I periodically take sojourns into books of the Bible, and right now I’m emerging from a sojourn in Leviticus.  Wrapping my brain around the varieties of sacrifice and what they each might express has been profitable.  But I’m still left with questions about the terms that regularly get translated “clean” and “unclean.”  I wrestled with it in the sermon Sunday.  (My text was Lev 5:1-13, and “unclean” comes into play in verses 2-3 there.  In fact, that’s the first time the term appears in the Torah.)

In seminary, Dr. Lisa Davison taught us that “unclean” described a state where life and death mixed in extra-ordinary ways.  The things that make people “unclean” are (generally speaking) human and animal corpses, male and female genital discharges, and the term that usually gets translated “leprosy.”  Corpses obviously have to do with death.  The blood and “seed” from male and female discharges represent life outside of its usual context.  (That is, the life is in the blood, but it either should be going back to God or be inside a living creature.  “Seed” is not to be carelessly spilled, because it is also life.)  And “leprosy,” we discover in Numbers 12 when Miriam is given the disease, makes one resemble something dead.

The only practical implications of being “unclean” are that you can’t enter the tabernacle/Temple (which is where the presence of God is supposed to reside), nor can you partake of any sacred meals.  To do so in a state of “uncleanness” is grounds for being “cut off from the people.” (Lev 7:21)  We are left wondering why this is.  The best I can figure is that there is some problem with the co-mingling of life and death that is “uncleanness” being brought into the presence of the Living God.  The laws of “uncleanness” are a ritual expression of the chasm between God and humanity, the broken relationship between them.  God desires life, not death.  “I have no pleasure in the death of anyone,” says God in Ezekiel 18:32.

But this seems odd in the face of all the slaughtered cattle of the burnt offerings and all the slaughtered babies of the Tenth Plague before the Exodus and all the slaughtered Canaanites of the book of Joshua.  The best I can figure about these is that they each represent not only death, but life “returning to God who gave it” (Ecc 12:7).  The God who “owns the cattle on a thousand hills” (Ps 50:10) receives the life of the slaughtered animals in the burnt offering.  The God who says “all the firstborn are mine” (Num 3:12) takes the firstborn of Egypt and also requires the firstborn of Israel be “redeemed.”  And the slaughtered Canaanites are called “cherem,” a thing “devoted” to the Lord.  The same term is applied in Lev 27:21 to consecrated fields, holy to the Lord.  Somehow, things that are “cherem” or “devoted to destruction” belong to God.

Perhaps what is at issue here is not simply the co-mingling of life and death, but God getting what is God’s.  In the cases of the slaughtered Egyptian firstborn, the slaughtered cattle of the burnt offering, and the slaughtered Canaanites who are “devoted to destruction,” God is taking what is God’s.  The life returns to the God who gave it.  But in the cases of unburied corpses and carcasses, gential discharges, and leprosy, life is not being returned to God.  Rather, Death is entering the picture apart from the will of God.  Chaos, God’s enemy from the first chapter of Genesis, is raising its ugly head and robbing God of what belongs to God.  The laws of “uncleanness” are not simply about humanity’s separation from God, but God’s opposition to the powers of death and chaos which are ingrained in the universe.

Death, of course, is “the last enemy to be destroyed,” as Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 15:26.  Death is a problem for the God who loves humankind for “in death there is no remembrance of you [God]; in Sheol who can give you praise?” (Psalm 6:5 among other places).  God seeks to subdue the whole creation, even the power of death, so that life that seems lost to death is actually life received by God.  We notice what happens when Jesus comes into contact with “uncleanness”:  he raises corpses, he cleanses lepers, and he heals the “woman with the issue of blood.”  In Jesus, God’s victory over death is decisively revealed.

So the “uncleanness” regulations demonstrate that God does not desire to lose anybody or anything in creation to the power of death working apart from the power of God.  The fact that God will not lose anybody or anything in creation to the power of death working apart from the power of God is demonstrated in Jesus Christ, and especially in his cross and resurrection.  The powers of chaos, of death, of ignorance, of disease, are all only temporary.  Everything must eventually go back to the God who made it.

“Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him . . .”

Reconciliation between Christian sisters and brothers is a top priority. The whole work of Christ was reconciliation. Our Christian work must imitate that model. So the whole subject merits one more prayer.

Gracious God, forgive us our sins as we forgive those who have sinned against us.

Forgive us for harboring angry thoughts against others. Release us from the strangle-hold our grudges have on us.

Forgive us who are passive-aggressive, who cannot honestly say what we need to say. Put your words of truth and grace in our hearts.

Forgive us who speak without thinking. Grant us patience to work through things before we open our mouths.

Forgive us who blame others for our problems. Grant us courage to accept responsibility for our own lives.

Forgive us who cling to resentment and negativity. Let your light shine in the dark places of our souls.

Forgive us who always want our way, in our own time. Lord Jesus, you who did not cling to your own rights as God (Phil 2), help us to let go of our selfishness and to accept your easier yoke of grace and mercy.

Have mercy upon us, most merciful God.  Grant us mercy that we might become merciful ourselves. Grant us grace that we might become gracious people, reflecting your image and your glory, living as we were meant to live.  Help us today not to let the sun go down on our anger.

Jesus re-interprets “Do not murder” (which was such an easy commandment!) to mean “do not remain angry with your brother or sister.”  We should notice this “fulfillment” of Torah.  Jesus is not contradicting Torah or even correcting it, but rather he is amplifying the meaning of the commandment.  He is a rabbi saying “The commandment not to murder means this:  don’t remain angry with your brother or sister.”  Of course, the rabbis would cite other rabbis (all the way back to Moses) to support their interpretive decisions.  Jesus doesn’t bother, but simply says “But I say to you.”  He has taken up the authority of Moses himself.  He is embodying Torah in his own person.

Anger is worth thinking about, because Jesus himself famously gets angry in the later chapters of Matthew.  I like this definition of anger that I read somewhere:  “excessive love of justice.”  (It’s attributed to Dante, but I can’t find the original citation.)  The angry person is reacting to unfairness, injustice, something wrong in the world.  This is interesting especially because we were not long ago told that those hungering and thirsting after righteousness or justice were blessed.  But now it seems that one could go about feeding that hunger and quenching that thirst in a destructive way. 

Why does Jesus get to be angry later?  Or for that matter, God seems plenty wrathful through most of the Bible.  What gives?  Indeed, much of the divine anger stems from a love of justice.  In a just world, God’s people would remain faithful, peace would reign, everyone would get a fair shake.  But when that doesn’t happen, God’s anger rages.  God is angry because God loves justice and there is none.  God loves justice, because God loves all the people, particularly the poor and the disenfranchised.

Anger is part of love as every parent knows.  One mother, talking to me about her children, noticed that it was possible to honestly say “I love you” and “I want to kill you” in the same breath to your kids sometimes.  But though that anger is natural and perhaps even appropriate in some circumstances, it only leads to “the hell of fire.”  Anger, even when produced by love, is essentially destructive.  It tends toward murder, the annihilation of God’s gift of life.  And even God doesn’t want to remain angry with God’s world.  Why would God want to destroy the people God loved enough to give life to?

The path that brings life is not anger but reconciliation.  Jesus says “So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.”  True justice is not found in wrath, but in mercy and forgiveness.  God’s wrath against injustice pales in comparison with the number of times (even in the Old Testament) when God forgives and is reconciled with Israel.  (Read 1 and 2 Kings sometime and be amazed how long God holds off punishing the sinful nation.) 

Jesus’ harsh words in Matthew 21 and 23 are drowned out by his offering of reconciliation in Matthew 26 and 27.  In Matthew 5:22, he notes that calling a person a fool makes one liable to the fires of hell.  In Matthew 23:17 he actually calls the Pharisees fools.  And at the end of Matthew 27, according to Christian tradition, he takes on the fire of hell.  Of course, in Matthew 28, he comes back, having accomplished everything, having done the work of reconciliation.  “In Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself.”  (2 Cor 5:19)

Lord Jesus Christ, you shared our common humanity.  You loved as we love.  And you were angry as we get angry.  You yelled at folks and threw furniture, just as most of us have done. 

And yet that was a short stop on your journey, just as weeping at Lazarus’ tomb was natural as you headed toward the joy of your resurrection.  You triumphed over anger at the cross, where you endured injustice for our sake.  You chose reconciliation rather than wrath.  And because you have reconciled the world to yourself, we are set free to pursue reconciliation with our brothers and sisters.

Almighty God, we lift up to you our broken relationships and ask that you heal the wounds of painful memories and harsh words.  Give us grace to begin the difficult process of forgiveness.  Give us wisdom to understand when our love of justice has grown out of control, when our love has become poisonous to our very souls.  Give us victory over our anger.

Bring wholeness to your broken people, God of grace and mercy.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have not come to abolish but to fulfill.  For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one iota, not one stroke of a letter will pass from the law until all is accomplished.”

On Sunday mornings right now, I’m preaching from Leviticus.  Reactions from the congregation are mostly positive, but I still get some people telling me, “None of those laws are in effect anymore.  Jesus did away with them!”  That’s actually not what Jesus says here.  He says he has come to fulfill the Torah.  (And by the way, let’s call it Torah, okay?  Because it’s not all “law.”)

Nor does he merely repeat the Torah’s instructions in his own words.  No, he fulfills the Torah in his own person.  His life and death and resurrection fill the words of the Hebrew Scriptures up with new meaning.  After reading the New Testament, we really should go back to the First Testament and see if it looks any different to us now. 

“Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.  For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

He fulfills the Torah by his radical obedience to it, an obedience that looks rather different than that of the Pharisees, particularly when it comes to the purity laws and the Sabbath.  Apparently, Jesus has the Moses-like authority to radically re-interpret the Torah and to fulfill it in his own way.  The way Jesus fulfills the Torah is the way we are called to live also if we call Jesus “Lord.”

Lord Jesus, open our eyes to see your face in Torah and open our ears to hear Torah reflected in your story.  Like Abraham, you had enough faith to leave your home and journey to a strange country; give us faith to follow you into difficult places.  Like Isaac, you willing carried the wood to your own sacrifice; give us grace to bear our crosses also.  Like Tamar (Genesis 38), you flouted the system and were still declared righteous in the end; teach us to practice creative nonconformity in our pursuit of justice.  Like Dinah (in Genesis 34), you suffered even though you were innocent, and you endured the rage of those who should have welcomed you; give us empathy to share the burdens of those who suffer today.

The lives of Moses the prophet and Aaron the priest echo in your life.  Your sacrifice at Calvary was an ascension offering (Leviticus 1) and a shalom offering (Leviticus 3), a sacrifice for sin and for atonement and Passover all rolled into one.  You are the king that even King David called “Lord” (Matthew 22:43), a king even greater than Solomon (Matthew 12:42).  Therefore, you are both the power of God and the wisdom of God (1 Cor 1:24).  Grant us power to bring shalom to our world, and grant us wisdom to use our power well.

Most of all, Almighty God, teach us not to despise the words of your Scriptures, particularly the Hebrew Scriptures which are so fashionable to denigrate.  Grant us humility to read with keen minds and open hearts.  Bring us to the obedience of faith, following the example of Jesus, in whose name we pray.

“You are the light of the world.  A city built on a hill cannot be hid. ¹⁵ No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Three times in Isaiah does this idea come up.  Isaiah 42:6 says of God’s servant that “I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners, etc.”  Again, Isaiah 49:6 says of God’s servant that “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”  Finally, Isaiah 60:3 predicts that “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”

Surely, Matthew must intend for us to think about these Isaiah references.  Consider how Jesus himself probably thought of his own mission in terms derived from Isaiah (and see how he applies Isaiah’s words to himself in Luke 4:17-21.)  So, who is the “light to the nations” in Isaiah?  It is God’s servant.  And who is that?  Some would say Israel, since the people of Israel were called by God to serve God, and Isaiah 49:3 says plainly:  “He said to me, ‘You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will display my splendor.’”  Others would say that God’s servant here is not the whole people Israel but a representative prophet, who suffered on behalf of the people.  Still others would say that at this point in Matthew, we’ve seen enough of how Jesus is identified with the nation of Israel (e.g., both are God’s “Son”) to figure that Jesus can stand in for Isaiah’s “light to the nations.”  Indeed, this sounds familiar to us.  In John 8:12, Jesus says “I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

But Jesus in Matthew does not say “I am the light of the world,” but “you are the light of the world.”  This makes me uncomfortable.  It’s as if Jesus is expecting too much of me too soon.  After all, he only just called his first disciples in the last chapter.  Shouldn’t he be giving them basic instruction in theology or some remedial instruction in not sinning?  Right off the bat, he is calling his disciples to imitate him.  Of course, Jesus is the light of the world, just as God’s servant Israel was called to be a light to the nations.  As Jesus is, so must his disciples be.  We are to light the world, just like Jesus.

And just as salt ought never become unsalty, so it would be a terrible thing for light to be hidden.  It simply can’t be done.  So we have encouragement here.  Go ahead, imitate Jesus.  To do anything else would be a denial of your calling.  God has given Jesus as “a covenant to the people” (remember the “salt of the covenant” yesterday?) and “a light to the nations.”  Salt can’t be tasteless, light can’t be dark, so a disciple of Jesus can never be anything but a reflection of her or his Master.

Lord Jesus Christ, you are the One in whom your Father delights.  You are the Chosen, in whom all are chosen.  You are the bearer of the Holy Spirit, come to bring justice to the nations.  Give us also a hunger for justice and a thirst for righteousness.

You did not shout to bring your message.  You did not break those who were already bruised or snuff out those whose light shone dimly.  Instead, you faithfully brought forth justice by lifting up the weary and lightening the burden of the heavy-laden.  Help us imitate your gentle and humble-hearted example.

You trusted in your Father, that he would take you by the hand and keep you.  Give us grace to trust God also.

You were given to all humanity as a new covenant, a promise to open the gates of salvation to every people, a covenant sealed in your blood at Calvary.  Today, Lord, illumine those who cannot grasp your gracious promise.  Release those imprisoned by doubt and disbelief.  Where there is darkness, bring light, you whose word called forth light on the very day the universe was created.

And create light in our hearts by the power of your Word and the grace of your Spirit, that we may lift up the fallen and comfort the weary today.  We ask this because your light ever shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.