Ps 147

One of the presents I received for Christmas is a game. And it’s not just any game. From what I understand of the rules, no talking is permitted while it’s being played. It was clearly inspired by the game charades. And that will present a problem for me. The reason it’s a problem is pretty simple: I like words! I tend to do much better when descriptions are called for—verbal descriptions, that is!

Some people tend to get irritated with pantomimes. I’m not really sure why; I suppose there’s an impatience that says, “If you’re not mute, then go ahead and say what you mean.” Of course, movement can express things that can’t be put into words. For example, the sisters at Mount St. Benedict frequently incorporate liturgical dance into their worship. If you try to translate that directly into text, you will find it difficult, to say the least.

The truth is, in our information age, we are awash in words. More facts than we can possibly ever read or understand are literally at our fingertips. The advent of the internet has meant the increase, at an exponential rate, of the amount of information available to any one person. An expansion of news outlets has occurred (though sadly, in my humble opinion, journalistic integrity has yet to keep pace!). We’re deluged by press releases, manifestos, and corporate logos.

We seem to know more about specific topics, but less about life in general. I’ve heard that people nowadays don’t read as many books as did those in past generations. When I see reports on the ignorance of the public, I can believe it. Still, it seems to me that book stores do pretty good business. At least, when I’m in a book store, the place seems to be busy! Maybe the point is that the books we read now aren’t as worthwhile as the ones from long ago.

In any event, whether they be in the form of text, such as books or magazines, or in the form of speech, such as conversation or song, words play a major role in our lives.

Still, there’s at least one respect in which words do not have the hold on us that they did earlier in history. The noted Old Testament theologian Walther Eichrodt has noted that for ancient people, “the spoken word possessed an importance quite different from that which it enjoys today.” He refers in particular to the word spoken as either a blessing or a curse, especially when the name of a deity is invoked. For the ancients, “such words have what is virtually a life of their own; they are like independent beings waiting their opportunity to invade reality. And even when this is denied them they remain dangerous for a long time, like a long-forgotten mine in the sea, or a grenade buried in a ploughed field.”[1]

As the faith of the Israelites evolves, it is increasingly realized that a curse need not be feared if spoken contrary to God’s will. As Balaam responds to Balak, who, in ludicrous fashion, keeps trying to get him to curse Israel, “How can I curse whom God has not cursed? How can I denounce those whom the Lord has not denounced?” (Nu 23:8). And as we read in Proverbs 26, “Like a sparrow in its flitting, like a swallow in its flying, an undeserved curse goes nowhere” (v. 2).

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!” Weren’t we taught that as children? I imagine behind that saying is some…unconscious societal rejection of the power of curse. If only it were true! Granted, most people today don’t fear malediction (opposite of “benediction”) as part of some incantation or magical formula. But malediction still exists in abusive language, in words meant to hurt, to humiliate. There’s no doubt, our airwaves are filled with that garbage. Again, the book of Proverbs: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits” (18:21).

If the word of humans has some power, it is the word of God that has all power. We get a good look at that in today’s psalm reading. Just as in Genesis 1, God’s word creates and shapes creation. Psalm 147 is a celebration of God’s power over all creation and God’s care for the people, especially the downtrodden, the oppressed, the abused. In verse 2, the psalmist declares, “The Lord builds up Jerusalem; he gathers the outcasts of Israel,” indicating that this was written after the Babylonian exile. We also see, for example, that the Lord “determines the number of the stars” and “gives to the animals their food” (vv. 4, 9).

It’s when we come to the final part of the psalm, which is today’s reading, that we get a sense of how God does all these things. According to verse 15, “He sends out his command to the earth; his word runs swiftly.” So there’s a suggestion of the word with its own power and will. The word is unleashed. In verse 18, the word melts the ice and snow. In verse 19, the word comes to Israel, teaching them the way to live.

Verse 5 of the psalm sums it up: “Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure.” God’s word is all-powerful. It is invincible. Any attempt to contradict it meets with utter failure. And I can say: I’m glad of that. But what a contrast with my word! My words are hollow. If a strong wind comes along—off they go! My inept, stumbling words are more like the outer husk of what should be words. They’re empty. They lack power.

This is where our gospel reading comes to the rescue. The prologue, the introduction, to John’s gospel, with its meditation on the Word, provides the key. I’m especially thinking of verse 14, which dares to say that “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.” The Word became flesh and lived among us.

This is a truly scandalous thing for John to say. In his day, philosophies and religions abound that want to deny the flesh, to escape from the body, in order to find truth and salvation. Come to think of it, there are plenty of folks today, both in and out of the church, who believe the same thing!

By becoming flesh, the all-powerful Word submits to weakness. Welcome to my world! And because my word—because your word—is weak, is unstable, we face a certain temptation. That temptation is to strengthen our word, to make it solid, by turning it into a law. Our temptation is to build the iron wall of legalism, of ideology. This need not be a legalism of religious behavior or an ideology of political opinion. We’re quite capable of setting inflexible standards in our social relationships with other people.

In the biography of his friend Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Eberhard Bethge reflects on how he dealt with the weak Word of Christ. “’The Word is weaker than any ideology, and this means that with only the gospel at their command the witnesses [to Jesus] are weaker than the propagandists of an opinion. But although they are weak, they are ready to suffer with the Word, and so are free from that morbid restlessness which is so characteristic of fanaticism.’ [He quotes from The Cost of Discipleship.]

“The Word of Christ must not be mistaken for triumphant, all-pervasive conviction, for it can also respect the impossible, take into account the barriers which it encounters; it esteems the individual—the more so when that individual disagrees.”[2] Thank God for that, or we all would be out in the cold!

The Word of Christ has a certain fluidity about it that can handle any situation that arises. Those who love and live in that Word can taste its freedom. Bethge goes on, “In the interpretation of the weak Word we are close to the profoundest thought ever expressed by Bonhoeffer: discipleship as participation in Christ’s sufferings for others, as communion with the Crucified.…Disciples are the kind of people who take upon themselves what others would like to shake off.”[3]

As the Word dwelling in flesh, Jesus endured not only temptation, but as I’ve said, he also endured weakness. Jesus endured humiliation. For those of us who don’t always successfully endure temptation, his endurance of humiliation has a special meaning. Who among us has never been the target of unkind, hateful words? Who among us has never felt the sting of shame so keenly that you just wanted to hide from the whole world?

Jesus has tasted that pain. To give one extreme example: in the hours before his crucifixion, Jesus was handled roughly and stripped naked by Roman soldiers. He was exposed, not only to the physical pain they inflicted on him, but to crude and vicious comments as they did so.

The image of the Word made flesh certainly says something about us. The way to bolster our weak, unstable words is not to pretend that they will stand forever. Rather, as the body of Christ, we are the Word made flesh which continues in the world. To the extent that we speak the Word of Christ is to the same extent that we speak true words.

Those are words born of trust. It’s trust that the God whose faithful word “gives snow like wool…scatters frost like ashes” (something we know about in this part of the country) also has a faithful word for each of us. There is a good and true word for each of us, no matter what our joy or concern.

As a part of Wellspring’s teaching and nurture, Banu has designed and prepared a weekly guide, Everyday Disciple. In this guide you’ll find the lectionary readings for this week, short commentaries, and some reflection pieces. All of this is prepared to nurture the spiritual discipline of study. And why do we need the discipline of study? Because in order for us to speak the Word of Christ, in order for us to be the Word of Christ, we need to spend time in the words of Christ.

So take this home with you, let it be with you as you ruminate the words of God. That is, be like the cow that chews the cud! As you live with these words, you will also learn that these words are born of trust—trust, as I say, that the God whose faithful word “gives snow like wool…scatters frost like ashes” also has a faithful word for each of us. There is a good and true word for each of us, no matter what our joy or concern. And we all can trust that Word!

[1] Walther Eichrodt, Theology of the Old Testament, vol. 2 (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1967), 69.

[2] Eberhard Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer (New York: Harper and Row, 1970), 374.

[3] Bethge, 374.