Js 5:2-12

18 March 2007

4th Sunday in Lent

“Snip, Snip; Splash, Splash”

            A few years ago, it was my turn to preach on this very day, the fourth Sunday in Lent.  I decided to go with the gospel reading, the parable of the prodigal son.  These were my exact words (I know, because I went back to check):  “I gave the text in Joshua some serious consideration, but it mentions circumcision, and every time I thought about it, I wanted to cringe.  But don't worry—someday I will address the issue of circumcision!”  Friends, that day has arrived!

            I also said last week, right after returning from the Emergent Pittsburgh conference, that I would share some stuff from that experience.  The presenter was Tim Keel, who’s the founding pastor of the church called Jacob’s Well in Kansas City, Missouri.  Tim said absolutely nothing about circumcision.  However, as I was listening to him, I saw how extremely well his comments fit that very subject.  Don’t worry, I will explain!

            I have no interest in discussing the details of circumcision.  As I’ve already suggested, the thought of it makes me want to grimace.  When I picture, as Joshua 5 describes, the making of flint knives…well, need I say more?  (I think you can figure it out.)  However, the meaning of circumcision is something of interest—and is quite relevant for us.  That’s the connection I made last weekend in Pittsburgh.

            Let me try to put our story into context.  Our scripture reading starts, “At that time” (v. 2).  It picks up right after the Israelites have crossed the Jordan River.  The surrounding nations are said to have heard about it, and they are scared.  They’re shaking in their boots.  Why wouldn’t they?  No one likes having their home invaded.

            Joshua is commanded by God to arrange for the ritual of circumcision.  Why is that necessary?  Verses 4 and 5 present an answer:  “all the males of the people who came out of Egypt, all the warriors, had died during the journey through the wilderness after they had come out of Egypt.  Although all the people who came out had been circumcised, yet all the people born on the journey…after they had come out of Egypt had not been circumcised.”

            Clearly, the reference to “all the people” is limited to the male segment of the population.  There actually is such a thing as female circumcision, but to my knowledge, the Israelites never performed it.  Today, that practice is increasingly known as female mutilation; it’s become a human rights issue.  There are even some activists who say the same thing about male circumcision.

            In any event, we really aren’t told why none of the boys were circumcised during the forty years in the wilderness.  Verse 6 offers as the explanation that “all the nation…perished, not having listened to the voice of the Lord.”  They were apparently rebellious.  From his generation, only Joshua remains.

            Whether or not we read this in a slavishly literal way, the important thing is the meaning.  Likewise, less important than the surgical technique of circumcision is what it signifies.

            One of our ancestors in the faith, John Calvin, speaks to this very point.  He says that “everything applicable to circumcision applies also to baptism, excepting always the difference in the visible ceremony.”[1]  That’s a good exception to point out, in my opinion!  I’d say the ceremonies of circumcision and baptism do differ somewhat!

            Calvin says that “circumcision, which was a kind of badge to the Jews, [assured] them that they were adopted as the people and family of God.”  As for us in the church, “we are initiated by baptism, so as to be enrolled among [God’s] people.”  He concludes that “baptism has been substituted for circumcision, and performs the same office.”[2]

            Calvin bases his comments, in part, on Colossians 2.  Paul tells the church there, “In [Christ] also you were circumcised with a spiritual circumcision, by putting off the body of the flesh in the circumcision of Christ; when you were buried with him in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God” (vv. 11-12).

            So whether it’s “snip snip” or “splash splash,” the point is:  identifying with the community of faith, the people of God.  I prefer the “splash splash” alternative over “snip snip.”  Aside from the reasons that make me want to cringe, there’s the simple reality that baptism opens it up for everyone—and by “everyone,” I mean the female segment of the population.

            Earlier, I mentioned Tim Keel, our featured speaker last weekend in Pittsburgh.  One of his key themes was corporate worship as a spiritual discipline.  More than once, he emphasized that his knowledge and relationship with Jesus Christ has been mediated—it’s been communicated—through the community of faith, the church, the bride of Christ.

            This is where circumcision…cuts in.  It’s about acknowledging that we are part of the people of God.  It’s not about the American trinity of me, myself, and I.

            We’ve no doubt heard people talk about how they can experience God all by themselves, whether it’s out in nature, listening to music, watching television, or any other number of avenues.  Obviously that’s true; I’ve had many experiences like that myself.  However, experiencing God and identifying with the people of God are two very different things.  In our highly individualistic, consumer-driven society, the lines get blurred.

            Something else Tim mentioned more than once was his exposure to Benedictine spirituality.  There’s a Benedictine monastery in his area that he’s visited several times.  He spoke of something that I also have touched on; it’s St. Benedict’s idea of stability, which is drawn from the Rule of Benedict.

            Stability speaks to the need for faithfulness to the community “as a way of faithfulness to God.”[3]  This requires commitment to a particular monastery.  In the very first chapter of his Rule, Benedict describes various kinds of monastics.  He puts at the bottom of the list those “who spend their entire lives drifting from region to region, staying as guests for three or four days in different monasteries.  Always on the move, they never settle down, and are slaves to their own wills and gross appetites.”[4]

Translated into our context, stability would require commitment to a particular congregation.  Tim Keel said when he assured the people at Jacob’s Well that he didn’t see them as a stepping stone to something “bigger and better,” there was a sense of relief and confidence.

            In the same way, Banu and I don’t see ourselves climbing the ladder of success—whatever the heck that is!  God calls all of us to be faithful, not successful.  Banu and I take the idea of stability seriously.  What that means is:  you’re stuck with us—unless, of course, you decide to kick us out!

As the website of Mount St. Benedict in Erie puts it, “We establish the lifelong human bonds necessary for healing growth.  We agree to search for God together, making our journey as honest, as loving, as human as possible.”[5]  And to that I say:  Lord, let it be so!

            In her Spiritual Disciplines Handbook, Adele Ahlberg Calhoun also includes worship in community as a spiritual discipline.  “We belong together, not apart,” she says.  “God is not a bachelor who lives alone.  [For that matter, neither is God a bachelorette!]  He is a holy community of three.  And we express his nature best when we are in a community committed to growing and being transformed into Christlikeness.”[6]

            Why would gathering together to worship be considered a spiritual discipline?  Our friend Tim said that the average churchgoer stays in any one congregation a time period of eighteen months to three years.  I’m not sure where he got those numbers; you can decide for yourself how accurate they sound.

            The point is—which I mentioned last week in Sunday school—that there is a certain amount of time when there’s a sense of novelty, a kind of honeymoon period.  Eventually, however, no matter how hard we may try to conceal them, our true selves begin to show through.  And that’s when the temptation to hit the road appears.

            Unfortunately, when everything’s going fine and no one’s hassling us—or when we’re staying in our comfort zone—not a great deal of spiritual maturing is going on.

When you were a kid and had some mysterious ache, did your parents ever conclude that you were suffering from growing pains—and leave it at that?  (Mine did!)  I’m afraid the same thing is true in the spiritual life.  Growing up hurts.  Maybe that’s why some people never do grow up!  Actually, I think life itself is a constant process of growing up.  (Some of you who’ve been in that process longer than I might think, “Son, you don’t know the half of it!”)  It takes discipline to deal with it.

God may not be a bachelor (or a bachelorette); however, we’re programmed by our culture to behave like spiritual bachelors.  We’re programmed to act like we don’t need anyone else.

            Our scripture reading ends on what I think is an interesting note.  We’re told that “when the circumcising of all the nation was done, they remained in their places in the camp until they were healed” (v. 8).  Right.  After saying hello to a flint knife, I imagine remaining in place is all anyone would want to do!

            After that, they observe Passover for the first time after crossing the Jordan.  Our passage concludes:  “On the day after the passover, on that very day, they ate the produce of the land, unleavened cakes and parched grain.  The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land, and the Israelites no longer had manna; they ate the crops of the land of Canaan that year” (vv. 11-12).

            If you recall, manna was the food that fell from heaven while they wandered in the wilderness.  They threw a temper tantrum, but God graciously met their need.  But now, they’ve lain aside their rebellious ways.  They’ve been circumcised; they’ve identified themselves as the people of God.  They have entered the land.  They have now graduated from “baby food,” so to speak.  They’re ready for adult food.

            There’s an intriguing comment in verse 9:  “The Lord said to Joshua, ‘Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt.’  And so that place is called Gilgal to this day.”  In Hebrew, the word “Gilgal” (lG;l]Gi) is similar to the word which means “to roll” (ll'G;).  There’s an attempt to explain the origin of the place’s name.

            But I wonder about that phrase, “the disgrace of Egypt.”  What could that possibly mean?  There are a number of ideas.  One theory is that the state of uncircumcision in which they lived for so long didn’t distinguish them from the Egyptians, from whom they had fled.  Others say the disgrace was the desire of many Israelites to go back to Egypt.  Similar to that is the view many had of themselves as slaves.

            They had been freed from slavery, but there was an internalized sense of inadequacy.  There’s a rabbinical saying, “It took one year to get the Hebrews out of Egypt, but forty years to get Egypt out of the Hebrews.”[7]  A false humility, an unwillingness to say, “Yes, I am a child of God,” doesn’t bring glory to Jesus Christ.

            Here’s my question:  does “the disgrace of Egypt” say anything to us today?  Are there ways in which we reject the mark of God, the sign of belonging to Christ?  Do we ever long to return to Egypt, so to speak?  Can we think of times when we refuse to identify with the body of Christ, here and around the world?

            Here’s another angle on that:  are we truly a community of faith, or are we just a collection of individuals—a collection of consumers who just happen to have similar tastes?  We haven’t yet reached the depth of community God intends for us, but I believe we’re heading in the right direction.

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