Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 10): 16 July 2006.

2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19 or Amos 7:7-15

Psalm 24 or Psalm 85:8-13

Ephesians 1:3-14

Mark 6:14-29

Two weeks ago today marked the 230th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence by the Continental Congress on 2 July 1776. The annual celebration of that document's promulgation on July 4th is the occasion for much celebration in the United States. From the outset, those involved in establishing the new nation were conscious that they were up to something special: Novus ordo seclorum ("A new order of the ages"), says the Great Seal (as on the dollar bill). Yet, like any human institution--the institutional church included--our system of governance and (even more) those who govern display the age-old imperfections of the human condition. Lord Acton had it right: Power corrupts. So did the centurion in Luke 7:8: All of us, even those in authority, are set under authority. But power does not like to be called on its corruption or reminded of its penultimacy.

The Old Testament and Gospel lessons for today bear out these observations. Amos 7:7-15 relates an incident in the life of the prophet in which he confronts both the political and spiritual leadership of the Northern Kingdom, Israel. (Such biographical accounts are relatively rare in the prophets, especially the "minor" prophets.) Following a vision in which God pronounces judgment on both Israel's worship places and its royal house, we learn that Amos has gone to Bethel, one of two main sanctuaries in the North, just over the border from Amos's native Judah. There he has relayed God's words, and there he confronts the priest of Bethel, Amaziah.

Actually, the priest plays something of a double game. On the one hand, he faithfully reports Amos's words to King Jeroboam II (seen more pejoratively, he tattles on him). On the other hand, he then seeks to defuse any ensuing confrontation by advising Amos to go back home, implying that Amos is there on his own initiative and perhaps even to profit as a prophet. Implicitly, we see that Amaziah cannot imagine why anyone would speak as Amos does at the risk that Amos is taking. While being duly cautious about psychologizing across millennia, we can fairly conclude that Amaziah has simply projected his own categories and anxieties onto Amos. But Amos will have none of it. Amos states that the sole cause of his presence and proclamation is the direct directive of God. He then adds to God's earlier judgments on the houses of worship and the house of Jeroboam an additional divine curse on Amaziah and his house.

This incident finds an eerie echo in the Gospel lesson. John the Baptist plays the part of Amos, with King Herod (Antipas) in the role of Amaziah. John condemns Herod for violating the Mosaic law against marrying his brother's wife (Lev 18:16--ironically, the very passage cited by England's King Henry VIII in support of a much-belated annulment of his first marriage). But it is that brother's wife, Herodias, who truly takes umbrage. Herod plays the double game of arresting John "on account of Herodias," while simultaneously fearing and protecting him. In fact, it is possible that John's effect on the king was still more profound: most ancient NT manuscripts read, "when [Herod] heard [John], he did (Gk. '[TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]) many things," while some of the most important codices (and the NRSV) have, "when he heard him, he was greatly perplexed (Gk. [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII])." In any event, the parallel to Amos breaks down when, thanks to the machinations of Herodias and her daughter, both Herod and then John lose their heads.

In its context this account is a flashback from the current events related in vv. 14-16, as reports of Jesus as teacher and healer begin to circulate in Herod's territory, and people speculate whether Jesus is John redivivus, Elijah, or a prophet like those of old (including Amos!). For his part, Herod is certain that "John, whom I beheaded, has been raised"--and there follows the story. Particularly interesting is that this very sequence of speculations is repeated by the disciples in Mk 8:28, when Jesus asks them "Who do people say that I am?" By contrast with Herod's hopeless conjecture, Peter comes through with the right answer: "You are the Messiah" (Mk 8:29). Herod is entrapped in his own categories and anxieties, as surely as was Amaziah, so that all he manages to do is pronounce judgment on himself (cf. 2 Sam 12:5).

Today's Epistle lesson begins a new series of readings from the Pauline correspondence, this time from Ephesians (1:3-14). Following the formulaic introduction in v. If., the apostle lyrically presents a high Christology, as he states that since "before the foundation of the world" it has been God's plan to redeem his elect ones "in Christ"--a phrase that occurs with minor variations eleven times in twelve verses. Within the vast span from pre-creation to the present day, it is the Ephesians' extraordinary privilege to be alive at the decisive moment of the plan's implementation, "in the fullness of time" (kairos; cf. Gal 4:2, usually translated the same way, but from the Gk. chronos). The passage is replete with gospel joy, as it repeatedly credits what has happened "to [or for] the praise of his glory [or glorious grace]." The language is almost Johannine, as the Ephesians are told that "in Christ" they are adopted children of God (cf. Jn 1:12f.; 1 Jn 3: 1f.). As a "pledge of our inheritance toward redemption," they "were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit"--a clear reference to baptism (cf. Rom 6:4; Gal 2:27).

As Paul asked in a different context (Rom 8:31a), "What then are we to say about these things?" As citizens of history's most powerful and wealthy nation, Americans are well reminded regularly of the inevitable failings and contingency of all earthly authority. (Those in authority within the institutional church need to recall the same, so there is a natural "hook" to ensure that the sermon is preached to "us," not "you" or "them.") Indeed, the preacher need not be grinding any political axe to say clearly that it is integral to both the biblical and the American tradition to speak truth to power. And neither preacher nor hearer is compelled to be obnoxious or simplistic, if they understand from today's Old Testament and Gospel lessons that one's witness must be clear and direct rather than compromised by concern for consequences that grow out of their (or others') prior categories and anxieties.

We can only live in the moment and bear witness in our times, but the Epistle lesson reminds us that all moments and times (and authorities and powers, for that matter) must be viewed sub specie aeternitatis, "under the aspect of eternity." For the Christian, such a perspective does not simply (or even mainly) entail God's authority and power over all realms and rulers. Through the lens of baptismal water the Christian sees all things in the context of God's eternal plan of "goodwill toward people" (Lk 2:14 var.) [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. The first and last words that God wants his people to hear are those of grace. (In this connection, it is important for the Lutheran Christian preacher to note that the double reference to predestination [[TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]] in the Epistle [vv. 5 and 11] can be understood only in the context of grace, as simply one more way of saying that our adoption papers are in order [cf. Formula of Concord, Art. XI].)

As has often been observed, the Greek kairos is distinctive vis-a-vis chronos, in that the former often denotes "a period characterized by some aspect of special crisis" (BDAG, p. 498). The Epistle lesson teaches that we, as surely as the Ephesians, live in the kairos of Christ's appearing. Taken together, then, today's lessons both urge us to engagement with the powers of this world and assure us that not "anything ... in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom 8:39). GCH