ROMANS: A Potter and His Clay (part one)

It is very important that we cover the conversation about predestination before moving on because the entire topic seems to cloud our ability to read Romans 9–11 in context. Once we begin the Calvinism/Arminianism debate, we completely lose sight of the purpose of the letter to the Romans and what Paul has been talking about since the beginning of the letter!

Let us remind ourselves, Paul has been building a very reasoned, logical, systematic case for the acceptance of a “blended family” of God. This family is struggling to figure out the place of new Gentile converts, mature Gentile believers, and the Jewish presence which serves as the root of this community. Paul has argued that we are all a part of this family because of this faith that saves us. It is by the exact same faith that every single member of God’s family is justified and declared righteous before him. It is this justification which sets us free and does not allow condemnation to reign in any form in our hearts.

But this is a hard truth for Paul’s main Jewish audience (remember, Paul has already made multiple comments about his audience being people who are trained in the Law, as well as another comment coming up in chapter 11). This idea of the Gentiles being included and swept up by this scandalous grace would be a hard truth to swallow — not impossible, but difficult. To this audience, Paul continues:

I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit—that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, my kinsmen according to the flesh. They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises. To them belong the patriarchs, and from their race, according to the flesh, is the Christ, who is God over all, blessed forever. Amen.

Paul’s heart is full of love and breaks over his Jewish brethren who struggle to accept this gospel as they try to lead this new church. (Please, let us remind ourselves not to beat up  “those silly Jews” and to identify with the fact that those of us who are “well-seasoned believers” in the church fit in this same seat and struggle with the same things.) He breaks into a poetic benediction about the blessing of being God’s b’hor and the special calling they’ve had for centuries. It is their story to live and to tell! It’s their family, their adoption, their covenants, their law, their Text, their lineage, and their Messiah whom we speak of now!

But it is not as though the word of God has failed. For not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel, and not all are children of Abraham because they are his offspring, but “Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.” This means that it is not the children of the flesh who are the children of God, but the children of the promise are counted as offspring. For this is what the promise said: “About this time next year I will return, and Sarah shall have a son.” And not only so, but also when Rebekah had conceived children by one man, our forefather Isaac, though they were not yet born and had done nothing either good or bad—in order that God’s purpose of election might continue, not because of works but because of him who calls—she was told, “The older will serve the younger.” As it is written, “Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.”

I like the translation of the ESV here: “But it is not as though the word of God has failed…”  On the heels of this benediction, Paul says this is what the story of God has always been about. Going to the very beginning of the patriarchs and the founding of this family, Paul points out that God has always chosen to work through promise to bring the unlikely and the outsider in. Not only does He work through the b’hor, but He also works through the barren and the second-born as well.

Paul’s heart breaks for his people and he rejoices in their story — their story! But it is their story that is meant to point to the very struggle they are having.

It is usually at this point where everyone begins to lose their minds as Bible interpreters. Being all worked up about predestination, we immediately begin focusing our attention on God’s rejection, rather than the point of Paul’s (what I believe is obvious) argument! While we tend to focus on “Esau I hated,” what we lose in the theological jostling is the fact that Paul is talking about whom God accepts, not whom God rejects!

This entire argument is about Paul pleading with his Jewish brethren to accept the truth that God wants to show kindness to their Gentile counterparts. This passage isn’t being quoted because of Esau; it’s being quoted because of God’s choosing to validate his promises and work through Jacob. It is not about God’s rejection, but God’s compassion. This should be abundantly clear from the next paragraph:

What shall we say then? Is there injustice on God’s part? By no means! For he says to Moses, “I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.”

Paul asks the Jewish audience if this inclusion of the Gentiles is unfair. By no means! For God gets to show kindness to anyone He desires. Notice that the quotation says nothing about rejection, only acceptance, mercy, and compassion. It is God’s prerogative to decide who gets to receive His kindness.

So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, “For this very purpose I have raised you up, that I might show my power in you, and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.” So then he has mercy on whomever he wills, and he hardens whomever he wills.

Again, we are usually so quick to run to God’s rejection, God’s hardening of Pharaoh’s heart, that we miss the greater point of Paul’s argument. Paul has just finished saying exactly what he said earlier in the letter. Man is not dependent on his own efforts to find God’s mercy and grace. This justification and acceptance comes from faith and is a reality because of the mercy of God.

If one remembers, they might think back to our conversation about God hardening Pharaoh’s heart and how it showed God’s relentless pursuit of those who might reject him. This passage isn’t speaking about God deciding who gets in and who is left out! This passage is pleading with all the folks who think they are “IN” to consider the kindness, the mercy, the reckless pursuit of a God who desires to bless all nations!

But this conversation isn’t over yet.

B'hor in a Box (part two)

** It bears repeating at the beginning of this second post that much of this teaching has been heavily influenced by Rabbi David Fohrman's teachings on the Exodus and Passover.

For anyone reading my blog for the first time, you will want to catch “B'hor in a Box (Part One)” as precursor to this post.

So we've established at this point that the Passover is somehow a connection to the Joseph story and that the Joseph story is really just a retelling of the Jacob story.  But what does Jacob and/or Joseph have to do with how you eat the Passover meal?  And what in the world did this have to do with the little black boxes known as tefillin?

Well, one would want to stop and contemplate the similarities of the Jacob and Joseph stories and what it is that ties these two stories together.  In essence, where is Genesis headed as it tells the story?  For one, it was easy to track along with Genesis' initial trajectory.  The “preface” (Gen. 1–11) had set the stage and invited us to reframe how we see the world.  God had invited us to trust the good story that He was telling in creation.  We then met Abram and even Isaac who showed us, albeit a terrible struggle at times, what it looks like to lean into trust.  We can track with the story at that point.

But with Jacob, everything seems to change.  No longer is the “model pupil” the one that the promise follows.  Instead of the “good ol' boy” Esau being the child of promise, we find that the sneaky little usurper, Jacob, gets the tap from Coach.  What in the world is going on here?

And just like every other time in which we run into a question that bothers us, we find some clues lying in the text.

It's actually in this very struggle that we find the ties that pull the Jacob and Joseph stories together.  You see, both stories are about children of promise that want to be the firstborn — but are not.  As much as Jacob wants to be Isaac's firstborn, he is not.  Even if he obtains the birthright and deceives his father into giving Jacob his blessing, he is not the firstborn.  The role of the firstborn is an important responsibility in the ancient culture.  The b'hor (the Hebrew word for “firstborn”) is the one who is responsible for taking the father's value and passing it on to his siblings.  He gets a double portion of blessing (if there are five sons, the estate is split six ways and the b'hor gets two; if there are two sons, the estate is split three ways and the b'hor gets two; etc.), but he also carries a double portion of responsibility for the entire patriarchal household.  It is the b'hor's responsibility, upon his father's death, to provide for the entire mishpucha (household).  Jacob wants to be the b'hor, but he is not.

This is repeated in Joseph.  Jacob will take two wives after being beaten at his own game of trickery.  He wanted to marry Rachel, but was given Leah first.  Even after Leah bears Jacob sons, it is Rachel that continues to have Jacob's favor.  When Rachel finally gives Jacob a son, this is the one whom Jacob favors.  Even though Jacob already HAS a firstborn son, he tries to make Joseph his firstborn son.  Father Jacob gives a special coat to his favorite son, Joseph.  There actually happens to be nothing special to the coat at all.  People have tried to make it a “colored” coat (which is not in the Text).  They've tried to make it a “striped” coat or even a “fine” coat.  The Text simply says that Jacob gives Joseph a “long-sleeved tunic”.

The kind of coat isn't the issue -— it's how many.  Every son is given a tunic from Dad.  But Joseph is given two.

And every brother hears Dad's message in perfect clarity: “Joseph is my b'hor.”

But no matter how hard Jacob tries to rewrite history, Joseph is not the b'hor.

Two stories.

Two children who want to be the b'hor, but are not.

It makes me think of the night that Jacob wrestled with God.  Refusing to let God (or the angel) go, God asks him, “What is your name?”  Which is a Jewish way of saying, “Who are you — really?”  And Jacob reveals that he is “the usurper”, Jacob.  That is who he is.  Always trying to obtain what isn't his.  But God will try to redefine Jacob.  Give him a new identity.  God will rename him Isra'el, hearkening him back to a time when he wrestled with God and emerged victorious.  You can almost hear God's invitation:

“Jacob, you aren't Isaac's firstborn.  But how about you come to be MY firstborn?”

And now, the Passover story comes full circle.  Where did the story awkwardly end in the middle of?  The plague of the b'hor.  What are the instructions surrounding Passover to remind you of?  The stories of b'hor.  In the first century, Rabbi Akiva made an interesting observation: as he translated the book of Exodus, he noted his disagreement with the way two verses were taught.  At first glance, the instructions of Exodus 12 appear to tell you to cook the goat “with the entrails still in it”...

Eww.

But Akiva said that isn't what the Hebrew meant at all.  In fact, the Hebrew phrase could be translated “with the insides inside”.  Akiva said that this meant you should cook the lamb with its head tucked between its hind legs.

In other words, in the fetal position.

But Akiva wasn't done.  He also said that we had a misunderstanding of the word “lentil” when the Israelites put the blood on the sides of the door and on the lentil.  Akiva said that the Hebrew word for lentil would mean the top AND bottom of the door.   Meaning that the blood went around the entire doorway.  What this would mean is that as Israel gathered that night to prepare for the great exodus, they were called to remember a story about firstborn children, to cook a lamb in the fetal position, and then to leave in haste through a bloody door.

And what image does one think of when they think of leaving in haste through a bloody door?

Birth.

I heard a rabbi, who doesn't believe in Jesus as Messiah, say, “Israel had to be born again.”  Interesting that Akiva, based in Capernaum, would have probably heard of that teaching from another Rabbi a generation before who had based Himself in Capernaum for three years…

Israel comes through the Red Sea having been born again as God's b'hor.  Their call will be to take the Father's values and pass them on to the rest of His children.  They will have a double portion of responsibility (They will have to carry Torah to the world.  We'll talk about that later.), but they will also have the double portion inheritance of being able to walk with God and see His work in the world firsthand.  They will be the keepers of the oracles of God.

That's why the firstborn donkey is in the little black box.
It's a little reminder of your call to be God's b'hor in the world.
To this day, Jews carry a great responsibility.  To show the world what God is like.

And for those of us who follow Jesus (though it seems like I shouldn't have to point this out), we too have been invited to be “born again”.  We too were called by Peter a “holy nation, a royal priesthood”.  We too are invited to be God's b'hor.  In Romans 11, Rabbi Paul told all the Gentiles that you have been mysteriously grafted into the Jewish tree.  It's not a new tree.  It's the same tree God planted with a man named Abram in the book of Genesis.  And yet, by grace, you are invited to take of the mantle of God's b'hor and spread Daddy's values to the rest of His children.

But it's always been one story.  God's always been up to one thing.  He's in the redemption business.
And, yet again, He's still looking for partners.

B'hor in a Box (part one)

Now, I'm really going to throw your chronological clocks for a loop, because in order to talk about Jacob AND Joseph, I actually want to talk about the Exodus.

I know, I'm sorry.

But there was a teaching that I once heard from Rabbi David Fohrman that has completely changed the way I read the stories of the patriarchs and has helped answer some of the questions that were raised for me in the stories of Jacob and Joseph.  If you can manage to put the playlist together in the right order, you can watch quite a collection of 10-minute YouTube videos here for Fohrman's teaching.  Also, my good buddy, Aaron Couch, has blogged about some of these ideas a few days ago, so he beat me to the punch.

We will be coming back to talk about other portions of the Exodus in the next few posts, but I'd like to take one aspect of the Passover and use it to frame our understanding of Genesis.

Fohrman, in typical rabbinic style, starts his teaching with a handful of questions.  Good Jewish thoughts always produce more questions than answers (and somewhere in the course of the wrestling [appropriate to Jacob] you feel like you have stumbled across an incredible treasure).  But one of his questions I found most peculiar to ask in light of the Exodus story.  Many orthodox Jews all around the world wear little black boxes attached to leather straps that are methodically wrapped around their arm every day called tefillin.  This is done in order to pursue the mitzvah (command) “fix these words of mine on your hearts… tie them as symbols on your hands...” found in Deuteronomy 6 and 11.  Inside these black boxes is a parchment that contains three mitzvoth: Shema (“Hear, O Israel…”), ve'ahavta (“You are to love the LORD your God…”) and the law of the broken-neck, firstborn donkey.


OK, that's weird.  The first two laws make some sense, but why in the world — out of all the 613 mitzvoth — would they choose the donkey law?

And so, without stopping to answer the question, the rabbi continues to look through the story of the Exodus.  Now, just a simple flipping through a cursory reading of the story of the Exodus produces a very interesting question.  We are told the story of the people of Israel under the oppression of the Egyptians.  Moses is call to be the deliverer and has his great confrontation with Pharaoh.  The conversation eventually leads to God dealing out ten plagues on the Egyptians.  And so we read about the Nile being turned to blood — and the frogs, the gnats, the flies, the livestock, the boils, the hail, the locust invasion, and the darkness.  Then we are told all about what is going to happen in plague number 10.  The death of the firstborn will be brought upon Egypt and all of Israel will be free to leave.  And then, right in the midst of that cliffhanger moment, with the violins beginning to swell…

We now interrupt this regular scheduled story to bring you an entire chapter devoted to the laws surrounding how you will eat the Passover meal for generations to come.

REALLY!?

Right there?  Not after you finish the story and tell us how it ends?  But RIGHT THERE?  A whole chapter of what seems like arbitrarily chosen rules.

And so, the rabbis begin digging throughout the ages and they ended up noticing some interesting things in the story of Exodus 12.  There were some interesting phrases that were chosen.  For example, the instructions tell you in the Hebrew to go and “draw out” a sheep from your flock.  Now, while that doesn't seem too odd at first, the rabbis noted that it wasn't the right word to use.  There are a handful of phrases that could be used to communicate the idea more naturally (let alone feel better, grammatically).   Why draw out?  And why did you have to eat the meal in a group — unable to eat it alone — with your staff in hand and your belt/robe on?  And why in the world did you have to roast your lamb in a pot without water?  Now, that's an odd mitzvah!

And then the rabbis read the part of the chapter where they dipped the hyssop in blood — and the lights went on.

They had heard this story before.

All of these phrases had been used in the story of Joseph when his brothers sell him to the Midianite traders.

Why a pot without water in it?  Because Joseph was thrown in a cistern without water.

Why do you eat the meal in a group?  Because when they had thrown Joseph into the cistern, they sat down and ate a meal together.

Why do you “draw out” a lamb?  Because the brothers drew out (same phrase) Joseph from the cistern.

And why do you dip the hyssop in blood?  Because the brothers dipped Joseph's tunic in blood and presented it to their father. 

Somehow, the Passover is connected to the story of Joseph.

But how, and why?

The rabbis are quick to remind us that Joseph is just a retelling of the Jacob story.

Wait… what?

You may remember that we previously mentioned the ancient Sumerian literature likes to be cyclical in nature.  The ancient Babylonians would tell stories where each generation repeated the cycle of their previous generation.  You see this in Abraham and Isaac.  If you go back and look at all the stories of Isaac's life, they are all repeats of events in Abraham's life.  Opening well, settling disputes with shepherds, lying to Abimelech about his wife.  Isaac is a retelling of Abraham.

And Joseph is a retelling of Jacob.

Think about it: Which character doesn't get along with his brother(s), has to leave home, works in the house of a foreigner, is wrongly accused, and has to deal with visions/deals with two sets of seven?

Is it Joseph or Jacob?

It's both.

But wait, what does any of this have to do with the Passover?  And what about those little black boxes?

And now, realizing how long this blog post is going to be, I will be splitting it into two parts.  So with those questions ringing in your ears, the dreaded words:

To be continued…