Psalm 78

For my weekly quiet time this week, I will blog about Psalm 78 and its interpreters.  I have three items.

1.  Psalm 78:18-22 states (in the King James Version): “And they tempted God in their heart by asking meat for their lust. Yea, they spake against God; they said, Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?  Behold, he smote the rock, that the waters gushed out, and the streams overflowed; can he give bread also? can he provide flesh for his people?  Therefore the LORD heard [this], and was wroth: so a fire was kindled against Jacob, and anger also came up against Israel; Because they believed not in God, and trusted not in his salvation”.

Augustine says that the Israelites were tempting God rather than believing in him, and Marvin Tate characterizes their question about God providing a table in the wilderness as “willful and mocking”, asserting that “they did not ask God sincerely for food, nor wait to see whether or not he would provide it.”  Regarding v 21′s statement that the Israelites did not believe in God, the Orthodox Jewish Artscroll commentary states that the issue is not belief, for the Israelites in the wilderness knew that God exists, since they saw his activity on their behalf.  Rather, they were failing to apply their knowledge by trusting God.

Often in Christian circles, I have heard that it is acceptable for us to be honest in our prayers to God—-to share with God what we are truly feeling: the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Christians are told that they can even express to God their anger towards him, for God is big enough to take it.  After all, was not the Psalmist honest with God when he expressed his anger with God and his impatience at God’s apparent reluctance to act?

But were not the Israelites being honest with God when they asked if God were able to furnish a table in the wilderness, when they were frustrated and impatient, when God appeared to be slow to act on their behalf?  And, while they knew that God existed and saw his wonders, should they be faulted for being deluded in their hunger and for wondering if God could truly turn a barren land like the wilderness into a table?  Sure, they technically should have known that God was able to do so, but it’s quite a feat!  Moreover, they knew that God existed, but how could they be sure that God would provide for them in the future?  In a sense, they were called upon to have faith in the unseen, for the future is unseen.

And what does Psalm 78:18-22 have to do with us?  Granted, the Israelites could arguably be faulted for not trusting God after God had displayed his wonders on their behalf, but what about those of us who live in a time when it’s uncertain whether or not God even exists, when some can attribute their “blessings” to luck rather than to God’s provision?  Can we really be faulted for lacking faith?

I think that Augustine and Tate would say that there was a difference between the Psalmist and those who wrestle with their faith, on the one hand, and the Israelites in the wilderness, on the other hand.  The Israelites in the wilderness were incessant in their negative carping against God.  They lacked gratitude.  They lacked humility.  That’s different from desiring God’s presence and goodness and being upset when those things are delayed.  While I’m having a hard time coming up with the words to express why the complaining Psalmist was okay whereas the Israelites in the wilderness were wrong, I have a sense that there is a difference between being a desperate petitioner and being a brat.

2.  Psalm 78:38-39 states: “But he, [being] full of compassion, forgave [their] iniquity, and destroyed [them] not: yea, many a time turned he his anger away, and did not stir up all his wrath.  For he remembered that they [were but] flesh; a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again.”  The note for this verse in The Jewish Study Bible says, “Clearly this author, as is typical of the biblical period, does not believe in resurrection.”  

How do interpreters who believe in the resurrection handle this verse?  Theodore of Mopsuestia and Augustine interpret it to mean that human beings by their own power are incapable of rising from the dead, but that God can raise them up by his power.  The problem with this interpretation is that the verse does not appear to discuss human capability, but rather says that people pass away and do not return.  The Midrash on the Psalms denies that the verse negates the resurrection, for its point (according to the Midrash) is that the evil inclination does not return to people when they are resurrected.

I wonder if there are other ways to get around the apparent denial of the resurrection in Psalm 78:39.  Could the rabbinic tradition that the generation in the wilderness has no place in the World to Come be relevant (see here and here), since Psalm 78:38-39 is about the wilderness generation?  I guess that depends on whether or not the Israelite generation would be resurrected before being denied a place in the World to Come!  Could one argue that Psalm 78:39 is saying that people pass away and do not return as they were before, but in a glorious state?  I’ve not encountered these last two interpretations, but I’m curious as to whether or not interpreters went these routes.  (See here for how Pope Gregory handled passages in Job that appear to deny the resurrection.)

I think that the point of Psalm 78:38-39 is that God had mercy on the wilderness generation because he recognized that their life was short.  Perhaps one can derive a lesson from this: that we should cut ourselves and others some slack because life is short!  Personally, I draw comfort from the idea of an afterlife, but I believe that it’s important to see this present life as precious.

3.  Psalm 78:9 states: “The children of Ephraim, [being] armed, [and] carrying bows, turned back in the day of battle.”  There are numerous ideas about what this passage is referring to.  When did Ephraim turn back in the day of battle?  The view of Rashi and Radak is that the Ephraimites left Egypt prematurely—-before God performed his miracles—-and the outcome was that they were whipped by the people of Gath (see I Chronicles 7:21).  Perhaps Rashi and Radak thought this because v 9 precedes a discussion about the Exodus.  Others contend that Psalm 78:9 is about Ephraim murmuring at the Red Sea or on the outskirts of Canaan, when the Israelites were debating about whether or not to conquer the Promised Land (in Numbers 14).

Another view is that Psalm 78:9 refers to events in the time of the Judges.  Ephraim was a prominent tribe, and some have suggested that a reason that Israel lost battles so often in the Book of Judges is that Ephraim was holding Israel back, either through a lack of will to fight, or by disobeying God’s commandments and thus bringing a curse on Israel.  Some refer to specific incidents in Judges, such as the Ephraimites not helping Jephthah to fight the Ammonites in Judges 12, or the Ephraimites bringing idolatry to Israel in Judges 17-18.

Others apply Psalm 78:9 to events in I Samuel.  I Samuel 4:10 states that men fled during a battle with the Philistines, and another view says that the Ephraimites could have chickened out during the Battle of Gilboa in I Samuel 31, the battle that cost Saul his life.  In favor of the I Samuel 4 interpretation is that Psalm 78 culminates in the loss of the Ark of the Covenant, which occurred in I Samuel 4.

Others have related Psalm 78:9 to the North seceding from the South during the time of Rehoboam and Jeroboam.  I’m not entirely certain what this has to do with Ephraim turning back in the day of battle.  In I Kings 12 and II Chronicles 11, Rehoboam and Jeroboam almost get into a battle, and the result is that Jeroboam’s Northern Kingdom survives and moves forward.  Could that be what Psalm 78:9 means when it says that Ephraim turned back in the day of battle: that the battle did not occur, and so Jeroboam could uphold Northern Israel’s secession (turning back) from Judah?

Another view is that Psalm 78:9 is about the destruction of Northern Israel in 722 B.C.E.

There are probably positives and negatives to each interpretation.  Marvin Tate even speculates that Psalm 78 is aware of a tradition that is lost to us!  In any case, the goal of Psalm 78 in its references to Ephraim is most likely to elevate the South above the North. 

Abiding and Answered Prayer

At church this morning, the theme was prayer.  The pastor was commenting on John 15:7, which states (in the KJV): “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.”

My pastor was saying what I’ve heard a lot of Christians say: that John 15:7 does not mean that God gives us everything we ask for, but rather that abiding in Christ influences us to desire and to ask for the right things, and God grants us those things. 

But this sort of spiel does not resonate with me, for it strikes me as an escape clause: If you did not get what you want, that’s due to you wanting the wrong things because you don’t sufficiently abide in Christ.  (My pastor did not say that, but I feel that conditioning answered prayer on abiding in Christ can eventually go in that direction.)  Consequently, if, say, you’re praying for a loved-one to recover from an illness, and the loved-one dies, are you supposed to blame yourself for the loved-one’s death, since God may not have answered your prayer due to your poor spiritual condition?  I hope God’s not like that!

Moreover, what exactly is the “right thing” to pray for?  I think that it’s appropriate to pray for a job or for healing, for oneself or others.  A person who abides in Christ can do this, as can one with a weak spiritual condition.  I think that a person who abides in Christ would actually be encouraged by her faith to do so, since Christianity teaches compassion for others.  So why would God choose not to grant such a petition?  In my opinion, it can’t be because such requests do not flow from Christ-like desires, for they do.

One may say that God knows best.  Fine.  But, if God knows best and will do what he wants anyway, why does Jesus go out of his way to tell us that God will answer our requests?  Why should we even make requests, when God will do what he wants?

Do I think that God answers the prayers of people who are especially righteous?  I’ve thought about this issue a couple of times lately.  First, I was watching the episode of Highway to Heaven in which Dick Van Dyke plays a hobo named Wally who loves people and gives to them.  Because of Wally’s continuous concern for others, God considers him to be a saint, and God answers Wally’s prayer to heal a sick boy.  Second, I saw a movie (for the second time) entitled The Third Miracle, which is about a debate in the Catholic church about whether or not to declare a woman to be a saint.  Part of sainthood is being so close to God that God hears your prayers for others and answers them.  That’s presumably why there are many Catholics who ask saints to intercede for them.

I’d like to think that God honors a person who goes the extra mile in showing concern for other people.  Do I think that God hears her prayers over those of others?  Part of me hopes not.  I know I’m not perfect, but I would hope that God loves me and listens to my prayers, plus I would not want to carry around a load of guilt if my prayers were to go ungranted and bad things were to happen.

I liked something that my pastor said in the sermon: He told about a little boy who asked if it’s all right to talk to God, even if he doesn’t want God to do something for him.  The answer was absolutely!  That’s one reason I pray: for the company.

Adam Cartwright, Creating Identity, Not So Vague This Time, Prayer About Distractions

1.  I just watched the “In Memoriam” part of ABC’s This Week, and I learned that Adam from Bonanza died this week.  I always liked him because he was the level-headed, responsible Cartwright brother.  I preferred Michael Landon more in his Little House, Highway to Heaven, and Us roles. 

2.  Today, I’m going to combine my write-ups on my Ancient Israelite Religion reading and that of Theodore Mullen’s Ethnic Myths and Pentateuchal Foundations. 

In Ancient Israelite Religion, I read George E. Mendenhall’s “The Nature and Purpose of the Abraham Narratives.”  His thesis seems to be that the Davidic monarchy took over old traditions to create a “common ancestor” story, which would unite the estranged rural and urban areas of Israel.   

In Ethnic Myths and Pentateuchal Foundations, Mullen argues that Israel’s “history” was formed much later, in the exilic or (most likely, according to him) post-exilic period.  The exile threatened the Jews with assimilation and religio-cultural dissolution, so Judahite groups “compiled a past” that people identifying themselves with the group would embrace (71). 

The approaches of Mendenhall and Mullen are different.  Mendenhall thinks that the Abraham stories reflect Early-Middle Bronze language and ideas (e.g., possession of land).  Mullen, by contrast, argues against scholars who believe that the concept of Israelite tribes point to the ancient, pre-monarchical nature of certain Pentateuchal traditions, for he notes that modern anthropology has a concept of “retribalization,” which indicates that exilic writers could’ve come up with the idea of the tribes of Israel.

Mendenhall and Mullen date Pentateuchal narratives to different periods, but they agree on why they emerged: to give identity to an estranged people.

3.  In Reading Between Texts, I read David Penchansky’s “Staying the Night: Intertextuality in Genesis and Judges.”  On Friday, in my post, YHWH and His Asherah, Genesis 12 and 20 and the Reader, Samaritan Priestly-Line, under (2), I discussed another essay in that book, which talked about the wife-sister narratives in Genesis.  My problem with that essay was that it portrayed Abraham as a selfish jerk who devalued Sarah, when the ancients may not have viewed Abraham so negatively.  It’s possible that they did, but not certain.

Penchansky’s essay, however, acknowledges that there are a variety of ways to read the texts that he discusses, Genesis 19 and Judges 19.  In both stories, a man offers a woman he supposedly loves to thugs who want to rape him or his guests.  Penchansky states that he wants to go with the view that the man was wrong to do so, that he devalues women.  But he states that the ancients may not have read the text in the same way.  I don’t remember him making this point, but protecting one’s guests was important in the ancient Near East.

In this case, though, I’d say that the text stands with Penchansky.  In the Judges story, the tribes of Israel disapprove of the rape and murder of the man’s concubine, since that’s why they gather against Benjamin, which was harboring the thugs.  And the man who owned the concubine didn’t mention to the tribes that he handed her over to the thugs, probably because that would be embarrassing to him.  In many cases, there are different ways to read a text, and a variety of possible moral judgments that one can make about its characters.  For Judges 19, however, I think that the text disapproves of the man who handed over his concubine to the thugs.

4.  At Latin mass this morning, we had the priest who speaks about love.  He was encouraging us to spend ten minutes a day in prayer.  And, if our mind wanders, we should not worry, he said.  We should tell God what we’re thinking or what’s worrying us, and the distraction becomes a prayer.  I like that.  I don’t think prayer should just be talking about what’s on my mind from my day-to-day life, for it should also contemplate God.  But, in my opinion, it’s good to approach God as if he’s loving, cares about our problems, and invites us to find strength in him.

To Whom Do I Pray?

I read Randy Olds’ Praying To A Triune God this morning.  Randy Olds was once in the Armstrong movement, which believed that God was a family consisting of Father and Son.  Now, he’s a Trinitarian.  Soon after his conversion to Trinitarianism, he wondered what effect his new-found belief would have on his prayer life.  “To whom do I pray?” was the question he asked himself.

I’ve asked myself this same question many times during the years, and I’ve gotten different answers, from myself and from others.  There have been seasons in my life when I have prayed to Jesus, maybe because I pictured Jesus as the gentle shepherd whom Protestants liked to depict (an idea I did not get from my Armstrongite background), or I was drawn to Jesus the healer, or I liked the concept of an incarnate God experiencing suffering, rejection, and limitations like other human beings, myself included.  God the Father seemed to me to be too distant, too remote, too vague, and too firm!  He sent Jesus to suffer and die, but Jesus was the one who voluntarily came down to earth and laid down his life.  Jesus sacrificed himself for me!  I needed the sweet, sappy religion of non-Armstrongite Christianity, the sort that emphasized “JESUS!”  and plain old-fashioned “LOVE!”  You know, the sort of Christianity that Armstrongism liked to mock.

At other seasons in my life, I’ve had problems with praying to Jesus as if he were God, or God Number Two.  These have been the seasons in which I’ve been drawn to Judaism, with its belief that God is one.  In these times, I could identify with the Jews who had problems praying to a white Jesus with long brown hair and a beard as if he were the supreme God, especially those who were martyred for their belief in monotheism.  I was drawn to depictions of Jesus as a good Jew, who valued the Torah and believed in Israel’s shema, which affirmed that God is one.  This Jesus may have been an agent of God and a servant of God—even the Messiah.  But he was not the same as God.

Some people in my family believed we could pray to either God the Father or Jesus.  Others said we should pray to the Father only, yet do so in Jesus’ name.  People in my family who were in touch with their Jewish ancestry tended to recoil from praying to Jesus, preferring instead to pray to the Father.

One thing I liked about Randy Olds’ post is that he gives Scriptural evidence that the believer can pray to Jesus.  He states:

“Regarding praying directly to Jesus, in John 14:13-14 Jesus tells His disciples that whatever they ask Him in His Name he will grant, but then in John 16:23-24 He tells the disciples that whatever they ask the Father in Jesus name will be granted. In 2 Corinthians 12:8, Paul apparently pleaded directly to Jesus to have the Thorn in His flesh removed. The grammar in 1 John 5:11-15 seems to imply that whenever we ask anything of the Son, He hears us. Another passage of interest regarding praying directly to Jesus is found in Acts 7:59-60 when Stephen was stoned, and he cried out “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!” Although not conclusive, I think that the majority of these scriptures would indicate that praying directly to Jesus is supported, and I can find no scripture directly advising against it.”

I wonder if James McGrath addresses these verses in his book, The One True God, for one of his arguments is that the New Testament does not advocate praying to Jesus, since only God should be the recipient of prayers.   

In terms of whom I talk to nowadays in my prayers, I guess I talk to both the Father and Christ.  Sometimes, I introduce my prayer with “Father,” and I end up talking to Jesus somewhere in the middle!  My Christology is a little murky these days, in the sense that I’m somewhat of a unitarian, yet I still believe that Jesus is a divine sort of figure, who represents God the Father and possesses many of his characteristics.  Jesus as an expression of the Father’s wisdom makes sense to me right now, in light of Proverbs 8:22ff. and early Christian thinkers such as Justin Martyr and Tertullian: God has wisdom, and he fashioned that wisdom into a separate being, the Logos, who created the universe and later became Jesus Christ. 

But my Christology is not set in stone, for I can spot problems in it.  What’s it do to God’s claim that he alone stretched out the heavens (Isaiah 44:24)?  Does a denial that Jesus is eternal God entail treating him as a creature, meaning that praying to him is worshipping the creature rather than the creator (Romans 1:25)?  But, wait a second, Jesus as Logos was the creator (John 1; Colossians 1:16; Hebrews 1:2)!  Yet, Philo called the Logos created and uncreated, affirmed he was the creator, called the Logos a “second God,” and yet also believed in one true God.  So go figure!  If a first century thinker such as Philo could simultaneously hold all of these different ideas within his belief system, why couldn’t John, or the authors of Colossians and Hebrews?

But, at the present time, none of this really goes through my mind when I pray to Jesus.  For some reason, praying to a figure who hasn’t been around forever doesn’t make much sense to me.  But I still pray to Jesus at times, thinking mostly about his earthly ministry, his role as a good shepherd, and his activity as my personal savior, cleansing me from sin and its penalty.

Philo on Gentiles Keeping the Law, Maximus on Prayer

1. Jennifer M. Dines, The Septuagint (New York: T&T Clark, 2004) 65.

Borgen links Philo’s approach to the LXX with his eschatology (cf. De Vita Mosis 2.44).  The Jews, Philo claims, are destined to become world-leaders not by force (he is perhaps thinking of the failed Jewish uprising following the death of Caligula in 41 CE, though he does not say so), but by their God-given laws—and the prosperity gained through keeping them—which will lead to universal conversion.

Did God expect all the nations to observe the Torah that he gave to Israel?  In Life of Moses 2.44, the Hellenistic Jew Philo believes that God did, for Philo hoped that all the nations would recognize the wisdom of Israel’s law and join themselves to the Jewish people.

Overall, the view of rabbinic Judaism was quite different, for it held that Jews had to observe the entire Torah, whereas Gentiles only had to obey the seven Noachide commandments, which were against murder, idolatry, sexual immorality, eating blood, and other things.  At the same time, there are times when rabbinic literature ascribes a universality to the Torah, asserting that it was the blueprint with which God created the universe, that God offered it to all the nations of the world (who rejected it) before he finally gave it to Israel, and that God revealed the Torah in a no-man’s land (the desert) so that no nation would be able to lay sole claim to it.

A professor of mine said that the rabbis didn’t believe Gentiles had to observe the Torah, but that they could still draw from its wisdom.  This reminds me of a discussion I had a while back on the blog, “As Bereans Did,” under x-HWA’s post, “Common Legalist Arguments – Part IV”.  The writers there believe that God only gave the law to Israel, as part of his covenant with that specific nation.  That means God never intended the Gentiles to observe it.  When I asked them to explain passages in which Paul appeals to the Torah as an authority (e.g., I Corinthians 9:9; Ephesians 6:2), Luc replied as follows: I am under the law of the USA which says murder is a crime; I’m not under the law of Great Britain, however its law says that murder is a crime also. I might reference the law of Great Britain as a valid example of a law that is civilized and facilitates an orderly humane society without being subject to it (because I live in the USA).  For Luc (if I understand him correctly), even though Christians are not under the Old Testament law, they can still reference it because it contains good stuff, coming from God and all. 

I think that God wanted the Gentiles to learn from Israel’s laws.  Deuteronomy 4:6-8 states:

You must observe them diligently, for this will show your wisdom and discernment to the peoples, who, when they hear all these statutes, will say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and discerning people!” For what other great nation has a god so near to it as the LORD our God is whenever we call to him? And what other great nation has statutes and ordinances as just as this entire law that I am setting before you today?

At the same time, God didn’t expect the Gentiles to observe all of the laws that the Israelites kept.  Deuteronomy 14:21 states: You shall not eat anything that dies of itself; you may give it to aliens residing in your towns for them to eat, or you may sell it to a foreigner. For you are a people holy to the LORD your God.

But could it be that God didn’t expect the Gentiles to obey the law then because Israel was his holy people, or the Gentiles did not have the same light that the Israelites did in that stage of God’s revelatory history?  There are passages that suggest that Gentiles will one day observe institutions that are Israelite, such as the Sabbath (Isaiah 56; 66:23) and the Feast of Tabernacles (Zechariah 14:16-19).  Was there an expectation among some prophets that the nations would convert to Judaism, the same view that Philo had centuries later?

Still, from a Christian perspective, Acts 15 appears to say that the Gentiles are not required to observe all of the Torah.

For an interesting take on this issue, see John Valade’s The Law, the Covenants, and the Lord Jesus.

2.  Michael B. Trapp, “Philosophical Sermons: The ‘Dialexeis of Maximus of Tyre,” ANRW II.34.3, p. 1956.

According to Trapp, Maximus of Tyre (second century C.E.) had the following thoughts about prayer:

[M]oral worth, not prayer, determines the bestowal of blessings by the gods.  [T]he factors governing the things men pray for are: Providence, Fate, Chance, Skill.  Providence is unaffected by prayer.  Fate is unaffected by prayer.  Chance is unaffected by prayer.  [P]rayer is superfluous to the workings of human skill.  [P]etitionary prayer is superfluous in all circumstances.  [T]rue (philosophical) prayer is of a different kind: witness Socrates and Pythagoras.

Maximus doesn’t appear to have that high of an opinion about prayer!  Or, if he supports prayer, it isn’t the type that’s all about “gimme, gimme, gimme.”

Some of what he says overlaps with the Bible.  The part about the gods blessing people on the basis of their morality rather than their prayers resembles the Bible’s declarations that God desires mercy and not sacrifice, which includes the prophetic condemnation of those who worship God while they have blood on their hands.  Moreover, the Bible talks about knowing God, which may be similar to the philosophical prayer that Maximus likes.

But there are clear differences as well.  Prayers in the Bible often ask God to intervene in the course of human events: to heal, to restore Israel, to deliver a person from his enemies, to give a barren woman a child, or to provide a person with food.  Worship can exist without morality, for the prophets condemn the Israelites for that.  But there’s also a sense in which prayer itself can be construed as moral: it’s an expression of our dependence on God, and it presents God with an opportunity to manifest himself and to glorify his name.  There’s a certain humility that can accompany prayer. 

Maximus says that the gods bless people for morality and not for prayer.  I’m sure God likes it when people are moral, but would he want for people to bypass the relationship with him that’s developed and cultivated through prayer? 

Sensitive Holy Spirit

In II Hermas 5, the divine messenger tells Hermas that the Holy Spirit won’t dwell in a person who’s bitter and angry. The Holy Spirit is sensitive and gentle, after all, so he can’t inhabit the same place as a rancorous spirit! And anger mixed with forebearance makes a person’s prayer unacceptable to God.

I don’t like this part of Hermas! The reason is that I myself am bitter about many things. I’d like to think that God reaches out to me in compassion when I’m angry, rather than standing aloof on account of my human frailties. And why’s the Holy Spirit have to leave because I’m not perfect? Isn’t he powerful enough? Christians are told to love (or at least tolerate) complete jerks. Why can’t the Holy Spirit?

Hermas reminds me of a book I read by Charles Haddon Spurgeon several years ago: The Saint and His Savior. I love Spurgeon’s sermons, but I hated that book! It reeked of “A true Christian should feel this, and not that,” and I found that I didn’t feel the way Spurgeon wanted. I vaguely recall a few passages in which he said that the Holy Spirit could leave if a person didn’t do such-and-such, which was strange, considering Spurgeon embraced Calvinism precisely because it says God’s grace is constant for the elect, not dependant on our emotions. So the book was not all that comforting!

At the same time, I can somewhat understand the point Hermas and Spurgeon are trying to make. For one, God is a gentleman. He’s not going to force himself on people. I like that, especially since I hate the way some Christians try to shove their religion down people’s throats. So, if the Holy Spirit is definitely not wanted, why should he stay?

Second, the Holy Spirit can have a fuller influence if we’re not contaminated with bitterness and anger–if we instead rejoice in God and his goodness.

Personally, I’m not going to stop praying just because I have bitterness. I pray to God because I’m imperfect, not because I always feel the right way. And there have been times when God has reached out to me in the midst of my rants, like he’s saying, “Now, here’s something constructive to think about.”

II Hermas 6 is more understanding of human flaws, in my opinion, for there the divine messenger says that Hermas has both the works of the gentle angel of righteousness, and also those of the wicked angel of iniquity. Hermas is exhorted to embrace the angel of righteousness. It’s like my Grandpa Pate has said, we need to yield to that right spirit!

ACTS in Prayer

I’m reading Victor Kuligin’s Ten Things I Wish Jesus Never Said. On some level, it’s like Hard Sayings of Jesus and Hard Sayings of the New Testament: it tries to explain away Jesus’ really difficult sayings (e.g., hate your parents, cut off your arm, pluck out your eyes, etc.). At the same time, after I read Kuligin’s explanations, my reaction usually was: “So that’s what Jesus wants us to do? That sounds so hard! I don’t want to do that.” Living a Christian life can be pretty challenging, even if we don’t take all of Jesus’ commands literally.

Kuligin really convicted me on prayer. So much of my prayer life consists of grumbling against God. Of course, I meditate on Scripture too, and there are times when God uses that to transform my attitude. For example, I was recently walking in the blistering heat, and I was complaining to God about my sad, sorry life. Then, my mind turned to Luke 9:49-50, in which the disciples tell Jesus about someone who was casting out demons in Jesus’ name. That man was not a part of their group, so they were wondering whether or not to stop him. Jesus responded, “Do not stop him; for whoever is not against you is for you” (NRSV).

Jesus wanted people to be free from oppression. Being inhabited by a demon is not fun, I’m sure! I learned that from a Touched by an Angel episode, “The Occupant.” It’s even scarier on The Exorcist! And Jesus welcomed someone who joined him in releasing people from all that. The disciples were thinking about their group: who was on the inside, and who was on the outside. Jesus was thinking about other people. He wanted them to be free–clothed and in their right minds (Mark 5:15; Luke 8:35).

I’m glad God used that passage to communicate Jesus’ character to me. But my prayers are still pretty selfish! I can glorify Jesus now that I see something glorious about him, but a huge part of me sees my quiet times as a form of self-medication, or as a way to become smarter, or as a means of entertainment.

And there’s nothing wrong with that, since the Psalmist expressed pleasure in studying God’s word. But I shouldn’t see myself solely as a God-consumer. “God, I’m dissatisfied with you because my life is this way! Why’d you allow me to be born with Asperger’s? I’m putting down ‘dissatisfied’ on my customer service survey!” “Okay, I’m here, Lord. Feed me, feed me, feed me! I want to be inspired! Some entertainment will help, too. And I’d also like some good ideas for my blog. Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee!”

In his prayer life, Kuligin uses an approach called ACTS: Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication. He states:

“ACTS…helps me to admit I am a sinner. I do not come to God with demands, calling him to task when he does not respond in the way I have predetermined. Instead, I come recognizing I am a beggar in need of mercy, grace, and guidance. When I make my confession before God, I admit my spiritual destitution and poverty. Without such an attitude, we can hardly expect God to answer our arrogant prayers. We must profess our dependance on him. Only then is his ear attentive to our petitions and requests” (217).

I heard of ACTS before. I once attended an evangelical Bible study, and we were praying within the ACTS paradigm. It seemed so artificial! I wanted to pray from the heart, not conform to a rigid pattern. Plus, the person in the group who proposed this model went on to become an atheist. “So much for empty formality,” I thought.

And, for a while, ACTS will probably be a formality to me, without a whole lot of feeling accompanying it. For some time in my prayer life, I tried to use a pattern: I’d thank God for three things, pray for three people, and make three supplications. But I eventually stopped doing that. It seemed like a ritual.

But, now, I find that I complain too much in my prayers. I don’t adore God that much. ACTS may be what I need to do in my prayers. Sure, there’s a place for speaking from my heart, but I also should get my mind off myself, once in a while.

As far as “confession” goes, I probably won’t do it the way most Christians think I should: confess a sin, and then stop doing it. Would be that I could erase pride, lust, hatred, greed, and unforgiveness from my mind! But I can confess to God that my condition is fallen and that I need his help to change. I am a beggar, after all! And that’s much better than me acting as if I’m above God, as if I’m in a position to dictate to him what he should do.

Reflections on Malachi

For my daily quiet time this morning, I was meditating on Malachi 3:16: “Then those who revered the LORD spoke with one another. The LORD took note and listened, and a book of remembrance was written before him of those who revered the LORD and thought on his name” (NRSV).

I’ve heard pastors use this verse to club introverts over the head. “You’re supposed to fellowship with other believers. After all, Malachi says that those who revered the LORD spoke often with one another. So who cares if you’re an introvert? God wants you to be a super-happy extrovert.”

But, today, I want to look beyond whatever hurt this verse (or, rather, a certain application of it) has caused me and look at how it helps me understand the entire book of Malachi. Also, this morning’s quiet time has shed some light on another issue that has troubled me over the years.

Why does Malachi emphasize that those who revered the LORD spoke often with one another? Like a lot of commentators, I read Malachi 3:16 in light of Malachi 3:13-15:

“You have spoken harsh words against me, says the LORD. Yet you say, ‘How have we spoken against you?’ You have said, ‘It is vain to serve God. What do we profit by keeping his command or by going about as mourners before the LORD of hosts? Now we count the arrogant happy; evildoers not only prosper, but when they put God to the test they escape.’”

Incidentally, this passage has also been used to club me over the head. One time, I was getting into a debate with a Calvinist lady. I was struggling with the problem of evil and the Calvinist portrayal of God, which doesn’t exactly present him as all that loving (in my opinion). She replied that Malachi 3:16 applies to people like me: those who question God. She seemed to imply that I should stop asking questions and just have faith.

I then pointed out that there are godly people in the Bible who question God and wrestle with the way he does things. God was about to wipe out Sodom, and Abraham questioned if God would be just to destroy the righteous with the wicked. When God threatened to annihilate Israel because of the Golden Calf incident, Moses disagreed with him. The Psalmist often complains about God’s failure to stop evildoers. Don’t question? Apparently, there were biblical figures who never heard of that rule.

I’ve often heard that I should be honest with God, even if that involves expressing my problems with him. When I was growing up in the Armstrongite movement, one preacher I really enjoyed was Ron Dart. He said, “One thing you can say about the Psalmist, it is that his prayer was honest. If you hate God, then you’d might as well tell him, because he already knows.” And that is the sort of advice that I’m getting from Philip Yancey’s Prayer: Does It Make a Difference?

But here’s my struggle: There are times when people in the Bible do question God, and they get punished as a result. For example, in Numbers 13-14, the Israelites weep because there are giants in the land of Canaan and they are reluctant to conquer it. God punishes them with forty years in the wilderness and the promise that they will never see the land. “But not everybody has strong faith,” I thought. “I’d be scared too! What was wrong with them being honest with God about their fears? Aren’t we supposed to be honest?”

And, in Malachi, God expresses clear disapproval with what many Israelites are saying. “God doesn’t love me.” “There’s no point to serving God.” “God gives the wicked a free ride.” But weren’t they just being honest, like the Psalmist? Not everyone has pious thoughts and feelings.

The problem in both cases was that the impious thoughts were leading to impious deeds. The Psalmist may have struggled with God, but he remained committed to righteousness. He also had some hope that his prayers would move God to act, or at least alter his (the Psalmist’s) attitude in a righteous direction. But the wilderness generation and the Israelites of Malachi’s day were succumbing to total despair, with the result that they were ditching God. The Israelites of the wilderness generation were eager to abandon God’s very purpose for their lives, for they were gathering up a captain to lead them back into Egypt. And the Israelites of Malachi’s day were putting themselves ahead of God. The priests took the best meat for themselves, while giving God the defective animals. The Israelites did not give God their tithes and their offerings. They also were leaving their Israelite spouses to go after idolatrous foreign women. And sorcery, adultery, lying, and oppression of the weak were rampant throughout the land.

There is a difference between having a faith that struggles and seeks understanding, and not having faith at all. When questioning God leads to utter faithlessness or immorality, then it becomes problematic.

Where am I in all of this? My readers probably know that I have a lot of questions about evangelical Christianity, not to mention a significant amount of bitterness against it. The Israelites of Malachi’s day were becoming lax in their service of God, and I will admit that I am rather lax as well. I am not active in church activities. I don’t belong to an evangelical small group. I no longer participate in campus Christian events.

But, to be honest, I didn’t really enjoy these things when I was doing them. Sure, I liked a lot of the people in the churches and small groups that I attended. But I wasn’t that big on participating in all these activities. When I was at Harvard, I helped organize this Praise Night. I hated doing that. I preferred to stay at home and read my devotional literature.

Do I witness? Well, it depends on what you mean by “witnessing.” I no longer tell people, “If you don’t believe in Jesus, then you will go to hell.” I don’t act as if my Christian faith is perfect, like I have no struggles with it whatsoever. Sure, there is biblical justification for that form of evangelism, but I can’t pretend anymore. I’m tired of reading a script. But I do witness in this sense: I am on a spiritual journey, and I share that journey with other people. There are many times when I do this on my blog, since I have difficulties in my personal interaction with others. But I have also done so on a more personal level. My spiritual journey consists of this: I try to believe in a loving God who is continually working on me. God wants me to have love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, generosity, faith, and all sorts of other positive attributes. I still have a long way to go, but God offers me encouragement and wisdom on my journey. And there may be times when he gives me some nugget that can help somebody else.

And there may be times when God wants me to step outside of my comfort zone. At this one meeting that I attend, I always have to chair. I walk in, and there is the notebook sitting right in front of where I normally sit. I think, “Man! I don’t want to do this!” And the people there know that I don’t want to do it. I’d much rather sit in the background and listen to others talk. But I don’t really serve at the meeting in any other way (e.g., making coffee), and so I’d might as well do it. I don’t like doing it, but it is an opportunity to serve.

But this is God gently pushing me into an activity. It’s not me feeling that I have to be a total extrovert and activist on a 24-7 basis, as some preachers seem to assume. I’m not asking “What would Jesus do?” as if I always have to be perfect. Rather, God is helping me to grow, and I am cooperating with what he is doing. My cooperation is sometimes good, sometimes not so good. But God will not give up on me, and that gives me assurance.

And that’s the difference between me and those who totally ditch God: I thirst for God and the life that he offers. I just get impatient with him and life. But I crave inner peace and the attributes that God wants me to have.

Of course, I need to make sure that my grumbling against God does not lead to ditching him totally. But, at the moment, I am like the Psalmist in the sense that I desire God’s love and favor, even while I am complaining against him.

Let’s come back now to Malachi 3:16. Israelite society is saying that there is no point to serving God, since God doesn’t care for people anyway. The result is selfishness and immorality throughout the land. But God’s people continually tell each other that serving God has its rewards. They say that God is loving and notices all of the good things that the righteous are doing, as well as their avoidance of moral evil (which is difficult in a sinful society). They encourage one another in the faith.

I’ve been blessed by people who have encouraged me in the faith, who tell me that God loves me and has a plan for my life. I have problems doing that myself, but there is one thing I can do if I don’t feel like making pious statements: I can pray for other people. Prayer is actually making a statement about God. It says that he exists, and that there’s a good chance he loves us enough to listen and answer. Prayer, even prayer that rants and raves, contains some basis of faith.

My One Problem So Far with Philip Yancey

I may eventually write a book review on Philip Yancey’s Prayer: Does It Make a Difference? Nothing for publication, of course. It would mainly be for this blog and perhaps Printnpost and Helium. But there was something I read last night that bugged me.

Let me give you some background. I like Philip Yancey because he is honest about his theological struggles. He really wrestles with the Christian faith, yet he is a firm believer. His books have given me a lot of solace over the years.

Well, I was really enjoying his book on prayer, until I got to page 225:

“I cannot say to my neighbor, ‘I love you and enjoy spending time with you, but I hate your stupid dog and keep those bratty kids out of my yard, will you?’ How I treat what belongs to my neighbor affects how he receives my love. The same applies to God: how I treat God’s creation, God’s children, will determine in part how God receives my prayers and my worship.”

But I feel this way a lot of times. I try to love God, but I don’t care for a lot of Christians. And I don’t like everything in the world the way that it is.

Do I like being in that state of mind? No. I wish I were better at loving and accepting people. I wish that I had more peace, with myself and with others. I would certainly feel a lot better if that were the case!

Ordinarily, Philip Yancey advocates being honest with God. That’s what I like about most of his book on prayer. He says that we should be transparent. We should tell God how we feel, even if our emotions are not particularly Christ-like. He talks about people who hated God but came to love him after wrestling with him in prayer. He criticizes fake piety–praying about things that we don’t care deeply about, yet we feel that we should pray about them to make God happy (e.g., world peace). For Yancey, there are times when we should actually pray about the trivial things that distract us, since that can at least help us identify what’s important to us at this stage of our spiritual development. Then, God can speak to us where we are.

In one part of his book, he says he often wonders if he is pure enough to pray. Then, he realizes that he will never become pure if he doesn’t pray, and so he prays even though he is not pure. That’s pretty much how I look at it.

Yancey also is not overly rigid about prayer. He doesn’t say (at least not so far), “You should pray in this exact way, at this exact time.” He realizes that people are different, and so approaches to prayer will vary from person to person.

And, in his other books, Yancey has expressed his problems with Christians, particularly the rigid fundamentalist ones he knew in his youth.

So why can’t I tell God that I have problems with his kids and his dog? Can’t I be honest? Of course I wouldn’t say that to my next door neighbor, since my relationship with him or her is rather superficial. But, in a deep relationship–the type that we should be having with God–I should be able to tell him anything, whether or not it is religiously or morally correct. I should let God know where I am.