“…between Migdol and the Sea…”

***Vincent Malo, “Moses Parting the Red Sea” (1631)***

When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter…God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea…By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night. Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people.

Then the LORD said to Moses, “Tell the Israelites to turn back and encamp near Pi Hahiroth, between Migdol and the sea. They are to camp by the sea, directly opposite Baal Zephon. Pharaoh will think, ‘The Israelites are wandering around the land in confusion, hemmed in by the desert.'”…So the Israelites did this.

When the king of Egypt was told that the people had fled, Pharaoh and his officials changed their minds about them…So he had his chariot made ready and took his army with him…The LORD hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, so that he pursued the Israelites–all Pharaoh’s horses and chariots, horsemen and troops–pursued the Israelites and overtook them as they camped by the sea near Pi Hahiroth, opposite Baal Zephon.

Exodus 13:17-14:9

This story is so compelling to me. In case you don’t immediately know the context, this is the set-up for the Red Sea crossing in the book of Exodus. What’s so compelling to me about this story is how God orchestrates every single detail of it. And it makes absolutely no sense. [Well, unless God intends to do something so incredibly mind-blowing you never would believe it.].

If we were to speak in simple militaristic terms, God leads the Israelites into a trap. Then God Himself springs the trap that, apparently, He Himself has set. Do you see that? The Israelites are on their way out of Egypt, and then God tells them to … wait for it … Turn. Around. Then God tells them to go to a very specific place, “between Migdol and the sea.” We don’t know exactly what this place “Migdol” refers to, but in Hebrew the word means “tower” (presumably a fortified place). This specific place is near Pi Hahiroth and opposite Baal Zephon––again, two places where we don’t know the precise locations. But God wants them to camp by the sea. And apparently, there’s only one way out of this place, which is back the way they came.

At this point, the author says that God hardened the heart of Pharaoh so that he and his army would chase the Israelites. God explicitly says what Pharaoh and his officials will think. The Egyptians observe that the Israelites have gone to a place that they can’t get out of, because they are “hemmed in by the desert.” So the Israelites are encamped by the sea with the desert all around, and then they see the Egyptians blocking the only route of escape.

Every single one of these happenings and events are directly orchestrated by God. The author is very careful to tell us this. The Israelites have been following God, exactly like they’re supposed to do. And they are trapped. Trapped “between Migdol and the sea.” The story continues…

As Pharaoh approached, the Israelites looked up, and there were the Egyptians marching after them. They were terrified and cried out to the LORD.

Exodus 14:10

[Of course, you know how the story progresses. The Israelites complain to Moses. Moses cries out to God. God tells Moses to lift up his rod and tells the people to go forward, then God divides the waters and the Israelites cross the sea on dry land. The Egyptian army pursues them into the sea and are swallowed by the abyss when the waters return to their normal state.]

But I’ve stopped the story at this exact point for a reason. The Israelites are terrified, understandably so. The Israelites cry out to God, and so they should. God is the one who got them into this mess in the first place! [Except it’s not a mess. It simply appears that way in the moment. But I’m getting ahead of myself again!] What I want to point out here at this precise moment in the story is how terrifying this mode of travel is. The Israelites are, literally, “following God.” Into the desert. Into the unknown. Into certain death, for they know that they will all die eventually. Pause a moment.

Now fast forward…across the Red Sea to the foot of Mt Sinai, where the Israelites camped for over a year before they continue their journey home…

This is how it continued to be…Whenever the cloud lifted from above the Tent, the Israelites set out; wherever the cloud settled, the Israelites encamped. As long as the cloud stayed over the tabernacle, they remained in camp. When the cloud remained over the tabernacle a long time, the Israelites obeyed the LORD’s order and did not set out. Sometimes the cloud was over the tabernacle only a few days; at the LORD’s command they would encamp, and then at his command they would set out. Sometimes the cloud stayed only from evening till morning, and when it lifted in the morning, they set out. Whether by day or by night, whenever the cloud lifted, they set out. Whether the cloud stayed over the tabernacle for two days or a month or a year, they Israelites would remain in camp and not set out; but when it lifted, they would set out. At the LORD’s command they encamped, and at the LORD’s command they set out.

Numbers 9:16-23

This paragraph clearly communicates that this literal practice of “following God” was the normative mode of travel for the Israelites from the time they left Egypt until the time they entered their ancestral homeland about 40 years later. When God took a step, the Israelites took a step. When God stopped, the Israelites stopped. When God turned right, the Israelites turned right. When God turned left, the Israelites turned left. When God went up over the mountains, the Israelites went up over the mountains. When God famously went through the Rea Sea, the Israelites also went through the Red Sea.

As Christians, we often conceptualize the spiritual life as a journey of inner transformation, and that is wholly appropriate. Most of the New Testament is concerned with this very thing…how the people of God should be inwardly formed more into the likeness of Jesus. Over time, we should grow in love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, self-control, etc. But if we see this journey of the Israelites through the desert as somehow instructive for our spiritual life as Christians, then there is more to it than simply an internal journey. We can see some external evidence of inner change taking place among the Israelites as they travel through the desert. But the journey through the desert is equally external as well as internal, as demonstrated by this mode of travel. We can say in a very literal sense that the Israelites “walked about with God,” which is the phrase the author of Genesis uses to describe both Enoch (Gen 5:22) and Noah (Gen 6:9). God determined the actual path they traveled through the desert.

Now let’s fast forward again…this time all the way through the incarnation, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus to St Paul the apostle writing his letter to the Romans…

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death…[God’s Son] condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit…Those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit of life is life and peace…You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you…Therefore, we have an obligation––but it is not to the sinful nature, to live according to it. For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.

Romans 8:1-14 (emphasis added)

The Israelites were led by the Spirit of God. They thought they were going to die. But they lived.

The Christian spiritual life means to keep in step with God’s Holy Spirit. When He steps, we step. When He turns right, we turn right. When He turns left, we turn left. When He stops, we stop. St Paul is primarily talking about internal transformation here, but he uses a metaphor grounded in the Israelite story of the Old Testament. To walk in accordance with the Holy Spirit means to be led by Him, even controlled by Him. It’s not only internal transformation; it’s external direction as well.

Here’s the moral of the story. If you ever find yourself “between Migdol and the sea,” and you feel terrified because the Egyptians are bearing down upon you, cry out to God. Perhaps, like the Israelites, He Himself led you there. It’s not a mistake. Trust God.

Or, perhaps more likely, you fear to “walk about with God” because God might lead you into that very place––”between Migdol and the sea.” If that is you, cry out to God. Take courage. Follow God, and you will live.

“…in the Garden of the Lord”

Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing to the light.

For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies;
Even the darkest night will end,
And the sun will rise.

They will live again in freedom
In the garden of the Lord.
They will walk behind the plough-share,
They will put away the sword.
The chain will be broken
And all men will have their reward.

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes!

So goes the final chorus of the musical, Les Miserables. As a Hebrew scholar, what’s remarkable to me about this piece of exquisite poetry is that nearly all the imagery is taken directly from ancient Hebrew writings in the Tanakh (i.e. the Old Testament of the Bible). I would like to expound on this imagery as it is used in the song, which mirrors the usage of the imagery in the ancient documents.

First, let’s identify the images in the song that are NOT taken from the Hebrew writings: of singing and music; of the valley and climbing; of the barricade and its rhyming term, crusade; of the broken chain; and finally, of distant drums. The concepts of music and singing are to be expected, since the poem itself is a song set in a musical drama. The image of the barricade comes from the immediate context, a musical depicting the events of the June Rebellion in Paris during the summer of 1832. None of these images provide the primary meaning of the lyrics, however. Rather, particularly in the case of the barricade and distant drums, these images are endued with their meaning in this particular context by the other images in the song, taken from the Hebrew writings.

The most easily recognized images appear in the middle section, the single stanza of the poem that contains six lines instead of the usual four. Let us examine the first line, “They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord.” In this line, the author introduces the source text for the poem’s imagery as well as the central theme that the poem expounds. The specific phrase that sets the source text for the poem is, “the garden of the Lord.” This is fairly recognizable as a reference to the biblical story of the garden of Eden, sometimes also called the “garden of God” in the Hebrew writings. In case there is any doubt of this, the term “the Lord” proves the case. Since ancient times, the Hebrews would not voice the name of their deity, Yahweh, because of religious traditions rooted in the Ten Commandments. They would instead say, “the Lord,” just as it is rendered in our English Bible nowadays (usually in all caps, the “LORD”). So we have established that the author is drawing from the imagery of the ancient Hebrew writings, as we will continue to see.

Let us now examine the phrase, “They will live again in freedom….” The key word here is again. The song is making a statement about a future life; not the present life, but a life after death. It turns out, this small detail makes all the difference in the song. What gives the poetry its power is not a pie-in-the-sky type of unfounded sentimentalism that somehow the poor and wretched of the earth will lift themselves from their squalor and everything will be right as rain. Our collective human experience proves the falsehood of these dreams, honorable though they are. No, the poem declares that the freedom of the oppressed peoples of the world lies not in this life, but in the next. Ironically, though, this declaration is paired with a call to action of behalf of poor and wretched souls on earth now. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Where will these poor and wretched people live in freedom? In the garden of the Lord, i.e. in paradise, with God. [I won’t relate all the details of the story of the Garden of Eden because it’s so familiar, but the main point is that humankind is banished from paradise on account of sin, because they have disobeyed God.] This sense of freedom is described throughout the prophetic Hebrew literature in terms of peace; and in a few select locations, using the contrasting ideas of a sword to represent violence and war and a plough-share to represent peace and work (specifically the work of tilling ground). This image is also familiar, since it comes from the patron text of the United Nations: “They will beat their swords into plough-shares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war any more” (Isaiah 2:4b). This is quoted again by the prophet Micah (Micah 4:3), and a strange inversion of it by the prophet Joel in calling the nations to prepare for war as a divine judgment on Israel (Joel 3:10). The main point here is that the elysian vision of the Hebrew writers was a return to life in the Garden of Eden — a life of peace with God, peace with humanity, peace with the cosmos.

When does this paradisical life occur? The song avers this will happen when the “chain is broken” and “all men have their reward.” At this point, we still do not know what is meant by the chain, so we will pass over it for now. However, given the biblical imagery already offered in the stanza, we can understand the thought that all men will have their reward. In the Hebrew vision, the life of peace and justice is brought about because God Himself, as divine judge, will mete out to all people what they deserve. If we look in the Isaiah text to the line immediately preceding the bit about swords and plough-shares, we read, “[The LORD] will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples” (Isaiah 2:4a). Again, this is an undeniable theme throughout all of the literature of the Hebrew Bible. The Hebrew sages continually urge their readers not to fall into wickedness because “the day of the LORD” is coming when He will judge everything and everyone. Take note of this metaphor … the day of the Lord.

So we have now set forth the fundamental ideas of the poem, centered around the middle stanza: that the hope of the poor rests not in the present time, but in the afterlife, living in paradise in the presence of God, following the just judgment of God in dispensing justice both on the oppressor and for the oppressed of the world. The person and action of God cannot be divorced from this vision, for it is He who actuates it. But the song goes one step further here to suggest that God will not simply judge on behalf of the oppressed in paradise, but that God is doing so even now, in the present life. This we will see presently.

We now come to the first image in the previous stanza, i.e. the everlasting fire. “For the wretched of the earth there is a flame that never dies; ….” The question is, of course, “What is the ‘flame that never dies?'” Once again, the answer comes from the Hebrew writings. The specific reference to a fire that never goes out is found in Exodus 3, in the lesser-known story of Moses and the burning bush. “The angel of the LORD appeared to [Moses] in flames of fire within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up.” In case there is any doubt about who is here in the fire, the text identifies Him two sentences later: “…God called to him from within the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!'” God Himself is the everlasting fire. The poem is saying that God is the present hope of the oppressed, but that this present hope is grounded in the reality of future judgment, when the night is over and the sun rises.

Let us now consider the nature of this night and the coming dawn. In the imagery taken from the Hebrew writings thus far, it seems clear enough that the terms night and light are metaphors for death and resurrection. Not only this, but even the Hebrew text itself uses the same metaphors in the same way! I have already mentioned that the Hebrew writers referred to the coming judgment of God as the day of the LORD. In the Hebrew worldview, a day started with the evening; thus the movement of a day in the Hebrew mind was from darkness to light, from dusk to dawn, from night to day. This same mindset extended to their vision of the afterlife as well. To the ancient Hebrew, death was not permanent but temporary, like sleep. In fact, one of the clearest texts showing the Israelite view of the afterlife affirms this very thing. “There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. … Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt. Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever” (Daniel 12:1-3). Death is the sleep of night, followed by the awakening of resurrection, at which time the judgment will occur and the afterlife (or after-death, for some) will commence. This use of night/darkness contrasted with the coming day/light as metaphors for death and resurrection is central throughout each stanza of the poem and finds its climax in the final line, “…when tomorrow comes!” Death is the night, the chain, the barricade, the distant drums. In the future, at dawn, comes judgment, and after that, the world beyond the barricade … paradise.

All this brings us to the central theme of the poem, the fundamental question that the author asks the listener. Do you see the world beyond the barricade, or have you shut your eyes? When the people sing, they are singing of their lostness in the night and their hope for a new day. Do you hear them sing, or are your ears stopped up? And most directly, will you join in God’s crusade on behalf of justice for the poor and oppressed, not only for tomorrow, but for today? Or will you, like the general populace of Paris, do nothing? The drums are beating. Judgment is coming. And when it comes, will you stand or fall?

This is the message of the song. But if you will indulge me for just a moment longer, I want to press the issue a little further — further than is explicitly expressed in the poem, because the central question of the song begs a deeper question still. Finally, what actually makes the difference between those who pass the judgment, and those who fail? I believe the song hints at the answer, but we must look back to the Hebrew writings to see it fully. In the Garden of Eden story, death is the penalty for sin, and eternal life is only gained by eating the fruit of a certain tree, the Tree of Life. However, God evicted humankind from paradise and placed the cherubim at the entrance to the Garden of Eden. Now often, the images conjured up in our minds are one or two large flaming angels, wielding longswords and looking fierce, ready to cut down anyone who attempts to re-enter paradise. But I do not believe this is the proper conception from the Hebrew text. And the key lies in the flame imagery, not just highlighted in the song but developed in the ancient writings as well. Here is my translation of the verse in Hebrew:

And [God] made to dwell in front of the Garden of Eden the cherubim and the flame of the sword that goes back and forth, to keep the way to the Tree of Life.
Genesis 3:24

Now, these are my personal opinions only, but I believe the purpose of the cherubim, the flame, and the sword is NOT to prevent humankind from eating from the Tree of Life. That objective was already achieved by sending humankind out from paradise. The objective of the cherubim, the flame, and the sword is to ensure that a way remains for people still to eat from the tree and live forever in spite of the punishment of death that has already come to all humanity. In other words, God has provided a way to escape the punishment — not to avoid death, but rather to pass through death and come out the other side — just as Noah and his family came out the other side of the flood, and the Israelites came out the other side of the Red Sea. If we understand the story of the Garden of Eden in this way, this draws our attention as the reader to these objects in the story: the cherubim, the flame, and the two-edged sword. [Because of the grammatical construction, it’s difficult to tell from the Hebrew text whether the flame and the sword are different objects or the same object.] I will not address the cherubim here because it would take too long to explain. The flame imagery, in the context of the Hebrew writings, seems to speak of God; that is, that God Himself keeps the way to the Tree of Life, so one must pass through Him in order to live forever. This much is not difficult to understand. But what about the sword?

For the answer, let us turn to the book of Revelation, which expounds much imagery from the early Genesis texts. When St. John sees the vision of the risen Jesus on the Isle of Patmos, he writes, “In his right hand [Jesus] held seven stars, and coming out of his mouth was a sharp, two-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance” (Rev. 1:16). And just a little bit later Jesus says, “Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.” I believe this refers to the ancient Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden story, just like the tree in the Eternal City mentioned in Revelation 22 also refers to the same Tree of Life.

Jesus of Nazareth keeps the way to the Tree of Life. And the message of the Hebrew writings, as developed by the later Jewish writers who came to embrace Jesus as LORD, is that He is the difference between those who stand or fall at the final judgment. If you claim Jesus, you will forever live. If you do not claim Him, you will forever die. The hope of the poor, and of all humanity, is with Jesus. He is the Flame That Never Dies.

Meditation on Psalm 37

Reading through Psalm 37 a while ago I saw a recurring theme that I had never observed before in all my readings of it. This theme revolves around the issue of land (presumably the land of Canaan, the land promised by God to Abraham for the Jewish people). I cannot help but wonder if Jesus was drawing on this psalm in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) in his teaching of the Beatitudes. Notice how the theme is woven beautifully throughout the song.

The psalmist introduces the concept early:

“Trust in the LORD, and do good;
Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.
Delight yourself also in the LORD,
And He shall give you the desires of your heart.”
Psalm 37:3-4

This is just the beginning of a string of commands from the author to the reader, with exhortations to commit one’s way to God, rest in Him, not to fret, and to cease from anger. The psalmist gives the reason for all these commands:

“For evildoers shall be cut off;
But those who wait on the LORD,
They shall inherit the earth.“
Psalm 37:9

The psalmist continues in the next two verses to reiterate God’s promise that the wicked will receive their just comeuppance, and then reminds the reader that

“…the meek shall inherit the earth.“
Psalm 37:11

The psalmist continues in this elaborate contrast between the wicked and the righteous, once again revisiting the theme of land:

“The wicked borrows and does not repay,
But the righteous shows mercy and gives.
For those blessed by Him shall inherit the earth,
But those cursed by Him shall be cut off.”
Psalm 37:21-22

Oh, and just in case we haven’t yet quite gotten the point, the psalmist caps it off:

“Depart from evil, and do good; [recall v.3]
And dwell forevermore.
For the LORD loves justice,
And does not forsake His saints;
They are preserved forever,
But the descendants of the wicked are cut off.
The righteous shall inherit the land,
And dwell in it forever.“
Psalm 37:27-29

So what? What difference does this make today? It seems to me that the repetition of the idea of the land marks ideas that the psalmist meant to go together, namely these – righeousness, meekness, waiting on God, and God’s blessings (specifically eternal life). In other words, God is promising to bless us when we choose the path of righteousness by practicing meekness and waiting on God. But how do we do that?!? This brings us back to the opening paragraph of the psalm. We practice meekness in two ways: positively stated – by trusting in God, committing our life to Him, resting in Him, waiting patiently for Him; negatively stated – by ceasing from our anger and not worrying.

It’s that last part that gets me every time.

The Magic of the Dawn

[Photo by Nick Scheerbart on Unsplash]

Éomer and Aragorn leant wearily on their swords. Aragorn looked at the pale stars, and at the moon, now sloping behind the western hills that enclosed the valley. ‘This is a night as long as years,’ he said. ‘How long will the day tarry?’
‘Dawn is not far off,’ said Gamling, who had now climbed up beside him. ‘But dawn will not help us, I fear.’
‘Yet dawn is ever the hope of men,’ said Aragorn.
J.R.R. Tolkien, ‘The Two Towers,’ from the chapter Helm’s Deep (as below)

Pause. Dawn is ever the hope of men. So says Aragorn, at least, and since Aragorn says it in this way, Tolkien probably would have said it, too. It’s a statement worth contemplating. I’ve taken the liberty to compress the conversation, but this dialogue takes place during the night of the battle of Helm’s Deep, shortly before daybreak. This battle is a decidedly human struggle, a kingdom of men defending itself against destruction by the forces of evil. Aragorn does not say that dawn is the hope of Elves, Dwarves, or Valar, nor does he say that dawn is the hope of Birds and Beasts. Dawn is ever the hope of Men. Of course, he means that dawn is the hope of women, too. But why the stubborn hope, Aragorn? And what’s so especially human about the dawn? Hmmm, let’s continue…

At last Aragorn stood above the great gates, heedless of the darts of the enemy. As he looked forth he saw the eastern sky grow pale. Then he raised his empty hand, palm outward in token of parley.
The Orcs yelled and jeered. ‘Come down! Come down!’ they cried. ‘If you wish to speak to us, come down! Bring out your king! We are the fighting Uruk-hai. Bring out your skulking king!’
‘The king stays or comes at his own will,’ said Aragorn.
‘Then what are you doing here?’ they answered. ‘Why do you look out? Do you wish to see the greatness of our army? We are the fighting Uruk-hai.’
‘I looked out to see the dawn,’ said Aragorn.
‘What of the dawn?’ they jeered. ‘We are the Uruk-hai: we do not stop the fight for night or day. We come to kill, by sun or moon. What of the dawn?’
‘None knows what the new day shall bring him,’ said Aragorn. ‘Get you gone, ere it turn to your evil.’

Again, pause. Essentially, the Orcs ask the very question I have already posed: What of the dawn? I find Aragorn’s response amusing yet trite (paraphrasing now): “Well, you never know, you might lose? Better leave before that happens!” This is no satisfying answer, and the Orcs know it. But Aragorn continues…

‘Depart, or not one of you will be spared. Not one will be left alive to take back tidings to the North. You do not know your peril.‘

Ironically enough, immediately after saying this, Aragorn runs back in retreat because the Orcs blast away the gate above which he was standing. So Aragorn does not promise the Orcs defeat because he himself is winning the battle. In fact, he is not. Nor, it seems, does Aragorn promise the Orcs defeat because he knows that there is an army of Huorns coming up from behind them (although there is, as it turns out). If Aragorn did know that, then presumably he would have said to the Orcs something like (again, paraphrasing): “Hey guys, look behind you. The Huorns are coming!” He says nothing of the sort. Yet Aragorn is so confident of victory that he comes out on the wall to parley, that is, to offer the Orcs a chance to leave peacefully before they are slaughtered.

What?!?

Thoughout the entire episode, Aragorn appeals to the hope of the dawn, and I think we are meant to take him at his word. Aragorn hopes because he sees the sun rising, even though he does not yet see the sun. It’s the dawn. Dawn is ever the hope of men.

It’s not just imagery. It’s magic.

* ~~~~~ * ~~~~~ *

But what if…

What if it were true?

What if the magic of the dawn is not mere fantasy, but reality?

What if the sunrise we see every day is not just a function of bodies acting according to laws of planetary motion?

What if the dawn is, in point of fact, a function of heavenly lights obeying the very voice of God commanding them day after day after day, until the end of time?

That’s what the Bible says. Listen to it:

Thus says the Lord––
who gives the sun for light by day
and the statute of the moon and stars for light by night,
who stirs up the sea, and its waves roar––
the Lord of Hosts is his name:
“If these statutes depart from before me,” says the Lord,
“then also the seed of Israel will cease from being a nation before me forever.”
Jer 31:35-36

And the Lord smelled the pleasing aroma, and he said in his heart:
“Never again will I curse the ground any more for the sake of humankind,
for the intention of the heart of humanity is evil from youth.
And never again will I smite any more every living thing,
as I have done.
For all the days of the earth:
seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat,
and summer and winter, and day and night,
they will never cease.”
Gen 8:21-22

Cold scientific reasoning would have us take the dawn for granted, writing it off as the immutable laws of physics operating within our solar system. But the magic of faith would have us reckon the dawn as the daily renewal of God’s covenant with all creation. Read the above passage from Genesis 8 again. Note that this covenant is marked especially by God’s gracious forbearance with human violence and sin––problems that do not get better after the flood, mind you!––a covenant sealed with the promise of a rainbow.

“What of the dawn?” the Orcs ask. The Bible answers: The dawn is God, every morning, saying anew, “Let there be light!” And there is light.

It’s not darkness. It’s light. Because God is light.
It’s not science. It’s magic. Because God commands it.
It’s not law. It’s covenant. Because God always keeps His promises.
It’s not evil. It’s good. Because God is good.

What if God ever fell down on the job? got sick and was laid up in bed? took a day off?

What if God got a sudden attack of laryngitis? gave the sun and moon the silent treatment? got grumpy and just decided not to talk that day?

What if God ever broke his promise? What if, at bottom, God isn’t good?

What if, one day, the sun just happened NOT to rise?

What then?

No, really…what would happen?

* ~~~~~ * ~~~~~ *

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has [dawned] upon you.
For behold! darkness covers the earth, and thick darkness the peoples;
but upon you the Lord is [dawning], and his glory is seen over you.
Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your [dawn].
Isa 60:1-3

I’ve taken another liberty here, in that I have translated the specific Hebrew verb “to rise” into English using the contextually specific term, “dawn.” I’m convinced that’s the image that the Prophet is painting here, as attested by other modern English translations as well. These are words of hope, addressed to the people of God living in Jerusalem. But notice…who is the sun in this word picture? Who is the light that has come, that can be seen rising in the sky above Jerusalem? It’s God, the Lord himself! Now hold that thought…

He was the true light, the one who shines on all humankind, coming into the world. He came to his own, and his own did not receive him. But whoever did receive him, to them he gave authority to become children of God, to those who believe in his name.
John 1:9,11-12

Therefore, again Jesus said to them, “I am the light of the world; the one who follows me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life…For judgment I have come into this world, so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see might become blind.”
John 8:12, 9:39

These words of Scripture are familiar to the Christian, and rightly so. So familiar, in fact, that I think we as modern readers often take for granted the image being used here, both by the Evangelist (writing the Gospel account) and by Jesus himself. What is the light of the world? It’s a common concept in ancient Near Eastern literature, and any first-century Jew would have known immediately the answer: the sun. The sun shines on all humankind. The sun provides the earth with the light of life. The sun is the light that enables us to see––enough to do productive work, at any rate; can you imagine trying to grow food without sunlight?––yet the sun can, quite literally, blind us.

Do you see the clever wordplay Jesus employs? He compares himself to the sun, which can either illuminate or blind. Jesus freely offers himself as the light of life to all humankind. But the ancient Jew, culturally steeped in the literature of the Old Testament, would have understood the astounding claim Jesus implicitly makes here. In comparing himself to the sun, Jesus equates himself with the Lord, the God of the Old Testament. The light imagery in the Gospels is shot through with the sun imagery found in the Hebrew prophets, especially Isaiah. The ancient Israelites anticipated that God would one day come dwell on earth with humankind, and they saw the dawn as an expression of this hope. Dawn is ever the hope of men. Then Jesus arrives on the scene and proclaims, “Here I am!”

* ~~~~~ * ~~~~~ *

This is a night as long as years. How long will the day tarry?

Have you ever spent a night like that? I know you have, and so have I. Perhaps you are in the midst of such a night right now. If not, you will be soon. After all, nights are as regular an occurrence as days. In this life, the night is never far away. Sooner or later, every one of us passes through seasons where all we can pray is, “O Lord Jesus!” If we can pray at all, that is. The Scriptures tell us that darkness covers the nations, and thick darkness the peoples. Surely you have felt it! You don’t need me to tell you that it’s the truth.

But there’s another truth, too. His name is Jesus – the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God. He shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome Him (John 1:5). The Scriptures also tell us that weeeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning (Psa 30:5). Surely you have felt that, too! How? Why? God created the heavens and the earth and the universe, evening then morning (Gen 1:5). The order is intentional, so that we might know that first comes the night, but afterward the dawn. For the one who believes in Jesus, the rising of the sun each day is the harbinger of eternity, the sign of the promise of resurrection, the guarantee that evil and darkness will not, in the end, prevail. Because when we look out to see the dawn each new day, we know that God has kept his promise yet again. The sun came up this morning, did it not?

Dawn is ever the hope of men.

The magic of Aragorn’s dawn is not only fantastic literary imagery. It’s the real truth. I think that’s the whole point that Tolkien was trying to make, and Jesus, too. We hope because we see the Son rising, even though we do not yet see the Son.

But one day…

A Prayer for the Dawn:
This is another day, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.
The Book of Common Prayer (Episcopal), p.461

A Triptych of Light for the Triduum: Great Vigil

Alberto_Piazza_Apostoles_entorno_al_Sepulcro_Staatliche_Museen_Berlín

Apóstoles entorno al Sepulcro (“Apostles around the Grave”), by Albertino Piazza da Lodi [c.1520]

From the deeps I call out to you, O Lord; my Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive to the sound of my pleadings. …
I await the Lord!
My spirit looks––and for His message I am waiting––
my spirit looks for my Lord
more than the watchmen for the morning, the watchmen for the morning.
–from Psalm 130

Today is the Great Vigil, the feast which marks the end of the Lenten season. For the last forty days, we have prayed and fasted to one degree or another. We have acknowledged our own sin and mortality, remembered our need for forgiveness and redemption, and awaited the advent of our Messiah on His royal steed to save us from our distress. Over the past week, the week of His holy Passion, we have grieved as the cheers of adulation turned to jeers of mockery. We have stood by as a best friend betrayed Him with a gesture of feigned affection. We have both pounded the nails into His hands and kissed His feet as He hung on the cross. All this we have done, and tomorrow we will celebrate. But today…

Today is Holy Saturday, the Great In-Between Day, the cosmic sabbath rest of Jesus Christ entombed in stone. A friend of mine once whimsically reflected on this particular Saturday, saying that it always feels like “the deep breath before the plunge.” The sentiment is fitting; today, the clockwork of the entire universe is held in suspended animation. The Three Days (called “triduum” in the church-Latin) are days of activity: on Maundy Thursday, Jesus washes our feet, showing us the way of the cross and teaching us His new command to love and serve and sacrifice for His sake. Yesterday, on Good Friday, Jesus suffers the pain of our atonement, breaking His own body and pouring out His own blood, even unto death. Tomorrow, on Easter Sunday, Jesus rises from the dead and ascends to God in triumph. Yesterday we despaired, and tomorrow we will exult. But today…today is, well, in-between.

Today is also the seventh day, the day of rest. It is a day of nothingness, of darkness and chaos, of anticipating the creative and re-creative work of God. Tomorrow is a day full of life and light, when the Sun rises and fills all the earth with the knowledge and glory of God. The ground will sprout forth its vegetation, the trees stretching out their hands in praise. The sea, the air, the land, all teeming with swarming creatures, will revel in the beauty and grandeur of what God has done for us and with us. And God will say that it is Very Good. Tomorrow, God will speak out into our darkness, “Let there be light!” But all of that is still Tomorrow. For as long as it is called “Today,” it is not Day; it is Night.

Today, the deep covers the earth, and darkness is over the face of the waters. Yet the Spirit of God hovers in the air, looking, yearning, groaning for the redemption of our bodies, of His body. Can you see? The days of creation and redemption and re-creation are all ordered alike: darkness, then light; evening, then morning; death, then life; for first comes the night, and afterward the dawn.

But the Resurrection is not yet come. So we wait, our spirits looking for our Lord, more than the watchmen for the morning…

…the watchmen for the morning…

A Triptych of Light for the Triduum: Good Friday

Jacobello_del_Fiore_Crucifixion

Crucifixion, by Jacobello del Fiore [c.1400]

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am distressed;
my eye wastes away in grief, my spirit and my body.
My life is spent from sorrow, and my years from groaning;
my strength fails in my iniquity, and my bones are wasted away.
I have become a reproach to all my enemies––and to my neighbors especially––
and a dread to my acquaintances; those who see me in the street flee from me.
I am forgotten, like a dead man, out of mind;
I have become like an earthen vessel, destroyed.
For I hear the whispering of many, terror from all around in their scheming together against me;
they plot to take my life.
But me––on you I am trusting, O Lord; I am saying, “You are my God.”
The seasons of my life are in your hand;
rescue me from the hand of my enemies and my persecutors.
Shine your face on your servant! Save me in your lovingkindness.
–from Psalm 31

Yesterday’s meditation was quite cerebral; in contrast, this passage is exactly the opposite. This psalm is sentimental, even visceral in its portrayal of emotions that we have all experienced. But for today, let us not personalize this prayer with ourselves as the target. It is tradition in the Christian religion to re-enact in our worship during Holy Week the events of Christ’s Passion––we wave palm fronds, wash each other’s feet, venerate Jesus on the cross, and hold vigil until his resurrection. Today, I encourage us to take the imagination one step further, to transport ourselves back in time and participate in the events themselves. We are the same crowd that chants both “Hosanna!” and “Crucify!” So let us forget our lazy and fickle selves and rather seek to identify with Christ.

Let us plead with the Father to be gracious to Jesus as his spirit and body expire upon the cross. Let us groan with sorrow at the reproach that Jesus endured from his enemies, and especially from his closest friends. Let us lament that in his death Jesus has been forgotten, out of mind, by the very people he came to save––in spite of the fact he is indeed risen from the dead! Let us hear the plotting and the scheming against his very life; and let us not raise our voices in protest but instead say…

Not my will, Father; but Your kingdom come, Your will be done.

Jesus trusted God his Father. Let us also trust. Jesus prayed, “You are my God.” Let us also pray. Jesus placed his life in the hand of his Father, truly and literally, even in the midst of a rejection and forsaken-ness that he had never known before. The most intimate and everlasting fellowship of the Triune God was broken somehow during those few hours while Jesus hung on the cross. Is it really so much for us to trust Him in the midst of our loneliness and pain? Yes, it is so much: too much, in fact. It was not too much for Jesus, but it is too much for us. However, God’s grace is sufficient even for that. In the end, all we can say is this:

Father, we beg You, please smile on us and save us in Your lovingkindness!

So let us say it, together, today. Then let us empathize with Jesus our Mediator, the one close to the Father’s heart, His one-and-only well-beloved Son, in whom He is well pleased.

A Triptych of Light for the Triduum: Maundy Thursday

William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_(1825-1905)_-_The_Flagellation_of_Our_Lord_Jesus_Christ_(1880)

The Flagellation of our Lord Jesus Christ, by William Adolphe Bouguereau [c.1890]

But he was pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that gave us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.
He was oppressed, and he was humiliated, but he did not open His mouth;
for he was cut off from the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people.
They placed his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death;
because he had done no violence, with no deceit in his mouth.
Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge.
The Righteous One, my servant, shall justify many; and their iniquities he himself shall bear.
–an excerpt from Isaiah 53 (emphasis added)

These words are worth contemplating as we memorialize once again the holy Passion of Jesus. This is the very passage which the Holy Spirit used––via a series of extraordinary events that you can read about in the book of Acts, chapter 8––to introduce the Gospel to the continent of Africa several chapters ahead of the missionary endeavor to Europe (which does not commence until Acts 16). On the return journey from Jerusalem to his own country, a man whom we know simply as the “Ethiopian eunuch” was reading this text and was confounded by the question, “Is the prophet here speaking of himself or someone else?” Philip the Evangelist answered him by affirming that this passage speaks about Jesus the Messiah, the Suffering Servant of the book of Isaiah. One of the ways we know that this text is about Jesus is because of the word “light” which I have highlighted in the translation above.

In modern English, we use the expression “see the light” to communicate figuratively the idea of recognizing or realizing the truth. But in ancient Israel, the expression “to see light” was used in a literal way to communicate the idea of being alive as opposed to either unborn or dead (see Job 3:16; Psa 36:10, 49:20). In the book of Isaiah, the prophet takes great pains to communicate to the reader that the Suffering Servant will suffer, die, and be buried (v.10), but then afterward will be alive again and “see light.” In other words, the prophet foretells the story of the resurrection of Messiah, not with a grand flourish but with a common figure of speech. That is God’s way, is it not? We might have missed it had not Jesus pointed out to his disciples (and the Holy Spirit to us) that the Hebrew Scriptures prophesied that the Messiah would both die and rise again.

Then Jesus opened their minds to understand the Scriptures; and he said to them, “Thus was it written for Christ to suffer and to rise again from the dead on the third day, and repentance for the forgiveness of sin to be proclaimed to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses to these things” (Luke 24:45-48, emphasis added).

Yes, Jesus, we are witnesses. Thanks be to God.

Jesus Christ: God from God, Light from Light, True God from True God; the Light of the World, prepared for all the world to see, for the enlightening of nations; He who descends into the earth like the sun and ascends into heaven with the dawning of a new day, a new age, a new covenant of peace between God and humankind. By His light we see light. By His wounds we are healed. He who knew no sin was made sin for us, so that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. We eat His flesh, broken for us; and we drink His blood, the cup of our salvation.

For we proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.

Meditation for the Feast of St Patrick

patrick

Icon of Saint Patrick, Enlightener of Ireland

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the strength of my life; whom shall I dread?
One thing I have asked from the Lord, that will I seek:
to remain in the house of the Lord all the days of my life;
to stare at the beauty of the Lord, and to pray in his temple.
So I will offer in his tent sacrifices of joy;
I will sing and make praise-music to the Lord.”
– an excerpt from Psalm 27

The Lord is my light, writes the psalmist. The phenomenon of light is one of the most primitive of all human experiences, yet we rarely give it a second thought except for when we need it. The sun is one of the most dazzling of earthly wonders, yet it blinds us when we stare at it. If in the modern age we were to take away the comfort of electrical technology, we would not be left with many other sources of light other than the sun. Starlight doesn’t illuminate very much, and lightning only shines for a split second at a time. Firelight is a little better, but still not very useful for the actual work of living. Can you imagine trying to plow a field with a team of oxen by torchlight?

When considered from this perspective, one can understand why sun-worship was such a common practice in ancient cultures and yet a relatively rare practice today. [Of course, we worship other idols––self, money, family, and the list goes on.] It is truly remarkable that in ancient Israelite culture there existed a group of people who did not worship the sun but claimed instead that God was their “light.” They claimed that this Divine Being, who created both the sun and the light, could not be seen or touched but that his Voice could be heard in some mystical way. So let me ask you, who would worship a god like that when the sun makes itself available and perceptible each and every day, without fail?

Who could? Surely, not us, blind sinners that we are.

Patrick of Ireland, whose feast we celebrate today, wrote strong words for those who worshiped the sun (see below). Consider his reasoned argument: the sun is temporal and has no power; Christ, on the other hand, has ruled with the Father and the Holy Spirit for all eternity; therefore, worship Jesus. He affirms that it is Jesus––not some delicate balance between the properties of physics that we call gravity and inertia––who commands the sun to rise each and every day. But this is not a theological innovation on the part of bishop Patrick; no, he simply repeats what the Israelite prophets said of old (Gen 8:20-22; Job 9:7; Isa 45:7; Jer 31:35-37; Amos 5:8-9). The psalmist goes a step further, however, declaring his desire to worship God not because it is rational––although it is that, since God has saved him, after all––but because it is pleasurable to “stare at the beauty of the Lord.”

Jesus takes this theological metaphor of light to its final conclusion when twice he says, “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12, 9:5). In English, it’s a ready pun: not the sun, but the Son. However, the truth of the matter is so much more devastating, for Christ is the “light” NOT because we are blinded when we look at Him, but because we are blind until we look at Him. Jesus himself uses this exact conceptual wordplay: “For judgment I have come into this world; so that those who do not see might see, and the ones who see might become blind” (John 9:39).

Therefore, seeing the truth of these things, today let us offer a sacrifice of joy alongside Patrick our brother, and (literally!) sing and make praise-music to the Lord. For He Himself is our Light and our Salvation.

“For this sun which we now see rises each new day for us at his command, yet it will never reign, nor will its splendor last forever. On the contrary, all who worship it today will be doomed to dreadful punishment. But we who believe and adore the true sun that is Christ, who will never die, nor “will those who have done his will” but “abide forever, just as Christ himself will abide for all eternity”: who reigns with God the Father all-powerful, and with the Holy Spirit before time began, and now and through all ages of ages. Amen.”
–an excerpt from The Confession of Saint Patrick, translated by John Skinner (New York: Doubleday, 1998), p.75.