Epiphany Readings for Year A 2017
As we continue to mine the readings of these Sundays of Epiphany for foundations of an “Earth-honoring faith,” the first reading is obviously most relevant. The reading from Deuteronomy is the end of Moses’ farewell speech to the people he led out of Egypt, to Mount Sinai and through the wilderness, to the banks of the Jordan river at the boundary of the land promised to them. He will not enter the land with them, so the speech carries the full burden of his hopes for them as they enter and claim their heritage. The choice they face is a stark one: in Moses' words, it is between “life and prosperity,” or “death and adversity” (Deuteronomy 30:15). The choice concerns their relationship to God, but also their relationship to the land. If they “obey the commandments of the Lord . . by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees and ordinances,” they “shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless [them] in the land that [they]are entering to possess.” On the other hand, if their “heart turns away and [they] do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, [they]shall perish. [They] shall not live long in the land that [they] are crossing the Jordan to enter and possess.” Significantly for our search for an “Earth-honoring faith,” which we initiated the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany with Micah's metaphor of God presenting God's case against the people in the court of the mountains, Moses here calls both “heaven and earth” as witness to the choice he has set before them. The whole creation is to be aware and observe how the people choose.
For what might these witnesses be watchful? In the chapter previous to our appointed text, Moses foresees what will take place if the people forsake the covenant: Then
the next generation, your children who rise up after you, as well as the foreigner who comes from a distant country, will see the devastation of that land and the afflictions with which the Lord has afflicted it—all its soil burned out by sulfur and salt, nothing planted, nothing sprouting, unable to support any vegetation, like the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Amah and Zeboiim, which the Lord destroyed in his fierce anger –they and indeed all the nations will wonder, “Why has the Lord done thus to the land? What caused this great display of anger?” (29:22-24).
Moses also foresees an alternative future, however, in which “the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you, gathering you again from all the peoples among whom the Lord your God has scattered you . . Then [they] shall again obey the Lord, observing all his commandments that I am commanding you today, and the Lord your God will make you “abundantly prosperous in all your undertakings, in the fruit of your body, in the fruit of your livestock, and in the fruit of your soil” (30:9).
The contrast is thus sharply drawn: people and environment either thrive or languish together. In accordance with Deuteronomic theology, the consequences described here are attributed to the divine wrath as punishment for their idolatry, or divine favor for their obedience. We would rather see a more directly causal relationship between their behavior and the consequence. As Terry Fretheim explains, “The law is given because God is concerned about the best possible life for all of God’s creatures.” The intent of the law is to serve life, in accordance with God’s overriding interest that the creation as a whole should be served well by those who have responsibility for it. There are three aspects to this concern. First, “the law helps order human life so that it is in tune with the creational order intended by God.” Secondly, “because life in creation is not free from all threats, law is given for the sake of both the preservation of God's creative work and the provision of the most welcoming context possible for ever new creational developments”. The law calls for “basic human respect for the earth” because “'the earth is the Lord's' (Ps 24:1) and the animals and land belong to God.” And thirdly, “law is given to serve the proper development of God's good but not perfect creation.” There are “creative capacities built into the order of things and the charges given its creatures. . . God's creation is also understood to be a work in progress.” Thus the law reveals God’s will for the creation God loves, and it is the God-given vocation of God’s image-bearing animal creature, the human being, to love the creation as God does, with aneye to its future perfection, not only its past integrity and present condition. Failure to obey the law thus carries with it the destructive consequences of what might be deemed opposition to God's creative love. (See his discussion of ‘Creation and Law,” in God and World in the Old Testament: A Relational Thkeology of Creation. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2005, pp. 133-56).
The choice Moses has placed before the people, we might therefore observe, is an affair of the heart, both God’s heart and the human heart. The decisive issue, as the text says, is whether or not the people “love the Lord their God, walk in his ways, and observe his commandments, decrees, and ordinances” -- the choice of life — or turn their hearts away – the choice of death: love God and so be sustained in their life in the land for generation upon generation, or refuse to acknowledge God as giver of the gift of the land and the law by which they shall live in it, and so perish from the land as the land itself dies beneath them. So choose, says Moses. “Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him, for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob (30:19-20).”
We are familiar with a similar choice today, albeit one framed in much more secular terms. Our relationship with the land in America is defined for our culture mainly in terms of the rights and freedom to take and dispose of it according to the contracts we have struck regarding possession of it, versus a deeper relationship with the land that is part of an older agrarian ethos that regards the land as living habitat for ourselves and the other non-human creatures with whom we share it. For the one, the land has values to be exploited for our commerce; these values are assigned values, determined by those who have control over it. For the other, the land is valuable in and of itself, a fund of value which can be drawn upon to sustain the life of the animal communities that are dependent upon it, as part of what makes it valuable, but which really do belong to the land itself. For the one, the concern is to protect those rights of possession, and to preserve the self-interest of its owner; for the other, laws are sought that set out general principles developed within the interdependent community on how to safeguard and conserve the land's inherent value. The one relationship is in fact predominantly a matter of self-interest or self-love on the part of the people who own it; the other is a “love affair:” a love of that which is other than oneself. For the one, loss of value in the land due to ecological degradation is at best a loss of wealth or potential wealth to the owner. For the other, loss of value is destruction of some or all of life’s generative possibilities.
Aldo Leopold, a founder of the modern discipline of ecology, is well known for his formulation of a “land ethic’ which acknowledges the inherent value in land: “A thing is right”, he holds, “when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise” (From his Sand County Almanac). Adherence to this ethical principle as a guide through the complex and difficult decisions our society faces might be one way of responding today to Moses’ challenge to “choose life.” It is a principle, we contend, that is genuinely “Earth-honoring.” The choice of life, in this sense, leads to a way of living that exhibits consonance with the ecological andevolutionary relationships inherent in nature. But attending to those relationships is not simply a matter of following scientific rationality. As Leopold himself said, “It is inconceivable to me that an ethical relation to land can exist without love, respect and admiration for land, and a high regard for its value.” It is for him, too, fundamentally an affair of the heart. (See Norman Wirzba’s The Paradise of God, pp. 100-111 for the discussion that underlies this comment.)
When Moses finished his address to the people, we read in the closing chapter (34) of Deuteronomy, God led Moses from the plains of Moab, up another mountain to show him all the land promised Abraham’s descendents, and there Moses died. God had let him see the land with his eyes, but said: “you shall not cross over there.” Thus did Mount Nebo become the resting place of the prophet whom “the Lord knew face to face,” the like of which has “never since arisen in Israel” (34:10) Never, that is, until Jesus, according to Matthew, who was baptized at the Jordan, and coming away from the river, “went throughout Galilee” and, followed by great crowds from “Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and from beyond the Jordan,” went up the mountain with his disciples, where he sat down and taught them (Matthew 4:25- 5:1). Jesus has accordingly entered deeply into the land, and now from a new mountain, within the land, he returns to the law and commandments of Moses, as the section of his Sermon on the Mount assigned for last Sunday made clear: as he said, “whoever does [the commandments] and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven (5:20).” And indeed, far from abolishing Moses' teaching, in the verses we read this Sunday, he lifts up selected provisions of that teaching to “radicalize” them, in Robert Smith’s term. Not only murder, for example, but anger, insult , and disparagement” are condemned. Not adultery only, but lust. Not only false oaths, but any oaths at all, “either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King” (5:21-37). His teaching at this point calls us, as Smith puts it, to “look into the depths of the human heart.” At the same time, however, he “shares with us his vision of new human community.” (New Proclamation Series A, 1998-1999, p. 158.)
The character of that community has been sketched out in the previous beatitudes. As we have seen in our discussion of earlier sections of the Sermon, he calls for a disposition of meekness (the meek give place to others in the community of life); he creates a thirst and hunger for righteousness (the purpose of his mission is the fulfillment of all righteousness); he promises mercy for the merciful. And to the “pure in heart” (those who render inwardly held conviction of God’s love visible in outward service to the cause of God’s love for the creation) he has promised nothing short of the vision of God. But in the depths of the human heart vigorous forces of opposition fight against these provisions. Refusal to give place to others, which leads even to murder, the absolute disrespect for life, bursts out of the deep dispositions of anger, hate, or disparagement of the other. Lust manifests itself in the drive to possess and dominate the other, as in the adulterous exploitation of women. Deception of the other by calling on either heaven, or earth, or Jerusalem destroys the possibility of righting these relationships by making claims to sacred status, earthly power, or political priviledge. Jesus' vision of a new human community is one in which these destructive “habits of the heart” have no place. Smith describes this community in a way that must give us pause at this point in American political life: it is a “wondrous world where personal and corporate transactions no longer require batteries of lawyers and reams of documentation, where such safeguards are no longer necessary, where deceit and half-truths and downright lies are unknown, where our speech is simple, direct, and completely honest (5:33-37)” (Smith, p. 159).
The relationships discussed here are obviously social and interpersonal. Is any of this understanding relevant to relationships with non-human others of God creatures? Choose life, pleaded Moses, and the governing principle here is clearly the loving service of the life of the other. Domination of every form, physical, sexual, verbal, has been displaced, as next Sunday's gospel makes explicit, by genuine love for the “other,” even the one who is “the enemy” (5:43-44). All actions are understood to involve love of the other, as love of relationships that God loves. Such love of the other moves, not easily but faithfully, in the face of earth's destruction, from the human community to that of the whole creation. Thus the life of the community becomes a demonstration project of the power of God’s love lived out in community relationships, including our relationships with our habitat, the earth. The reading from 1 Corinthians illustrates the point. The Apostle Paul’s challenge to the conflicted parties dividing the congregation in Corinth strikingly employs the metaphor of one who plants and one who waters, to characterize a relationship of interdependence between participants in the community: “So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose, and each will receive wages according to the labor of each. For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building” (I Corinthians 3:1-9). What is said here of the congregation, could, and should, be said with reference to our relationship to of all God's creation: we are God's servants, working together, in God's original field, God's original “building.”