilet paper!!  Why?  Because they are worried. They are scared. Me too.  We all are, at least a little bit.  But some people are letting that fear guide them. They are so anxious that something might disrupt their comfort, distress their routine, that they are grabbing for every bit of security and control over their world that they can. Regardless of how it affects anyone else, they are anxiously gathering the supplies they need to live a life of peace and security.

This passage in Isaiah deals with Hezekiah, king of Judah (716-687 BCE), and a warning he receives of future troubles that will come after he has died.  Hezekiah is one of those kings with a mixed record. He is praised for religious reforms, for purifying and repairing the Temple, for centralizing worship at the Temple, and tearing down “high places” and idolatrous objects. He also reigned during the siege of the Assyrians, and is credited with keeping the city safe, and yet at the end of his life he is depicted as a vain and foolish man who is easily tempted by praise and honor.  And –by a false sense of peace and security.   

This passage comes at the end of a story about Babylonian emissaries who come to visit King Hezekiah.  And in a moment of foolish pride, Hezekiah shows off his castle and all his riches to these emissaries.  Soon after this visit, the prophet Isaiah comes to Hezekiah to call him out for his foolishness.  He tells him:

“The days are coming when everything in your palace, everything

your ancestors have amassed until now, will be carried off

to Babylon. Not a thing will be left… Sons begotten by you

will be… eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.” (cf.39:6-7)

But Hezekiah’s response is only: at least there will be peace and security in my lifetime.  How are we any different today? And I don’t think this speaks just to the current pandemic and fears. It’s about the way we have been living for decades, if not centuries. We –at least here in the West—have been living lives of covetousness and consumption. We want, and we get and we discard and then we want some more. And there is little concern for other people, other generations who might have to suffer the consequences of our lives of abundance and comfort and amassing so much personal treasure that we can’t even contain it, but have to rent storage units to keep safe our overabundance! We could apply the lesson of King Hezekiah to so many things: global warming, overflowing landfills, personal responsibility, corporate greed, Wallstreet, the financial crises… It all boils down to—on some level—selfishness, disregard for the other, for our neighbor, and for the poor people who make the cheap shoes we love to buy, for the future, and for the rest of the world—even those we can’t see. Or choose not to.

Let us take a moment, here and now, while God has slowed the world down for us, given us some breathing space, a moment to sit still and listen to the birds, hear the breeze in the leaves, watch the clouds passing by, and smile at a neighbor who is quietly walking past pushing a stroller or walking a dog. Let us take a moment here and now and learn the lesson of Hezekiah.  On the surface he was a pretty good king, pretty good Jew, but below that surface there was a selfishness and vanity that festered like a boil (cf. 38:1-8), and left behind it a nightmare of desolation. After his death, Hezekiah’s son, King Manasseh, returned to all the practices Hezekiah had tried to reform, even adding to them things much worse: human sacrifice, the worship of pagan idols. In the end, Hezekiah’s peace and security in his lifetime, lead to the destruction of the Temple and the Babylonian captivity. 

But there is hope. God’s love is unchanging, eternal. And here we are in this place and this time, being called by God to make a few sacrifices, to get our priorities straight.  It is a chance for us to think about the legacy we want to leave behind: do we want to be remembered as people who shopped well, or people who loved generously and without fear? 

Take a moment and think about someone who might need you to reach out to them. Someone homebound, or elderly, someone frightened by the news, someone who has no sense of peace or security, but only anxiety and fear. Or loneliness. Do you know of one person like that?  Call them. Focus for a moment, not on yourself, but on them. Ask them how they are doing, ask them if they need anything, and most of all tell them you were thinking about them and wanted to hear their voice. And before you hang up the phone, tell them you will pray for them.  Then take a moment and do it.

We need to slow down and make space for others. Start here. Start now. In your own heart, this very day, make room for just one more.  And tomorrow… maybe another… two by two we will fill God’s ark with those we love until the moment we find it is full—because everyone has found a place inside. Today we begin to love as God loves, to love everyone. And it starts by looking outside yourself, your security, your peace, your lifetime.

Third Sunday of Lent: Why is God doing this to us?

“In those days, in their thirst for water,

the people grumbled against Moses saying:

Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?

Was it just to have us die here of thirst…?

So Moses cried out to the Lord: What shall

I do with this people? A little more and they

will stone me…”  --Exodus 17:3-7

“Why did you ever make us leave Egypt…Was it just to have us die here of thirst?”  Sound familiar? Whenever I feel overwhelmed and helpless, exhausted and afraid, desperate, my prayer turns into something a lot like that of the Israelites in the desert.  Why did you do this, God? Why are you making my life so hard? I thought we were friends! What did I do to deserve this?  For me, this usually involves something to do with owning three cats.  So, when I was headed to the HEB Wednesday night to get paper towels (because one of the cats keeps peeing on counters and carpets and linoleum… as well as mail, magazines and tote bags!!!) I was cursing my pets, my prayer life, and wondering what I had done to offend God.

But… walking into the store, I learned firsthand the reality of desperation.  The pandemic known as the Coronavirus finally hit home.  The shelves of the store were almost completely empty. Unless you liked Peanut Butter Captain Crunch you were out of luck as far as cereal goes.  The only rice left was sushi.  Not a single bottle of laundry detergent to be had. Luckily, they still had plenty of paper towels. A big display right next to the front doors.  I wandered around looking for those few other items that I had been asked to pick up, and everywhere I looked were other people wandering with their carts, some of them overflowing with water and canned goods, and frozen pizzas, but most of them half empty like their eyes… Everywhere I looked there was that strange gaze: stunned, afraid, desperate. What’s happening? Why? Who can we blame?

We don’t like feeling vulnerable, none of us do. We don’t like feeling unsafe.  Humans like things to be predictable; it makes us feel safe.  We like to know what comes next, so we don’t have to worry about it.  And yet, if we stay safe, if we hide from danger, avoid being vulnerable, if we remain locked in our secure little risk-free (and germ-free) boxes, if we stay in Egypt… what happens? Our horizons shrink, our view of life becomes smaller and smaller until it gets almost microscopic.  Instead of worrying about our neighbor or about our friends (or even our family) we begin to see only ourselves, our fears, our discomforts, everything is measured by what it will mean to us, what affect it will have on “Me.”

But as I was standing in stunned disbelief looking at the desolate pasta aisle, I had an experience that I think speaks to this question of “Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?”   Standing there, staring at the barren shelves, gazing in disbelief at the remaining three jars of lo-fat Alfredo, and the one remaining box pasta, some kind of whole-wheat “healthy” rotini—I think I felt like the Israelites. How had this happened? Why would God do this? How come He wasn’t protecting me?  It was a pretty sad moment, but then a woman approached with her full cart and paused. For a moment, I thought she was about to speak to me—she was standing so close. But instead, she reached past me and put a box of spaghetti back on the shelf. Nothing special. Just plain old regular spaghetti. And then she walked away.  I picked up the box and called out, “Thank you.” She turned and smiled and said something like, “I didn’t really need it,” and disappeared.

And so, I come back to the question: Why did you ever make us leave Egypt? Was it just to have us die in the desert?  What if the answer was yes? What if God said, That is precisely what I am doing?  Only… you won’t die.

Last week at Mass we heard the reading about Abram’s call (Genesis 12:1-4). Abram is living a comfortable life in Haran, when God comes to him and says: Pack up. I want you leave this place and go somewhere far away from your father’s house, your family, your comfort zone, your security. Don’t ask questions. I will show you where to go. It is a foreign land where you will live among strangers and probably feel very vulnerable.  But, that is how I am going to make you into a great nation, that is how I am going to make of you a blessing to all who bless you.

What if the key to becoming who we were meant to be, who we were made to be, a blessing to the world, is to be vulnerable?  What if the real key to becoming fully alive, to becoming a blessing is first to step out of our comfort zone, out of our security blankets and take a risk, take a chance, become vulnerable. Begin to feel thirsty.

I was feeling a wave of panic come over me as I stood there in that crazy madhouse of a grocery store staring at empty shelves and zombie apocalypse shoppers and suddenly a person stopped and put back something she didn’t need.  I wonder if it was because she saw a person in need. Because she saw someone who looked vulnerable, someone thirsting.  I wonder.  And I wonder, who was really blessed in that moment.  I received what? Perhaps a small act of charity from a stranger. A simple box of spaghetti.  But, thinking about that smile as she turned the corner, I wonder what she received? Perhaps something much better… The blessing that comes from helping someone in need.

The other part of this passage that interests me is that little detail of Moses going to God, practically in despair.

What shall I do with this people? A little longer and they will stone me!

Clearly, he too feels vulnerable, helpless, desperate. And yet, in his helplessness he turns to God and through God’s grace blesses the people who do not die of thirst, but receive water from the rock and –in the end—they too become a blessing, become a light for the world; a chosen people, set aside—vulnerable, conquered, exiled, yes!  But in exile, in captivity, in loss they are the bearers of God’s word, they are the chosen people, God’s beloved! 

Think about that during this time of fear and anxiety and empty grocery shelves. This “pandemic.” How God’s love and calling is so often revealed in suffering and a sense of helplessness.  Think about how God may be calling us through this hardship. Through your sacrifice and discomfort and even your fear and loss, how is God calling us to witness His love? It may be something as simple as letting someone else know you are afraid, so that they can be blessed by offering comfort and aid. Or perhaps you will be the one who puts a box of spaghetti back on the shelf so that it will be there for someone else.

Remember, we are here because God has put us here, in this time, this place, this life. We were made for this.  And we are never alone. On His way to Calvary, Jesus walks this path with us.  We are loved.  So, do not be afraid, be vulnerable.

Isaiah's broken pot--and the scholar's unintended help

“…on the day of the great slaughter

when the strongholds fall.” –Isaiah 30:25b

This verse, this fragment of a verse, comes near the end of chapter 30, and  follows immediately upon a vision of security and comfort, of abundance and peace—an almost Eden-like vision—and that placement caught my attention so I went searching for some guidance from footnotes and commentaries, trying to find out what the scholars had to say.  And here is what I learned.

First: scholars speak of the fragmentary nature of the book of Isaiah. They even speak of three different Isaiahs: first (ch. 1-39), second (40-55) and third Isaiah (56-66) writing over a period of hundreds of years. This fragmentariness is emphasized in my Catholic Study Bible (Oxford 2007) by referring to the chapters as “a collection of collections” (RG 205).  The implication being that over hundreds of years followers of Isaiah were gathering pieces of manuscripts and sayings and scraps of sayings and only much later someone(s) began organizing them into a book as best they could. But, in no way are we to imagine that the book is even meant to be a cohesive whole. It should be read as a kind of library of sayings—almost a crazy quilt of sayings attributed to or connected to the prophet. But, definitely not an unadulterated vision from a single individual named, Isaiah.  

As evidence of this theory scholars offer the surprising awkwardness of this phrase (and others like it). The sudden abrupt change of tone from peace and comfort to slaughter and destruction is, in this theory, a sign of that fragmentary structure.  The Jerome Biblical Commentary calls this “day of destruction” passage a “surprising thought” which appears to belong somewhere else (JBC 279.16:52c).  Okay. Maybe so.

Second: Another thought about this particular “fragment” is that the abrupt change of tone is intentional.  They interpret the phrase as referring not to Israel’s destruction, but the slaughter of Israel’s enemies (in particular, the Assyrians). Read this way, the verse seems to explain why Israel will experience abundance and tranquility: because her enemies will be destroyed!  Okay. I can see how that might make sense.

Third: But… my concern is not the same as the scholar’s. My concern is with God's word, the text that God has given us, not with the text a human hand, community, culture created (or intended).  As a reader of faith, my concern is with the Bible we have, not the one that we might have had.  The creation of the Bible, possible sources, fragmentary verses, questions of translation and alternative manuscripts, etc, Yes! Those are appropriate scholarly concerns worthy of all their efforts.  And if they shed light on the meaning of difficult passages –or even complicate our understanding of easier passages, that is all good. And deserving of their work.  I don’t want to demean that.  As people of faith we want the best and most accurate translations and annotations we can get, as tools to help us understand God’s word. God’s meaning. These can be useful tools for opening the eyes of faith to the eternal truths living in His word.  And I think that is what happened for me as I contemplated this “surprising thought.”  

I want to show how a brief note to an obscure fragment of a pieced together verse in the midst of a massive and difficult and sometimes quite obscure text, opened my eyes and ears to a truth planted there by an author eye has not seen and a voice ear has not heard… so to speak.

Because the fragment stood out, because it didn’t seem to make, it caught my attention.  Because of that, I went in search of commentary to help me understand.  And because of that, I stumbled upon a footnote that questioned whether the fragment even belonged where it is in Isaiah.  But, because it is there, and seems slightly out of place, it caught my attention. 

Let me step back for a moment and say, my first instinct was to question not the text, but the footnote. My initial instinct was to challenge the so-called experts: The emperor has no clothes! so to speak. These so-called experts with all their degrees and studies and training… Who are they to tell me how to read the Bible?!  

Yet, because of the note, I went back and reread the whole chapter. This time paying extra attention to the imagery of the verses leading up to that “day of destruction.”  In search of clues, I even got out a different translation to see if that would help. And reading the passage with new eyes, through this different translation, I discovered this:

“He will shatter it like an earthenware pot, ruthlessly

knocking it to pieces… not one shard can be found

with which to take up fire from the hearth or

scoop water from the storage-well.” (Isaiah 30:14)

Clearly there is something here that reminds us of that “day of destruction” imagery. And this is part of a prophetic statement about Israel’s disloyalty that starts in verse 12. It calls to mind her rejection of the “Holy One of Israel,” and tells of how Israel’s sin will become a breach in her security, a “bulge at the top of a wall which suddenly and all-at-once comes crashing down” (30:13b), and rereading all of this I thought: Yes! This image, this language, it prefigures that destruction, even that falling stronghold.  This seemed to me clear evidence that this “surprising thought” which “may be displaced from another section” (JBC 279.16:52) might not be as as surprising and displaced as it seems.

In fact: where else could it belong? Rereading the whole chapter, because of the scholar’s note, I could see with fresh eyes the movement of the chapter: from warnings to prophecies to testaments against Israel and her ill-advised alliance with Egypt to promises of mercy and guidance, forbearance and forgiveness, of rain and abundance of crops and flowing streams on every hill top then abruptly back to a vision of “great slaughter” and falling strongholds that echoes God’s earlier promise to shatter like a clay pot our walls of security (our battlements) so completely that we won’t even be able to find a piece large enough to carry a hot coal or scoop up a tiny drink of water.

It is as if God (or the prophet) were lulling us into a false sense of security –like the one we get from our earthly alliances (our wealth, our position, our reputation, etc)—only to shatter it by reminding us that God’s grace is not comfortable.  It does not come cheaply. It is not easy. All God asks is… Everything.  Take up your cross and follow Him to the Mountain of the Lord where streams flow and the bread is abundant, rich and nourishing (cf.30:23) where even the oxen and donkey eat sorrel by the shovel full.

Letting go of my ego, my pride, my sin isn’t easy.  Those are my security blankets. My battlements, my stronghold, so to speak. Letting them go makes me feel vulnerable. My walls are broken, my tower has fallen, my defenses are breached, shattered even.  Which may be exactly where God wants us. For, in that moment of vulnerability and brokenness, God assures us He will be right there with us, sharing with us the “bread of suffering, the waters of distress…” (cf. 30:20).  And He will no longer hide Himself from us, but we will see Him with our own eyes, and hear His voice guiding us:

“This is the way; walk in it…” (30:21b)

And so, in the end, I am left to wonder not what this verse meant to the ancient writer, not what it was intended to say by the later scholars who created the book of Isaiah, and not whether it applies to Israel or to Assyria or any other enemies... In this broken shard, this tiny fragment, I hear a word that speaks to me. A voice that says on the day of destruction, when my tower has fallen, God will be with me. And I begin to wonder, is it possible that only in our brokenness, only when our walls are breached and our towers and battlements shattered, only in our hour of weakness and vulnerability can we actually begin to hear the that was always there, always calling to us those merciful, compassionate words of loving guidance:

“This is the way; walk in it.”

Calling us to come climb the Lord’s mountain of love, where water flows free and the earth abundant in her gifts; climb the Lord's mountain and walk with Him in the beautiful garden.

Maybe that isn’t exactly what the scholars are seeking as they gather their footnotes, but thanks to their notes, (and God’s grace) it is what I hear. And I needed to take a moment to thank them for their help in opening my ears.