Remembering Joshua: Life is Hebel

May 21, 2013

Hebel

That is an important word for the writer of Ecclesiastes. It is a word that comes to mind on May 21 every year since 2001.  That was the day Joshua died. It was also the day John Robert died in 2008. Indeed, it is a day on which many people have died.joshua-1990-or-so

Hebel

You may not recognize the word, but it is used 37 times in Ecclesiastes (only 70x in the whole Hebrew Bible). At a literal and formal level it might be rendered “breath” and thus allude to the brevity of life.  At a metaphorical level it might be rendered “vanity, empty, meaningless” and thus allude to the pointlessness of life.

Hebel

The word has much more of a punch than even “meaningless” or “vanity” in Ecclesiastes. It encompasses the unfathomable nature of life, the deep impenetrable mystery of life….and death. Bartholomew’s commentary suggests “enigma.” Life is enigmatic because we simply don’t know; we are limited in perspective and we can’t figure it out.

Hebel

But the word has more punch than that. This is why some, like Michael Fox and Peter Enns, suggest “absurd.” Life is frustrating. The seemingly ceaseless, circular, and pointless merry-go-round of life has no goal, no meaning, and no worth. Life–because of death–is simply absurd.

Hebel

What lies behind Ecclesiastes is a whole Hebrew tradition, including the Torah, and more particularly the opening narrative of Genesis 1-11. When Qohelet probes life he finds the narrative world of Abel (the same Hebrew word hebel). The seemingly pointless, absurd and unjust death of Abel at the hands of Cain is a symbol for human existence. Our lives are like Abel’s.

Hebel

We have to give Qohelet his due. We must sit with him–and it would do us good to sit with him for a season rather than move on too quickly. Sometimes we are forced to sit with him as we are overwhelmed with the horror of human existence. We recoil at death of children at nature’s hand in Oklahoma as well as the hand of the mentally ill in Connecticut. Sometimes all we can do is agree with Qohelet, “Everything is absolutely absurd!”

Hebel

Paul alludes to this word (Romans 8:20). He uses the term that the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible used to translate hebel. He recognizes the frustration and futility of the present bondage which enslaves the creation. Life is not as it should be. The creation groans and the children of God lament. We lament days like May 21.

Hebel

And, without forgetting that life is hebel, we also recognize the good and the joys God has provided today. Life is both hebel and filled with the gifts of the Creator.

So today, we lament and we remember that life is hebel.

But we also, today, accept God’s gifts with gratitude and joy.

How do we do both? Some days, I don’t know. Other days, it is obvious. Ask me tomorrow.


A Different Kind of Easter Morning

April 2, 2013

This Easter, before assembling with other believers, I did something that I had never done before.

I visited Joshua’s grave.

photo

For me visiting graves has rarely been comforting. In fact, it was the opposite. The graveyard seemed too permanent. It contained too many granite stones which testified to both the pervasiveness and intransigence of death.

I have found in recent years that visiting graves is good grief therapy for me. It can become a moment of spiritual encounter with God as I learn to face the grief and live through it rather than avoid it.

As I drove to the grave on Sunday morning early, I listed to some lament Psalms (including several musical versions of Psalm 13). I imagined the journey of the women to the grave that morning. I felt the lament, the sadness, and the disappointment (lost years, what could have been, he’d be 28 now). The women and I shared something.

At the grave I remembered, prayed and protested.

But the grave does not have the final word. It seems like it does. Death overwhelms us–it looks permanent, immutable, and hopeless.

But that is why I assemble with believers on Easter (but also every Resurrection day, every Sunday). When we assemble, we profess our hope, encourage each other, and draw near to God. We encounter the living God who is (yet still, even now, and forevermore) the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

The hope of the resurrection is a future one. God did not leave us without a witness to the future. The resurrection of Jesus is our resurrection. His victory is our hope. His empty tomb is the promise of our own.

That hope, for me, is experienced not so much at the grave (though God may be encountered there as well), but in the assembly. When I assemble with other believers to praise, pray, and profess. In that moment the assembly of believers becomes one–one with the past, present and future, heaven and earth become one, and God loves on those gathered. In that moment, I stand to praise with Joshua rather than without him; we are one for that moment at least.

We continue to lament–both Joshua and I. We both yearn for the new heavens and new earth. We both pray for the day, like the souls under the altar in Revelation 6, when God will put things back to right and make everything new.

But for now the journey from the grave to the assembly is no easy one. It is filled with obstacles. Faith is a struggle and the walk is arduous. But at the end of the journey is an empty grave rather than a filled one.


Can These Bones Live? Ezekiel 37:1-14

January 22, 2013

The twentieth century is too familiar with valleys of dry bones.human bones The images of stacked bodies from Nazi concentration camps, churches filled with the bones of those who sought sanctuary in Rwanda, or the killing fields of Cambodia. Unfortunately, with the help of media and the horrific inhumanity of recent times, we can all too easily imagine what Ezekiel sees in this vision. We don’t even have to imagine it; our eyes have seen the photos!

Ezekiel’s valley is a metaphor for a moment in Israel’s history. After a thirty month siege, Jerusalem fell in 587 BCE to the Babylonian Emperor Nebuchadnezzar (2 Kings 25:3). Judah became a Babylonian province and ceased to exist as an independent nation. The devastation is likened to a valley of dry bones. These are the bones of a slain nation. Israel was dead.

Ezekiel, living in Babylon, records the lament of an exiled people: “We have become old, dry bones—all hope is gone. Our nation is finished” (Ezekiel 37:11). Bones are a vivid image and a relatively common metaphor. Living bones represent life and vibrancy, but bones that lie in the dust are crushed and broken (cf. Job 20:11; Psalms 32:3; 53:5; 141:7). Dry bones are powerless.

This is Israel’s position before the imperial power of Babylon. They are hopeless. The nation will never live again. Defeated and now exiled, they are scattered among the nations like dry bones scattered in a valley.

Can these bones live again? All human experience answers with a resounding “No!” Dry bones do not come back to life. Even modern medical miracles cannot restore life to dry bones. Humanity is powerless before death just as Israel was powerless under the thumb of an imperial power.

Ezekiel’s response to Yahweh’s question is perhaps evasive and probably faith-filled. “O Lord God, you know.” It is probably the wise answer. Who could imagine that dry bones could live again? But Ezekiel leaves it with God. Only God knows whether these bones—or any dry bones—can live again.

“Dry bones,” Ezekiel proclaims, “listen to the word of the Lord!” This is quite an image itself—a prophet speaking to dry bones. You might wonder what had happened to my psyche if you saw me preaching to graves in the local cemetery. The image is absurd and preposterous, even comical. What does one say to a grave?

“What does one say to a grave?” rings in my ears. I am, as many others, all too familiar with graves. I don’t enjoy cemeteries. Unlike some, I don’t find much comfort there. Graves are too permanent; they are cold, lifeless pieces of earth. What do you say to the grave?

Yahweh, however, has a message for dry bones—a message for graves. Yahweh is not powerless before graves. He announces that these dry bones will live again because he will breathe new life into them. This is probably the most crucial element of the vision. The term ruach (breath, wind, Spirit) occurs ten times in these fourteen verses. It is the central image of life, and it is the breath of God that has power over the graves. God breathes and dry bones live again.

The image obviously echoes the creation of humanity in Genesis 2. God created bones, sinews and skin, but there was no life until God breathed life into that body. Only then did Adam (humanity) become a “living soul.” God’s created life out of lifeless bones. If God did it once, God can do it again. Dry bones are no problem for the living God. His breath transforms death into life.

Can these bones live again? Can Judah rise again as a nation? Yes, Yahweh promises to “open [Israel’s] graves of exile and cause [them] to rise again.” Yahweh promises that “I will put my Spirit in you, and you will live again and return home to your own land.” Yahweh is God, and Yahweh is faithful to Israel. They will live again.

The vision, however, extends beyond Israel. God still speaks to dry bones and brings life out of death.

It seems our lives are too often filled with examples of dryness. We often live in barren wastelands. There are wastelands of addictions, failing marriages and dry churches. We sometimes, perhaps often, feel empty, powerless and lifeless.

Yahweh’s question for Ezekiel is also addressed to us. Can these bones live? Can addicts destroyed by the powerlessness of their compulsions live again? Can marriages whose love has been extinguished by selfishness and broken promises live again? Can churches devastated by scandal, rendered comatose by traditionalism or killed by unbelief live again?

Yes, but they will only live again by the power of God’s breath or Spirit. We are powerless. We cannot revive ourselves. We cannot think positively long enough or hard enough to bring life to dry bones. We cannot simply “try harder.” Rather, we must surrender our wills and trust God’s power. When we return to God, we return to life.

“What does one say to a grave” still rings in my ears. Death is real and seems so permanent. Dry bones cannot live again, can they?

Graves are places where we, because of God’s Spirit and the resurrection of Jesus, speak a word of hope. We proclaim the reality that God raised Jesus from the dead by the power of the Spirit. God breathed life into the bones of Jesus. God conquered the grave; it is the grave that is powerless. It holds no power over us.

When we visit graves, it is still painful. We feel the loss. We feel the absence of the ones we love. But we have a message for the graves—we have a word from the Lord. God promises “I will put breath into you, and you will come to life.”

We say to graves—you will not win! Death is not the final word. In Jesus, God has spoken the final word in Jesus.

“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”

Death has lost its sting, and “thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:55-56).

The audio version of this presentation is available here under the date 1/20/13.


“I I should Die Before I Wake….” The Death of Children and the Story of Job

January 15, 2013

Leaven–a theological journal designed for ministers and “lay” leaders–is now available online. This is a significant resource. Various issues focus on biblical texts and theological topics. Every issue includes additional bibliographical and liturgical resources.  The most recent issue focuses on Romans 5-8. I encourage everyone to look into the various issues and use the search function to access different topics.

I have contributed five articles to Leaven over the years and am even now working on my sixth. I will use n occasional post to link this blog to those articles.

In my article, “‘If I Should Die Before I Wake….’ The Death of Children and the Story of Job” I reflect on my own experience with the terminal illness of my son Joshua as I intersect that with the story of Job.


Lament Prayer at Woodmont Family of God 03/04/12

March 8, 2012

The Woodmont Hills Family of God has suffered some difficult losses in the past months and in this past week the family suffered the loss of one of its youth. Ty Osman, an eighteen year old freshman at Harding University, was killed in a car accident while on Spring Break.

Added to other recent losses–and the ongoing struggles of marriages, economics, parenting and leadership–this moment has created season of grief for the Woodmont Hills Family of God.

On Sunday, Dean Barham spoke from his heart to the church. It was a needed pause in the roller-coaster ride of life for the church. His lesson is posted on the Woodmont site (3/4/12).

Just before he spoke Dean asked me to lead a prayer at the end of his lesson. I have provided that prayer below–it was delivered extemporaneously and without much forethought. It came from the heart.  I have provided here as it was delivered. The audio of this prayer is available at the end of Dean’s podcast.

May God bless; may God have mercy on us all.

God of heaven,

Why do you sometimes seem so far away? Why does it sometimes seem like you don’t listen and you don’t answer? God, why don’t you take your hands out of your pockets and do something?

We feel this, Father. Your saints of old have felt many times as well.

In our hurt we ask you, “How long?” How long must we carry this sorrow in our heart every day? How long, Father? How long before you will bring all the pain to an end? When will you act, God?

Those are our feelings, Father. You know our hearts. You know our hurts. You know our questions and our doubts. They are real to us. We confess them to you. We are grateful that you hear us, that you love us.

For, Father, even with our hurts, our questions,

we still confess that you are the maker of heaven and earth;

we still confess that your Son was born of a virgin, born of a woman, and that he lived, he suffered, and he died;

we still confess, Father, that you raised him from the dead;

and we confess that he is coming again to renew this world, to rid us of the pain and the suffering, to wipe away our tears. Lord, come quickly.

So we are grateful, Father, that you know our pain—that you experience it along with us. And you know all the different sorts of pain that are in this room this morning: the grief over the loss of a young life, the grief of families hurting—suffering economically, suffering with disease, suffering from spiritual dislocation, suffering in their marriages.

God, you know our hurts. And we lay them before you right now. And we speak the truth that it hurts. And we have questions. And, yes, we even have doubts.

But we also confess. For, Father, there is no one else to whom we can turn. Who else can hear our pains? Who else can heal our diseases? Who else can raise the dead? You are God. And we trust you.

Father, in this moment, we ask you to pour your Spirit upon this church, to pour your Spirit upon this leadership, the shepherds and the ministers, the volunteers—all those who involved in serving this community and leading this community. You know, Father, that it is difficult to lead in times of grief.

Give our shepherds strength. Give them a passion for you and passion for their flock. Give them the Spirit that only you can provide, that can shed abroad your love in our hearts. For you are the God of hope and the God of comfort, and we pray that you will pour out your Spirit upon us that we might know your hope, know your comfort.

Dry up our tears, O God. Use your servants in this place to be a comfort for the people.

You do seem so far away sometimes, God. But we confess that you came near and that you know what a cross is. But you also know what victory is. Give us your presence. Give us your peace. And give us the hope of your victory in the world.

In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen.


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