ISAIAH 6:1-8

Commentary on Narrative Lectionary by J. Clinton McCann

It has long puzzled interpreters that the apparent call of Isaiah is not recounted until chapter 6.

Indeed, many interpreters conclude that Isaiah 6:1-8 represents not Isaiah's call, but rather something like a renewal-of-call experience or a re-commissioning for a new situation that was precipitated by the death of King Uzziah in 742 BCE (or 736, according to some historians).

Certainty is impossible; but, in any case, the present canonical arrangement certainly helps the reader appreciate Isaiah's confession that he lives "among a people of unclean lips" (verse 5), since chapters 1-5 offer a detailed and stinging indictment of the people of Judah and their leaders. These chapters may also help the reader appreciate why Isaiah also confesses that he himself is "a man of unclean lips" (verse 5) -- that is, if nothing else, he would have incurred guilt by association!

Of course, there is something else. In particular, there is the overwhelming experience described in verses 1-4. Isaiah says that he "saw the Lord" (verse 1). In some traditions, to see God is to die (see Exodus 33:20, although compare Psalms 24:6; 27:8-9), so it is no wonder that Isaiah is struck by his inadequacy and unworthiness in the presence of a God whose holiness has been emphasized by the repetition of "Holy" in the song of the seraphs (verse 3). To be holy is to be totally other, and especially to stand apart from all that is sinful and unclean.

Isaiah's experience apparently takes place in "the temple" (verse 1), the innermost portion of which was known as the "Holy of Holies." It housed the ark, which was viewed as God's earthly throne. In Isaiah's visionary experience, the carved creatures that decorated the ark come to life, and gradually the distinction between the earthly temple and God's heavenly abode becomes blurred.

Isaiah is aware of standing in the very presence of God and God's heavenly council (see the "us" in verse 6; and see 1 Kings 22:19 where the prophet Micah also "saw the LORD sitting on his throne," surrounded by heavenly attendants). Isaiah knows he has truly been confronted by "the King, the LORD of hosts" (verse 5).

Even though encountering and being encountered by the holy God appropriately humble him, Isaiah has nothing to fear. God is not out to kill him, but rather to forgive him. Since this a direct experience of God, no sacrifice need be brought or offered. The fire of the altar, conveyed by the seraphs, is cleansing enough. Isaiah is forgiven (verses 6-7).

Interestingly, Isaiah's call (or renewal-of-call) comes not in the form of a divine command, but rather in the form of a question. And the question is not even addressed to Isaiah. Rather, God speaks to the heavenly council, and Isaiah overhears the conversation. Nonetheless, as if overwhelmed with gratitude at having been forgiven and permitted to live, Isaiah cannot help but reply: "Here am I; send me!"
The immediacy and enthusiasm of Isaiah's positive response represents a marked contrast with several other call narratives, including Jeremiah's, whose hesitancy recalls Moses' call (see Jeremiah 1:4-10). For Isaiah, there is no hesitation and there are no excuses, contingencies, or "what-ifs."

Given the continuation of chapter 6 in verses 9-13 (which is not part of the lection), however, one wonders if Isaiah would have been so positive and enthusiastic if he had waited to hear what God was sending him to say and to do -- that is, to dull people's minds, stop up their ears, and shut their eyes, so that they cannot repent and be healed.

Isaiah responds with a typical element of the psalms of lament, "How long, O Lord?" (verse 11). To be sure, such a mission does not represent a very encouraging way to begin one's ministry (or a new chapter in one's ministry). But such a conclusion may over-psychologize the text.

Almost certainly, verses 9-13 were framed in retrospect; and verses 11-13 seem even to look back on the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE. In any case, these verses stand as a stark reminder of how the prophetic preaching was generally received -- that is, not with enthusiastic repentance, but rather with routine disregard (and often with outright hostility). It would be true for Jesus' preaching as well (see the citation of Isaiah 6:9-10 in Matthew 13:14-15; Mark 4:12).

Despite the discouraging direction of chapter 6, verse 13 ends the chapter with a glimmer of hope: "The holy seed is its stump." The destruction will be real, but it will not be the final word. The occurrence of "holy" in verse 13 may be a little reminder that the holy God whom Isaiah encountered refused finally to stand apart from sin and sinners (see Hosea 11:1-9, especially verse 9 where God is the "Holy One in your midst").

Isaiah was forgiven; and as the Book of Isaiah will proclaim, God's people will be forgiven too (see Isaiah 40-66). Even the more immediate context of chapter 6 offers a word of hope. While chapter 7 illustrates the truth of 6:9-10 by relating King Ahaz's failure to comprehend and trust, the following chapters anticipate a good and faithful king who will pursue the justice, righteousness, and peace that God wills (see Isaiah 9:2-7; 11:1-10; compare 5:1-7).

In the context of the Book of Isaiah, this good king-to-come should be understood as Hezekiah; but the early Church understood these texts to receive their ultimate fulfillment in the birth, life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the quintessential sign that the holy God will simply not separate God's own self from "a people of unclean lips" (verse 5).

JONAH 1:1-17; 3:1-10 (4:1-11)

Commentary on Narrative Lectionary by J. Clinton McCann

The Book of Jonah is simultaneously pathetic and hilarious.

It is pathetic because the character Jonah is so completely unfaithful. It is hilarious, first of all, because the narrator portrays so hyperbolically Jonah's recalcitrance and the repentance of the people of Nineveh. And furthermore, the joke is on Jonah, since God fulfills God's purposes by way of Jonah, even though Jonah remains thoroughly uncooperative to the very end.

That the narrator is up to something artistically clever is evident as soon as Jonah is mentioned. He is identified in 1:1 as "son of Amittai," a name derived from the Hebrew root that means "to be faithful." But, of course, Jonah proves to be anything but a "son of faithfulness." Even so, by the end of chapter 1, Jonah has made a boatload of converts! In sharp contrast to the disobedient prophet, the pagan sailors are models of piety and faithfulness, as they honor God, offer sacrifices, and make vows (verse 16; see Psalm 66:13).

To his credit, Jonah does one thing right in chapter 1 -- that is, he utters an eloquent affirmation of faith in the "the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land" (verse 9). Of course, the fact that Jonah is trying to flee from this God of all creation makes him look even more comically stupid. As for Jonah's seemingly magnanimous gesture of requesting to be thrown overboard (verse 12), it is probably more of a death wish, especially in view of Jonah's repeated requests to die in chapter 4. Jonah could hardly look worse.

But God is not finished with Jonah, as 1:17 makes clear. For many readers, it is precisely 1:17 that makes the Book of Jonah difficult -- that is, how could a human survive being swallowed by a big fish? But the Book of Jonah is not meant to be a historical account. Rather, it is something like a theological short story; and this means that the really difficult thing to believe in the Book of Jonah is that God cares about the Assyrians, a brutal and hated enemy that was responsible for destroying the Northern Kingdom in 722 BCE (see the Book of Nahum).

Chapter 2, which is not part of the lection, seems to indicate that Jonah has learned his lesson. At least he prays here (in contrast to chapter 1); but his prayer rings suspiciously hollow in verse 4 (Jonah was not "driven away" from God's sight!) and in verses 8-9 (since Jonah himself had forsaken his "true loyalty," while the pagan sailors were the ones who had vowed and sacrificed to the LORD!).

But at the beginning of chapter 3, Jonah at least obeys God when given a second chance (verses 1-3). Even so, his effort seems pathetically weak. In contrast to the carefully crafted and insightfully detailed oracles of judgment in many of the prophetic books, Jonah offers a five-word (in Hebrew) proclamation!

Remarkably, however (and this is part of the comic hyperbole), Jonah's sermon is extraordinarily effective. The Hebrew syntax emphasizes the immediacy of Nineveh's repentance, since the word "overthrow" that concludes verse 4 is followed immediately by the verb "believed" (verse 5). The response is as thorough as it is immediate, complete with fasting, sackcloth (even for the animals -- another aspect of the comic hyperbole), ashes, and exemplary words. In fact, the language of 3:9-10 clearly recalls Exodus 32:14, where God changes God's mind in order to spare the people of Israel after they had made the golden calf.

There is a major difference between Exodus 32:1-14 and Jonah 3:1-10, however -- namely, only God repents or changes God's mind in Exodus 32, not the people. But in Jonah 3, the people of Nineveh do repent. It is pathetic but true -- the Assyrians do what the people of Israel virtually never do in response to the prophetic preaching!

One might reasonably conclude that Jonah would be overjoyed at the incredibly positive response to his prophetic mission, or at least that he might be relieved that a hated enemy had come to the Lord. But no! We are told in 4:1 that Jonah found the whole turn of events to be "very displeasing." Interestingly, the Hebrew root of "displeasing" is the same one used back in 1:2 to describe Nineveh's "wickedness." The repetition presses the question: who is the evil party now?

And the answer is clear -- it is Jonah, who gives himself away in 4:2 when he explains why he originally fled to Tarshish. It was not because he feared the brutal Assyrians. Rather, it was because he knew that God is "gracious . . . merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love." Jonah's words echo God's self-revelation to Moses at the conclusion of the golden calf episode (Exodus 34:6).

It is clear that Jonah knows God well! But it is equally clear that Jonah does not like God's way of doing things. So, in perhaps what is the most jarring juxtaposition of ideas in the Old Testament, Jonah's affirmation of God's gracious, merciful, and steadfastly loving character is followed immediately by a request in 4:3 that amounts to this: "So, kill me!"

While Jonah himself had been the recipient of God's grace, and while the people of Israel were continually forgiven by God, Jonah the Israelite prophet cannot even begin to imagine that God's grace might extend to "the other," especially not to the hated Assyrians. So, four times in chapter 4 Jonah expresses the wish to die rather than to "forgive those who trespass against us."

Of course, Jonah's opposition to God's grace is not unusual. Jonah's response anticipates the older brother in the Parable of the Prodigal Son (see Luke 15:11-32, especially verses 29-30); it anticipates the workers hired first in the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard (see Matthew 20:1-16, especially verses 11-15); and perhaps it anticipates those of us who still find it extremely difficult to follow Jesus' eminently clear and straightforward admonition to "love your enemies" (Matthew 5:44).

The Book of Jonah ends with a question that Jonah does not answer, and this open-ended conclusion effectively suggests that the question is now ours to answer. Will we do any better than Jonah when it comes to resisting the pervasive and persistent temptation to restrict the scope of God's concern to us and to our kind of people?

SOLOMON - 1 Kings 5:1-5; 8:27-30, 41-43

Commentary on Narrative Lectionary by Roger Nam

At the height of Israel's success as a monarchy, King Solomon stops and prays.

After David declares his intention to build a temple for God, he is rebuked and redirected to a new vision of a house. Now, Solomon ascends to the Israelite kingship. With the changing of the guard, Solomon recalls the earlier promise to David and makes arrangements to build a magnificent temple (1 Kings 5:1-5).

At the completion of the temple, Solomon gives his prayer of dedication. Scholars have long recognized 1 Kings 8 as a "chapter of reflection," one of the crucial chapters in the narrative of Israel's history from Deuteronomy through 2 Kings. (Other chapters of reflection include Deuteronomy 1-4; Joshua 1, 23; Judges 2; 1 Samuel 12; 2 Kings 17).

These chapters of reflection occur at pivotal moments throughout the grand narrative of ancient Israel. Together, they hold together the vast history from the wilderness through the settlement and partition of land, to the end of the Davidic monarchy. At these junctures, the Bible momentarily halts the action in order to reflect on past events. But such reflection is never merely nostalgic. The lessons of experience must guide and exhort the present generation to remain faithful to the Lord through new challenges.

The building of the temple in Jerusalem certainly qualifies 1 Kings 8 as a watershed moment in Israel's history. After the bloody expansionist wars of David, the borders stand secure. The nation is unified, and the Solomon rules as the second monarch of a historically astonishing four centuries of rule. Most significantly, the completion of the great temple provides a lasting place of prayer and sacrifice.

After much planning and execution, the temple is completed, the ark enters the sanctuary and the glory of the Lord fills the house. The physical presence of this great new building, as well as the promise of peace motivates a heartfelt prayer of praise. Despite all of the success that Solomon has witnessed with his ascension to the throne and economic prosperity, Solomon does not draw the prayer to himself nor the temple. The temple dedication prayer centers on God: his great actions, his character, and most importantly his commitment to the covenant of David.

Perhaps this prayerful reminder of the covenant to David prompted Solomon to reflect on the limitations of the earthly temple, "But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less in this house that I have built!" (1 Kings 8:27)

At first glance, this verse is puzzling for a temple dedication prayer. The construction of the temple came at the cost of much labor and the sacrifice of many resources over years. Why not highlight this accomplishment? But as a chapter of reflection, the question about the overwhelming presence of God and the inadequacy of an earthly house is actually a much more appropriate reflection. Solomon is praying through the question of the divine transcendence and immanence. God is vast, majestic, and often beyond human cognition.

At the same time, God is accessible and a covenant partner with David. The prayer of Solomon sets a standard by which we can rely on God as mysterious, awesome, and uncontainable, and thus, demands our obedience. At the same time, Solomon recognizes that the inevitable failures of the people force them to rely on a personal God who is trustworthy, loving, and fatherly.

With this background, Solomon is able to turn to supplication. Despite the recent political and religious successes, Solomon is aware that Israel will face great challenges. Solomon does not merely ask in meek voice, as a humble request to the transcendent God. Rather, the biblical text shows Solomon using an imperative (command) voice to God. The human tells the deity to open his eyes and then to listen, no less than four times!

Solomon continues to give explanation for these demands. For God promised that his name will dwell with the people. Although the temple cannot contain God, it can serve as a place where God hears the human voice "night and day" (1 Kings 8:29). Solomon strategically even quotes from God himself, pleading, contending and making a case that God will listen.

Solomon prays for the community of Israel to recognize the holiness of God (verses 31-32), for forgiveness and restoration (verses 33-34), for physical sustenance even in the wake of natural calamity (verses 35-36). Solomon prays for the community to welcome the foreigners so that they shall also be accommodated for worship in the house (verses 41-43). It becomes clear that this prayer sets a foundation for Israel's future. One can see echoes of 1 Kings 8 in the prayers of future leaders of Israel as they faced calamity:

• King Hezekiah against the world's most destructive military force

• King Josiah trying to purge Judah from idolatry

• Elijah's prayer at Mount Carmel

• Ezra's plea for restoration

• Daniel's request for mercy during a time of national calamity

The temple provides the people of Israel a symbolic space to sacrifice and worship God. But of course, God is much greater than the Jerusalem temple. He is not limited to sacrifices during holy days and scheduled worship.

The prayer of Solomon demonstrates that God is equally present through sin, death, calamity, war, captivity, and sickness, most of which occurs outside the spatial confines of the temple. But thankfully, because God is transcendent and immanent, he will continue to listen to his people.

DAVID

 2 Samuel 7:1-17

Commentary on Narrative Lectionary by Roger Nam

David wishes to build a temple-house, but instead, God builds a greater dynasty-house.

One of most frequented destinations in Israel is the Western Wall in the Old City of Jerusalem, the remaining extant portion of the wall that surrounded the Temple Mount, and the actual temple during the time of Jesus. The wall stands at the end of a large plaza, set aside for prayer, and it runs roughly 57 meters long and 19 meters high.

Herod constructed the Temple Mount in about 19 BC as a strategic project to win the favor of Jews during the Roman occupation. Since the destruction of this temple in 70 AD, the sacred status of Jerusalem among different religions has brought a disproportionately large amount of violence to this sacred space. The survival of the Western Wall is truly remarkable. It is no wonder that it remains a religious treasure for Jewish faith.

My own experiences at the Western Wall often evoke thoughts of David in 2 Samuel 7. The Bible describes the unlikely ascension of the son of Jesse as Israel's second king. After moving the royal residence to Jerusalem and transporting the Ark of the Covenant to this new royal capital, David seeks to build a temple for God. Of course, building the temple is an appropriate response for the early years of a monarchy.

In the ancient Near East, kings built extravagant residences for deities at the highest points of the royal city that would reflect the gods' splendor and majesty. In this sense, David's request was not completely self-promoting, but the suitable action for a new king looking to honor his God. David presumably reasons that with a new social reality for Israel as a unified country, he logically develops a burden to create a national temple.

But as we know, God is a surprising God. Rather than respond with approval, God gives a rather sharp reply, "Are you the one to build me a house to live in?" (2 Samuel 7:5, emphasis mine)? God explains that he has never had a temple for his entire history with Israel's ancestors, from the Egyptian captivity and the ensuing exodus (2 Samuel 7:6). God reminds David that the divine presence is with them in tents (verse 6), in the pasture (verse 8), among their sheep (verse 8), and in battle (verse 9). God is not contained within a building. His presence and his providence have been active for generations without a temple.

The divine plans for a house is magnificently more complex than David could have ever imagined. David will not build a temple (Hebrew bayt: = "house") for God. Rather, God promises to build a lasting dynasty (also Hebrew bayt) for David and his progeny. God will give David and the children of Israel long-awaited rest from enemies. Most significantly, God invokes the promise to the patriarchs, and augments it: "I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me" (2 Samuel 7:12b-14).

The temple-house will be built in time, but only through David's son. But the dynasty-house is already built and is established for the ages. God assures David that this dynasty-house will never fade: "But I will not take my steadfast love from him, as I took it from Saul...Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever" (2 Samuel 7:15-16).

God reminded David that physical houses are not the core of God. More than a building, God is a divine transcendent being who is faithful to the promise. And this promise to David brings hope to future generations. The promise eventually culminates in the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, when the angel declares "The Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David" (Luke 1:32b).

I absolutely love visiting the Western Wall and entering the courtyard for prayer. But it saddens me when I must pass through the security requirements at the entry. The ubiquitous presence of police is a blatant reminder of the ephemeralness of this last vestige to the biblical temple-house. But as I consider the vast legions of Christians throughout the world, I can see the greater glories of the dynasty-house as mediated through Christ:

• The Liberian economist seeks to stabilize his country's currency to alleviate poverty.

• The North Korean prays in secret in hopes that free worship may triumph oppression.

• The Peruvian farmer works the field while teaching his children about provision from God.

All are descendants of the Davidic line through Christ. We are witnesses to this dynasty-house, created as God's promise to David. Indeed, this house is much greater, much larger, more glorious than David could have ever imagined.

SAMUEL 1 Samuel 1:9-11, 19-20; 2:1-10

Commentary on Narrative Lectionary by Roger Nam

A mother's prayer results in an unlikely beginning to kingship.

The monarchy of Israel begins with a narrative of despair and humility. Hannah, from Ephraimite country, is a childless wife, thereby making her one of the more excluded figures of ancient Israel. Unlike today, when the average child costs about $227,000 to raise, in a patriarchal, agrarian society, parents considered children as major financial assets to the families. They provided future labor from an early age, ensured the continuation of the family name, and guaranteed possession of the patriarchal estate. Children symbolized hope for the future well-being of the family.

So one can easily emphasize with Hannah's sadness, particularly as she had to share her husband with another wife, who already bore multiple sons and daughters. Hannah wept publically and plentifully. She cried so much that her husband gave her double portions to comfort her, and even pleaded with her, "Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?" (1 Samuel 1:8) Although Hannah does not reply, the fact that she continued weeping suggests a disappointing answer to her husband's seemingly rhetorical question.

Hannah's only option is to pray to God, but she does not merely pray. In 1 Samuel 1:11, she articulates one of the more tenacious and bold prayers in all of Scripture, "O LORD of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants, and no razor shall touch his head." Initially, Hannah's prayer results in scorn from the priest, but eventually, the "LORD remembered her" (1 Samuel 1:19). Hannah had her son and named him Samuel because "God heard." And she kept her vow and brought the young child to the presence of the Lord during the period of temple offerings.

The desperate prayer, God's answer, and Hannah's response of obedience create a whirlwind of activity in 1 Samuel 1. Fittingly, Chapter 2 pauses this frenetic activity with a doxology of praise. The reader may expect that this response of Hannah would center around the concrete miracle of the miraculous birth of her child. But interestingly, Hannah does not even mention the boy. Instead, she focuses her praise on the sovereignty of God, "There is no Holy One like the LORD, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God" (1 Samuel 2:2).

The miraculous events of 1 Samuel 1 inspire this response of praise. But as recorded in scripture, Hannah's song becomes the anthem for everyone who finds themselves in despair and hopelessness. She sings on behalf of the following kinds of people:

• "feeble" (1 Samuel 2:4)
  
• "hungry" (verse 5)
  
• "barren" (verse 5)
  
• "poor" (verses 7-8)
  
• "low" (verse 7)
  
• "needy" (verse 8)

Her song reaches a culmination with the bold proclamation in 1 Samuel 2:8:

He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord's, and on them he has set the world.

The poor, barren, and desperate can hope exclusively in the power of God. For Hannah, divine sovereignty triumphs over the social circumstances of pre-monarchic Israel that marginalize the barren women. For Israel, the shaky conglomeration of tribes faced a mounting pressure from encroaching Philistines.

But both Hannah and Israel saw hope in God through a prayer, which following generations would continue to contextualize and apply (see Psalm 113, Luke 1:47-55). Not only does God reach out to the powerless, but God elevates them under his great strength. This is God's business since he is the creator. Barrenness turns to fruitfulness. Hopelessness transforms into hopefulness. Regret from the past moves to joy over the future. By singing this prayer, we join a community of people throughout history who have seen despair, only to be lifted by God.

In the ensuing chapters, Samuel grows up to emerge as Israel's unquestionable leader. This is quite a feat considering the chaos and fractures among tribes in the final chapters of the book of Judges. Samuel then prepares the way for institution of monarchy in Saul, and thus begins the narrative of the kings of Israel.

This is not the sort of beginning that fits the ancient Near East. Royal origins of Mesopotamia and Egypt typically begin with kings descending from the heavenly deities, placed on the thrones of earth to steward the will of the gods. But for ancient Israel, the beginnings of monarchy emerge with the earnest, desperate prayer of a powerless second wife. But of course, this will not be the last time when greatness begins with a birth narrative of humility.

1 Samuel 1:9-11, 19-20; 2:1-10