The Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time
JEREMIAH 18:1-11: If you have ever watched a potter work at his wheel, you will note how many times he carefully turns the clay on the wheel, then, dissatisfied with the way the pot is coming out, scoops the clay from the wheel and starts all over again. Jeremiah saw this happen one day. Yahweh had sent him down to a potter's house. Jeremiah had watched him at work. He saw him place the clay on the wheel and begin to spin it speedily. The clay did not respond as he wished. So he formed it into another ball, placed it again on the wheel, turned it, and while the wheel was revolving rapidly, he carefully shaped it into the form that he had in mind.
Jeremiah understood at once why God had sent him to this particular workshop. God is like that potter, the Lord was saying to him. My people are clay in my hand. I form them as I wish. At one moment I may pluck up and break down a nation. At another moment I may build up and plant a kingdom - these words came from Jeremiah's call to prophesy years before. If the nation turns from evil, I will change my mind about the disaster I am about to bring on it. If the nation persists in evil, I will change my mind about the good I intend to do to it.
The parable ends with the word of the Lord: "Now, therefore, say
to the people of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem: 'Thus
says the LORD, Behold, I am shaping evil against you and devising
a plan against you. Return, every one from his evil way, and
amend your ways and your doings.'"
PSALM 139: 1-6, 13-18: Lewis Smedes, professor at Fuller Seminary, recently joined Bill Moyers and others on a PBS television series that centered around the Book of Genesis. In the discussion of the story of Jacob wrestling with an angel, Smedes broke in to tell his own story: "You don't have to be in the ghetto to feel abandoned," he said in response to a pastor who had spent most of his life ministering in ghetto situations. "You can feel abandoned in Bel Air. There I was a few years ago, undergoing a pretty tough experience of depression. That's a feeling of abandonment. I went to an island in Puget Sound alone for three weeks -- no newspapers, no books, no telephone, no TV, no radio. Nothing. About a week and a half later, I had an experience as real as being with you here. I was feeling the deepest sense of abandonment when I heard my mother say, 'I can't help you.' I heard good friends say, 'I can't help you.' I felt utterly lost. Then at some miraculous moment, I felt a powerful sense: 'No, you are not lost. I am here, underneath you. I am holding you up.' I arose, and I thought for the first time in my life, 'I know the meaning of joy.' It felt so marvelous. I said to myself, 'Now I know what the psalmist means, Even when you make your bed in hell, I will be there, and I will hold you up.'" (Moyers, Genesis, 216)
This feeling of "I will be with you" pervades this 139th Psalm. There is nowhere I can go in life, the psalmist says, where God will not seek me out. I can ascend to heaven, I can descend to hell, I can sail to the uttermost parts of the sea, I can hide in the darkness. But always God is there, God's right hand holds me. Dr. Smedes was right. "Even when you make your bed in hell, I will be there," says God. "I will hold you up."
This psalm is composed of four parts, but in our reading we are introduced to only two of them. "Vss. 1-6," as Frank Ballard says (IB4:712-713) "affirm the omniscience of God. It is not stated as a doctrine but as a personal experience. God knows us. He knows the psalmist personally, and equally God knows us. . . . In vss. 13-18 there is a meditation upon the fact that God not only knows us; he created us and determined life's development." Samuel Terrien adds (:"God knows us through and through, because God has probed our mind, scrutinized our motivations, sifted the intricacies of our character, fathomed our most obscure instincts, sounded our reactions under stress, measured our tempers, explored the dark recesses of our subconscious, dug into the very core of our being."
Most notable in the psalm is the way that religious experience is described. "Religious experience" is not "our experience of God." The psalmist understands it as "God's experience of us!" He states that carefully in the few verses of the psalm included in our text. "Thou hast searched me. Thou hast known me. Thou discernest my thought afar off." The initiative is with God, the "thou" that addresses the "I" within me. God is the searcher, God is the knower, God the discerner. We are the ones being searched, being known, being brought to new understanding. It turns the whole matter around for us. Religious experience does not begin with ourselves seeking God. It begins with God seeking us.
This psalm led Martin Buber to write one of the great books of the twentieth century. I and Thou, he titled it, and its thesis was that we can look at the world in two ways. We can perceive it as "I-it," and then we see ourselves as the only living subject in the midst of a world of objects. Or we can perceive the world as "I-thou," and then we are a subject in the presence of another subject, the personal God who treats us as person to person. God searches us, God knows us, God discerns our thoughts, God is acquainted with all our ways, God's eyes beheld even my unformed substance in my mother's womb. God the person knows us as persons, and in this way we know who God is and who we are.
The result is, as the psalm says at the end, that we cry out to God to search us, know us, discern what is going on in our lives. "Search my heart," says the psalmist, the bad as well as the good, the dross as well as the gold. "Try my thoughts." These are "disquieting thoughts," those that confuse us, lead us into two directions at once, cause us to go limping along through life. Know my doubts. See if there is any harmful, hurtful, oppressive ways in me. Lead me then into your everlasting ways, the way of permanence, the path along which good abides, the ancient way that God has set out for us. This psalm begins with God seeking us, and it ends with God finding us, and our lives being changed forever.
THE LETTER TO PHILEMON 1-21: This very short letter has a very large cast of characters. They include:
Paul, the apostle, the writer of the letter
Philemon, "our dear friend and co-worker," to whom the letter is addressed
Apphia, "our sister"
Archippus, "our fellow-soldier"
The church "in your house"
Onesimus, the slave
A large part of the intrigue of the letter lies in trying to identify these persons.
Was Philemon a close associate of Paul's, or only someone Paul knew as head of the house-churches in the Lycus Valley where Colossae and Laodicea were located?
Was Apphia the wife of either Philemon or Archippus? Did her husband own the slave Onesimus? Which man owned him, therefore? A major reason that she is mentioned is that Paul must have heard of her from Onesimus. As the woman of the household, she would have the closest relationship of any member of the household with the household slaves.
Why would Archippus be mentioned at all if he were not the owner of the slave? Why did Paul call his "fellow-soldier"?
"The church in your house" is a reference to the place where one of the churches in the Lycus Valley met. Was it the house of Archippus? Or was it the house of Philemon? It is probable that the church met in the house of Archippus in Laodicea and that Philemon was the overseer of this church as he was of the one in Colossae. The congregations of Christians tended to be formed around one of the most prosperous households among its members. They met for worship, prayer, preaching, and the Lord's Supper in this house. In most instances they met on Sundays rather than on the Jewish Sabbath. Since slaves had to work until sundown on Sunday, the meeting may have taken place after that time. The owner of the house provided the place of meeting and possibly provided much of the funding that carried on the activities of the congregation that met there. "Meeting in houses" was one of the strategies the Christian movement had developed to extend its work and influence within the community where the house was. Mentioning that the letter was addressed to "the church in your house" means that this letter was not only a personal one addressed to Philemon but was a letter to the whole church. Why, if the letter dealt only with the issue of the personal relationship between Philemon and Onesimus, did the whole church have to know about it?
Onesimus the slave. The name "Onesimus" meant "useful," and Paul plays on this name throughout his letter. He was a slave, one of the many people - some commentators say as many as 90% - of the people living in the Roman empire who were owned by someone else.
Onesimus was probably a member of the household church operated by his master. Most likely he had been baptized at the time that this master became a Christian, for we are told that "so and so was baptized, with his whole household," and the household would include the slaves of the house. He most likely was not a Christian by virtue of some spiritual experience of his own. He had been included in the church because all the members of the household to which he belonged had been initiated together into the Christian faith.
Slavery in the Roman Empire was different from slavery in the American South. In the latter slavery, no slave could enter into any kind of a contract. That meant that legally slaves could not even marry (though some did) nor could they be members of a church (though some were). They could not be taught how to read and write (although some were). In the Roman Empire, slaves could marry, and they could be members of the church. They could even be contracted out to other owners to help with the work the other was doing, a harvest, a pottery shop, even writing up the legal papers by which the other carried out his business. Slaves often had good educations. They may have received it before they became slaves, or perhaps the master had provided for it because the particular slave would be more profitable to him if he or she was educated. Persons were delivered into slavery during war, when most of the people on the losing side would become the property of those on the winning side. They could also have been a family member sold by their family to pay off the debt that the family owed to the other family. This happened frequently in Palestine as rich landowners lent money to peasant families to buy food or equipment. If the family could not repay the debt, a family member, son or daughter, might be sold into slavery as payment for the debt.
We need to remind ourselves that Onesimus, like every slave, was someone who in the eyes of the law had no rights. A slave was strictly the property of his master and was at his mercy. A slave might be employed in industry, in administration, and in private households. None the less, however great the responsibility he was given, he was still technically a piece of property.
We have no idea how Onesimus became a slave. We do not know what duties his master had assigned him. The mention of Apphia, the woman of the house, suggests that he may have been a household slave who worked under her direction.
Other questions about Onesimus persist. Why was he absent from his master's household? Had he run away? Had the master abused him and forced his flight? Had his master sent him to Paul to serve Paul while he was in prison? Any of these are possibilities.
Of all the possible scenarios for dealing with these questions - and there are many - I offer the following as the one that, in my estimation, best suits the situation at hand.
At the time of writing the letter, Paul was under house arrest in Rome. Rome had no formal prisons. Prisoners were held under guard in houses at their own expense, with Roman guards guaranteeing that the prisoners were securely kept. Paul may have had funds enough to support his own imprisonment; we do not know that. What we can be sure of is that when Paul's churches learned that he was imprisoned, they did what they could to help him.
Two of the churches, at least, sent slaves to assist him while he was in prison. Ephaphroditus was sent from the church in Philippi, and Onesimus was sent by the churches in the Lycus Valley. There may have been others, but these two we know by name.
Epaphroditus proved to be an unsatisfactory choice. The poor
fellow grew homesick, to the point that it made him physically
ill, so ill that he almost died, and Paul returned him to his
owners in Philippi. In sending him back, Paul also sent a
gracious letter that contained a request that the people of
Philippi welcome him back. "Receive him in the Lord with all
joy; and honor such men, for he nearly died for the work of
Christ, risking his life to complete your service to me
(Philippians 2:29-30)."
Onesimus was another matter entirely. He proved very useful to Paul. Their relationship was not only that of master and slave. They became close friends. Under Paul's tutelage, Onesimus' once perfunctory Christian faith became a matter of great importance to him, so that he and Paul became true brothers in Christ. Came a day, however, when his owner - either Philemon or Archippus -wanted Onesimus returned to his own household. Paul wanted to keep Onesimus with him, but he did not want to ask for that directly. So Paul sent a letter to Philemon and Archippus and Apphia indirectly requesting that Onesimus remain with him. Paul did this in coded language similar to that which he had used in his letter to the Philippians. He badly wanted Onesimus to stay with him, but he was too proud to ask for this. He pointed out that with his new grasp on the Christian faith, Onesimus was no longer a slave but a Christian brother. But if I am your partner, grant me the benefit( a word play on the name "Onesimus" pf his presence:
"Though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do what is
required, yet for love's sake I prefer to appeal to you -- I,
Paul, an ambassador and now a prisoner also for Christ Jesus -- I
appeal to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become
in my imprisonment. (Formerly he was "useless" to you, but now he
is indeed "useful" to you and to me.) I am sending him back to
you, sending my very heart. I would have been glad to keep him
with me, in order that he might serve me on your behalf during my
imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing
without your consent in order that your goodness might not be by
compulsion but of your own free will. Perhaps this is why he was
parted from you for a while, that you might have him back for
ever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, as a beloved
brother, especially to me but how much more to you, both in the
flesh and in the Lord.
"If you do want him back," Paul continued, "receive him not as
your slave but as your brother in Christ. So if you consider me
your partner, receive him as you would receive me. If he has
wronged you at all, or if he owes you anything, charge that to my
account. I, Paul, write this with my own hand, I will repay it -- to say nothing of your owing me even your own self.
"Yes, brother, I want some benefit from you in the Lord. Refresh my heart in Christ. Confident of your obedience, I write to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say." (Philemon 8-21)
Onesimus might have proved more useful to Paul than even Paul knew. Professor John Knox, late of Union Seminary, New York City, set forth the appealing thesis that Onesimus provided a service to Paul that no one else could have done. This slave, said Dr, Knox, was the same Onesimus who later became bishop of Ephesus. In fact, he was probably bishop at the time that Ignatius passed through there on his way to martyrdom at Rome.
More than likely, also, wrote Dr. Knox, this Onesimus was the one who preserved the letter to Philemon; gathered the other letters of Paul into a single scroll for publication; and presided over the writing of Ephesians as an introduction to Paul's letters. If this is so, then Onesimus proved very useful to Paul, and to us, indeed!
LUKE 14:25-33: Still on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus counseled his would-be disciples on the true meaning of discipleship. As he approached the Holy City, larger and larger crowds followed him, and it appeared that some of them were contemplating becoming his disciple. But it is not easy, Jesus advised them. To become a disciple persons had to give up their accustomed family ties, had to carry Jesus' cross beside him, and had to put aside his or her possessions. Since these admonitions reversed our usual desires for comfort, family, and wealth, Jesus said them plainly so that no one would miss their meaning.
"Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters cannot be my disciple." "Hate" in the Greek does not mean anger or hostility. It indicates that if there is a conflict in values, one must choose discipleship over even the most sacred of human relationships. There is no commitment higher than that to Jesus. There is no value greater, not even "family values," than that of being his disciple.
The same is true with life itself. The disciple must "hate" his or her own life. That is, the disciple must choose discipleship to Jesus to be greater than the instinct to preserve one's own life. Jesus put it in the most bald term possible. "Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple." Did Jesus put the matter in exactly these terms, or is this saying colored by the fact that the authors of this precise statement saw Jesus carry his cross to Golgotha and recognized that true discipleship required that if necessary the disciple do this as well? On the other hand, most everyone in that crowd had seen convicted men carry their cross to the spot of execution. Rome was not shy about using crucifixion as a means of capital punishment. A brutal method it was, too. It was reserved for two types of criminals, runaway slaves and those who had committed treason against the Roman state. Runaway slaves were committing a treasonable act. Since Roman society depends upon slave labor for its very existence, runaway slaves were a threat to the Roman way of life. The convicted person was first beaten until he could hardly stand (I will use masculine forms throughout, since there is no record of a woman ever being crucified). Then a crossbeam was heaved upon his shoulders. Bloody step by bloody step, the condemned man was led to the place of execution. At the place was a tree trunk with its branches cut off, or perhaps a scaffold that stood there to receive prisoners. The crossbeam was laid on the ground, and the condemned person was placed atop it. Executioners, usually a detachment of Roman soldiers, would strap the man's arms to the crossbeam, and for good measure his wrists would be nailed to the beam. He would then be lifted up, and the crossbeam would be rudely dropped into a notch cut in the trunk of the tree. There his feet were strapped and nailed to the trunk. A peg would be driven under or through his crotch into the trunk of the tree. This would give him some support so that he would hang longer before he died. Death came through loss of blood or strangulation as his windpipe folded into his body and his breath was cut off. Some men died in minutes. Some hung there for hours. It was painful, it was bloody, it was brutal. In the long history of the inhumanity of man to man, no more fiendish way of executing a man has every been devised.
To suggest, as Jesus did, that his disciples should voluntarily submit themselves to such a monstrous act was to suggest something that was nearly unthinkable. Martin Luther King, Jr., caught the sense of Jesus' meaning when he said, "Undeserved suffering is redemptive."
Jesus also told his would-be disciples that they had to be ready not only to give up family and physical comfort but also their possessions. In recounting the events of Jesus' journey to Jerusalem, Luke again and again reminded disciples that they had to give up their wealth if they were to be followers of Jesus. Wealth binds us to this world. Possessions call us to return home to enjoy them. Neither of these were possible for those on the way to Jerusalem with Jesus where they might very well be called upon to die with him. "None of you can be my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions."
As he was issuing these admonitions, Jesus also reminded his disciples that any decision they made to follow him had to be a thoughtful one. Discipleship cannot be entered into hastily or without counting the cost. "Which of you would begin to build a tower (a winepress, perhaps, or a rack on which to dry fish) without seeing whether you had the resources to finish the job? Otherwise all your friends and neighbors would ridicule you for starting that which you cannot finish. And what king, considering a war against another king, would not send out spies into the other's land in order to ascertain the size of his force? Ten thousand men are not apt to prevail over twenty thousand. If his spies bring a negative report, he is best served by sending a delegation to work out the terms of peace." If you are routinely careful about decisions like these, said Jesus, how much more must you count the cost to determine whether you shall be my disciple.
Not many in that crowd continued to follow Jesus to Jerusalem, I warrant. Those that did were in the Palm Sunday crowd, which soon shriveled away.