Read our weekly News and Notes here: News and Notes April 7th 2024.
Read our weekly Sunday Supplement here: EasterIApril7YearB2024Sunsupp
Read our weekly News and Notes here: News and Notes April 7th 2024.
Read our weekly Sunday Supplement here: EasterIApril7YearB2024Sunsupp
9AM ZOOM ONLINE GATHERING: WE USE SLIDES THAT INCLUDE MOST OF THIS INFORMATION, BUT SOME PREFER TO PRINT IT OUT AND FOLLOW ALONG ON PAPER!
The link for the Zoom gatherings is available in our weekly E-news, in our Facebook group St. Dunstan’s MadCity, or by emailing Rev. Miranda: .
THREE WAYS TO USE AN ONLINE BULLETIN…1
1. Print it out!
2. Open the bulletin on one device (smartphone or tablet) while joining Zoom worship on another device (tablet or computer).
3. On a computer, open the bulletin in a separate browser window or download and open separately, and view it next to your Zoom window.
This morning we get to celebrate the baptism of two of our members! Any day is a good day to get baptized. But Easter is a really special time to be baptized, because there are such close connections between Easter and baptism.
Jesus was baptized, by his cousin John, but in the Gospels he talks about his death as another baptism – something he has to go through, to immerse himself in. The word baptism comes from a Greek word that just means “to dunk in water.” So Jesus immerses himself in the waters of death – just like someone going down into the baptismal waters – and comes out, renewed.
A lot about baptism is mysterious. It’s one of the things we do because Jesus told us to do it, so we ultimately just don’t know what it means or what it does. But that connection with Jesus’ death and resurrection is part of the Church’s understanding: that in baptism we die with Jesus, and rise to new life in Jesus.
For the first Christians, Easter was when they baptized people – they’d prepare for baptism in Lent, like Kai and Safa have, and then be baptized at Easter, as part of a big celebration of resurrection and new life and joy. So Easter is a very special time for baptism!
I read something recently about how Easter is kind of like baptism for the whole church. Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann wrote, “Even though we are baptized, what we constantly lose and betray is precisely that which we received at baptism. Therefore Easter is our return every year to our own baptism, [and] Lent is our preparation for that return… Every Lent and Easter are, once again, the rediscovery and the recovery by us of what we were made through our own baptismal death and resurrection.”
So Schmemann is saying that over time, our commitment to living in God’s ways, our clarity about our belonging and belovedness as part of God’s family, gets dented and dimmed by life.
And Lent and Easter offer us an opportunity to come back to those things, to recover and rediscover, every year. We can’t get baptized again, but we can immerse ourselves in the heavy days of Holy Week and arrive at the fulfillment of Easter. I love that idea – that today isn’t just Kai and Safa’s baptismal day, but it’s a baptism day for all of us who are Kai and Safa’s baptismal community.
One of the ways we act that out is by joining our baptismal candidates in recommitting ourselves to life as God’s people. Every time there’s a baptism and sometimes when there isn’t, we reaffirm the Baptismal Covenant – a responsive version of the Creed, and then those five questions where we respond, I will with God’s help! Those five questions were written for the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, and have become very beloved and important to people. They offer a good list of practices that will help us stay close to God and each other and ourselves, and be the people God calls us to be for the world.
But there’s another part of the service we might not know as well, because it goes by fast, and because only the candidates and their families and sponsors say it, not the whole congregation. That’s the Three Renunciations and the Three Affirmations. You can see them on your Sunday supplement – in the first part of the baptismal liturgy. A bunch of questions that start with “Do you”!
The Renunciations and Affirmations are very old; they seem to go back to pretty early in the Christian practice of baptism. Basically, before you step up to be baptized, somebody speaking for the church asks you: Do you RENOUNCE evil? … RENOUNCE is a fancy word that means, I’m done with this! I won’t have anything to do with it anymore, ever!
And then they ask: Do you choose to follow Christ? Are you turning away from this one thing, and turning towards this other thing? …
I want to talk a little more about those Renunciations. There have been many versions, over 1800 years or so. In the version in our prayer book the renunciations move from the cosmic, to the world we live in, to our own interior life:
Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?
Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?
Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?…
Sometime about 300 years after the time of Jesus, a church leader named Cyril of Jerusalem described what happens at a baptism – kind of explaining what it meant to somebody who has been recently baptized. Here’s part of what he said:
“Then they told you to you raise your hand, and you renounced Satan, as if he were actually present…. This shameless, impudent demon, the source of all evil, chases you as far as the fountain of salvation. But the demon disappears in the waters of salvation.
That is why you were ordered to raise your hand and say to Satan, as if he were actually present: “I renounce you, Satan, wicked and cruel tyrant!” …
And you asserted: “Henceforth, I am no longer in your power. For Christ destroyed that power by sharing with me a nature of flesh and blood. He destroyed death by dying; never again shall I be enslaved to you. I renounce you, crafty serpent full of deceit! I renounce you who lurk in ambush, who pretend friendship but have been the cause of every sin! I renounce you, Satan, author and helper of every evil!”
I think we should consider adding all that! It’s pretty exciting.
Now, listen: I don’t know if I believe in Satan – the Devil – or not. But there is sure lot of badness in the world. People who do hurtful things – and not just by accident but on purpose.
There are bad thoughts and ideas and words and forces and systems. Things that shape people’s lives; things that get into our hearts and minds, that hurt us and hurt other people and hurt the world. There’s not really any question that there’s a lot that’s bad and hurtful – a lot that is evil – in the world.
That’s one thing people mean when they talk about Satan or the Devil: a way to put a name on all that badness and the ways it causes pain and suffering.
That is what we’re renouncing, when we renounce Satan.
Schmemann writes, “To renounce Satan thus is not to reject a mythological being in whose existence one [may] not even believe. It is to reject an entire worldview made up of pride and self-affirmation… which has truly taken human life from God and made it into darkness, death and hell. And one can be sure that Satan will not forget this renunciation, this rejection, this challenge… A war is declared!”
Cyril of Jerusalem says, “When you renounce Satan, you break off every agreement you have entered into with him, every covenant you have established with Hell…. Draw strength from the words you have spoken, and be watchful. For your adversary, the Devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”
In baptism, we choose sides. We state our intention to be people who are for good, and against evil.
I saw a wonderful Facebook post earlier this week about how it’s OK to go to church even if you don’t believe. Alex Griffin, a Canadian Anglican priest, wrote, ”As a society, we are grieving and afraid as our world breaks before our eyes, but there is so much pressure to keep going and pretend that everything is fine. The rituals of church—and especially the rituals at church over the [days of Holy Week]—hold space for that grief….
If you’re looking for a space to grieve and be comforted, it’s okay to come… It probably won’t change your life, but you may just find the moment of solace that you need.”
I know that for folks outside of church or on the edges of church, it can seem like all those people in the pews must have something rock-solid and clear inside of them that they call Faith. And getting from here to there might seem impossible.
The reality is, of course, that for folks who show up at church regularly, faith can be messy and murky. There are plenty of people in any congregation who are here because they feel drawn to something they don’t feel they really understand – because they’re looking for comfort and connection in community – because they want to believe, even if they feel unable to make the leap.
There are also people here with a strong, clear faith – but even for folks like that, it’s kind of like the weather, you know? The sun is always shining, but there are plenty of hours and days when we can’t see it. And even when we can: sometimes its light creates great beauty; sometimes it feels harsh or glaring…. or faint and inadequate.
But one of the things we can be clear about, together, even in seasons when it’s hard to see the sun, is being a community that is for good and against evil. Haphazardly, imperfectly, always learning more about our own complicity and ignorance, always working to build our capacity to show up for what matters in our community and the world…
But: Striving to be on the side of hope, wholeness, and delight.
Years ago, a member of our congregation – long since moved away – told me that that’s what’s important about St. Dunstan’s for him. That when the world gets heavy – politics, climate, human pain, there’s so much – when it all really starts to weigh him down, one of the things that eases the burden is knowing that he is part of this group of people that are trying to be helpers.
I think that’s one of the most important things about church. And that’s not a step away from God at all. Right from the very first covenant between God and Abraham and Sarah, God says that God’s people are blessed to be a blessing. Called, chosen, set apart to be for the good of others, and the world.
Wait, one more thing: Mark’s Gospel has a really strange ending. You might see some more stuff tacked onto the end of Mark’s Gospel in some Bibles, but this is how Mark ends his telling of the good news of Jesus Christ: “And they said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.” The women who come to tend Jesus’ body receive the good news of the resurrection – and they run away. Of course! How strange! How terrifying! Nobody’s going to believe them!
And yet: We know that’s not how the story ends. We know, because the Gospel of Mark exists. So, the story got told.
I really love this kind of open-ended, paradoxical ending. Because it invites us to wonder: How did these women, Mary and Salome and Mary, find their way through fear and confusion and grief, to being able to believe that love is stronger than death? And then to sharing that news, even if a lot of people thought they were stupid or delusional?
And that question very quickly becomes a question that isn’t just about these women in Mark’s Gospel, but about me. About us.
And about whether those spiritual forces of wickedness, those powers that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God, are going to hold us bound by fear, by what’s sensible and rational and normal, or whether we can find the boldness to claim mystery and possibility and joy.
[In just a moment/Later this morning] we’re going to baptize Safa and Kai. But first, let’s take just a moment to do what the prayer book doesn’t invite us to do: To say the renunciations together. Because there is something very powerful about not just claiming our positive intentions – as we will in the Baptismal Covenant – but also reminding ourselves of what we turn away from, what we reject and resist.
It’s traditional in many places to face West for the renunciations – and to hold out your hand. You can try that out if you like! …
When a baptismal candidate answers these questions they say, “I renounce them!” Because it’s their day to make that choice. But let’s say “We renounce them!” Right now – because this is work we continue together.
Beloved of God! Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?
We renounce them!
Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?
We renounce them!
Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?
We renounce them!
May God sustain us in these intentions, and bless, console, and empower us, as a people of courage, love, and joy, today and always. Amen.
9AM ZOOM ONLINE GATHERING: WE USE SLIDES THAT INCLUDE MOST OF THIS INFORMATION, BUT SOME PREFER TO PRINT IT OUT AND FOLLOW ALONG ON PAPER!
The link for the Zoom gatherings is available in our weekly E-news, in our Facebook group St. Dunstan’s MadCity, or by emailing Rev. Miranda: .
THREE WAYS TO USE AN ONLINE BULLETIN…1
1. Print it out!
2. Open the bulletin on one device (smartphone or tablet) while joining Zoom worship on another device (tablet or computer).
3. On a computer, open the bulletin in a separate browser window or download and open separately, and view it next to your Zoom window.
9AM ZOOM ONLINE GATHERING: WE USE SLIDES THAT INCLUDE MOST OF THIS INFORMATION, BUT SOME PREFER TO PRINT IT OUT AND FOLLOW ALONG ON PAPER!
The link for the Zoom gatherings is available in our weekly E-news, in our Facebook group St. Dunstan’s MadCity, or by emailing Rev. Miranda: .
THREE WAYS TO USE AN ONLINE BULLETIN…1
1. Print it out!
2. Open the bulletin on one device (smartphone or tablet) while joining Zoom worship on another device (tablet or computer).
3. On a computer, open the bulletin in a separate browser window or download and open separately, and view it next to your Zoom window.LentVBulletinMarch1724YrBZoom
The history of our collect:
https://liturgy.co.nz/reflections/easter5
WorkingPreacher commentary on Jeremiah:
9AM ZOOM ONLINE GATHERING: WE USE SLIDES THAT INCLUDE MOST OF THIS INFORMATION, BUT SOME PREFER TO PRINT IT OUT AND FOLLOW ALONG ON PAPER!
The link for the Zoom gatherings is available in our weekly E-news, in our Facebook group St. Dunstan’s MadCity, or by emailing Rev. Miranda: .
THREE WAYS TO USE AN ONLINE BULLETIN…1
1. Print it out!
2. Open the bulletin on one device (smartphone or tablet) while joining Zoom worship on another device (tablet or computer).
3. On a computer, open the bulletin in a separate browser window or download and open separately, and view it next to your Zoom window.LentVBulletinMarch1724YrBZoom
Read the lectionary texts here!
The story of the bronze serpent on a pole, from Numbers chapter 21, is one of those weird stories from the Bible that generally get left out of the Sunday morning lectionary, our calendar of assigned readings. BUT Jesus refers to it, in the single most famous passage from the Gospel of John – possibly from any of the Gospels. So here we are.
What is going on in this story? Last week we heard God give Moses the Ten Commandments that were to guide the Israelites in their way of life as God’s people. LITERALLY number two was: You shall not make for yourself an idol – that is, an object that looks like an animal, that you then worship or treat as holy. I guess if God tells you to break a commandment, you break a commandment??
This text is old, but the story behind it is much older. We can speculate a little about what experiences might underlie the story. God’s people have fled from Egypt and are in the wilderness, perhaps somewhere on what we now call the Sinai Peninsula. They have a long way to go before coming to the fertile region on the Mediterranean coast where they will eventually settle. And while they’re on this long, long journey, they have a run-in with some poisonous snakes.
I expect many of us have been stung by a bee or wasp at some point. Maybe a few have even been bitten by a snake. Generally in these cases there’s a disagreement about who belongs where.
I’ve watched a couple of seasons of the reality show Alone, where people who think of themselves as having good survival skills are dropped off in deep wilderness with minimal supplies, and compete for who can hang on the longest before tapping out or being pulled out for medical reasons.
Both seasons I’ve watched, the contestants are in serious bear country. And while – spoiler! – there hasn’t been a dangerous bear encounter, if there were – you couldn’t really blame the bear. The humans are the ones out of place, in that situation.
The wilderness is, by definition, a wild place where people don’t usually go. Inhabited by wild creatures adapted to that environment – whether that’s far northern forest or the rocky desert of the Sinai.
Remember the triangular covenant – the relationship between humans and the land, including its creatures, is tied up with the relationship between humans and God. So: It is not surprising that during this wilderness time, God’s people stumble into an area that some local snakes reasonably regard as THEIR territory. There’s a disruption here, an ecological dislocation, and it has consequences.
The story could have been: The wilderness was really terrible; we were hungry and thirsty and hot and cold and tired and miserable; there’s clearly a REASON nobody lives out here. And then we came into a region with a lot of poisonous snakes, and they were NOT happy to see us, and it got even worse.
Instead, the text makes sense of this experience through the lens of punishment. Maybe because the people are so unhappy, they assume these snakebites are proof of God’s anger at them.
Why bad things happen is not a one-sermon question.
But this story offers an opportunity to talk about a piece of it.
The idea that the bad things that happen are God’s punishment for things we’ve done wrong sounds pretty awful and frightening. But it has a lasting appeal.
It’s a strong theme in big chunks of the Old Testament – although there can be some real nuance to whether the various bad things that befall God’s people are described truly as punishments, or as the natural consequences of various bad choices.
I’m not bold enough to say that significant parts of Old Testament theology are simply wrong to understand God as deliberately sending harm to God’s people as a punishment for their misdeeds. But I do think there’s a gradual shift within the Hebrew Bible towards understanding God’s purposes for humanity as redemptive rather than retributive.
And it’s definitely hard to square the idea of divine punishment with what Jesus has to say about God – including right here in chapter 3 of John’s Gospel: “For God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
Of course John’s Jesus goes on to say that those who don’t believe in him are judged – but the emphasis is on human choices, not divine retribution. Some people don’t want to follow Jesus because they don’t want to face, or change, their own harmful actions.
There are several times in the Gospels when people ask Jesus right out: Is this bad thing that happened, a punishment because somebody sinned? And Jesus says: That’s not how things work.
Still: the idea of God punishing humanity has real staying power. It has an obvious appeal when we’re talking about our enemies or those with whom we disagree. Of course they had it coming, whatever “it” is!
But it also has an appeal even for ourselves.
The idea of punishment gives us an explanation for bad things that happen. I brought this on myself because I did X. And it gives us a sense of agency, of control. If this happened because of what I did, maybe I can make it stop happening, or prevent it from happening again, by what I do.
A sense that there’s a reason for why this terrible thing is happening, and of agency or control, can feel really important when we’re facing big tragedies or struggles. I can definitely see the appeal, when the alternative is: Sometimes really bad stuff just happens, and there’s no good reason for it, and nothing you can do about it.
As spiritual writer Annie Dillard puts it, “You can live as a particle crashing about and colliding in a welter of materials with God, or you can live as a particle crashing about and colliding in a welter of materials without God. But you cannot live outside the welter of colliding materials.”
There’s no opting out of the hurts and struggles and losses of life in this beautiful, broken world. I think often about a quotation from one of Sir Terry Pratchett’s books, A Hat Full of Sky. Speaking about a particular case of human suffering, the main character, Tiffany, says, “It shouldn’t be like this.” And an older, wiser character responds: “There isn’t a way things should be. There’s just what happens, and what we do.”
There isn’t a way things should be. There’s just what happens, and what we do. It’s not that Sir Terry didn’t have a sense of the good, the right, the just. He was a deeply thoughtful and compassionate person; his ethics shine through his goofy books, which is why so many people love them.
I think what he’s calling out here, in the voice of this character, is a tendency to spend our energy on outrage at the gap between what is and what we think should be. Instead of accepting what is, and focusing our energy on how to respond in a way that edges reality towards better.
There’s an overlap here with contemplative spirituality. I preached a few weeks ago about my learning and new practices in that realm. “There’s just what happens, and what we do” is a call to attention, to listening to what is – and then discerning our response, from a place of clarity.
This is probably not an everybody thing, but I also don’t think it’s just me: I do notice a real difference within myself when I shift my focus from arguing with the situation, whatever it may be, to accepting the situation and reflecting on my response. What is mine to do, here.
There’s an overlap, too, with what some of us are reading in Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg’s book On Repentance and Repair. In the framework of the great Jewish thinker Maimonides, step one in the work of repentance is to acknowledge that you have caused harm. Ruttenberg points out that there’s also a step zero: coming to understand that you have caused harm. That can be a big journey in itself. It can demand open-hearted listening, deep emotional work, learning new perspectives, and more, to arrive at a place where you’re able to hear someone’s feedback or rebuke or invitation to amend something you have said or done.
There’s a lot more to say about this book, but for now: The path onward isn’t arguing with the situation. It’s accepting the situation, and discerning what to do next.
Given this: what now?
It is no picnic to live in this welter of colliding materials. To gaze unflinchingly on the wonder and ache of life in this world and know that purpose and meaning are shrouded in more mystery than we might prefer. To accept that humanity’s freedom and creation’s freedom and millennia of accumulated ideas and ways of being mean that we wake up each morning to an immensely complex muddle of fault and favor, consequence and possibility, inclination and choice, loss and belonging.
Maybe it’s no coincidence that the church’s ancient posture of prayer is also, essentially, a shrug.
The transactional, mechanistic mindset of punishment and reward makes a lot of sense. It doesn’t fix anything, and arguably makes some things worse, but it tells you where you stand.
Maybe that’s why the Israelites kept the bronze snake. Much later, in the second book of the Kings of Israel, we hear that King Hezekiah undertook a big renovation of the Temple in Jerusalem. He had it repaired, and hauled out a bunch of junk, and re-established regular worship there. (2 Kings 18; 2 Chron 29).
Among the things that were hauled out was the bronze serpent: “[Hezekiah] broke in pieces the bronze serpent that Moses had made, for until those days the people of Israel had made offerings to it; it was called Nehushtan.”
Nehushtan’s removal seems to have been part of a movement to centralize religious practice at the Jerusalem temple and focus exclusively on Israel’s God, getting rid of other minor deities and cults.
I find that interesting for its historical and anthropological aspects… but there’s also something here that makes deep sense spiritually and psychologically, if I may venture to speak outside my expertise!
Keeping Nehushtan, worshipping Nehushtan, isn’t just worshiping a symbol of a time when God saved us. It’s holding on to a symbol of a time when we were really bad and God had to punish us.
I can see how holding on to Nehushtan could appeal to a people trying to make sense of their history, the ups and downs, struggles and successes, in light of their understanding of themselves as God’s chosen people.
I can also see how the things Nehushtan stands for could have an appeal for somebody at an individual level.
There are lots of ways people may carry deep shame or a sense of deserving whatever hardship comes their way. People who’ve been scapegoated by a family system, people who’ve been treated in certain ways by a parent or partner, people who’ve been through particular kinds of suffering or struggle – may find a kind of safe haven in the idea that these things happened to them because they’re bad. The meaning and agency of the punishment paradigm can offer a kind of uncomfortable comfort.
For folks marked by that kind of history, it can be real work to begin to take on board that you deserve grace and healing, and that a love worth having – human or holy – does not intentionally cause harm.
I want to say one more thing about the bronze snake, our friend Nehushtan, and that’s to circle back to the analogy Jesus is making in our Gospel reading. When he talks about being lifted up like the serpent on the pole, he’s talking about his crucifixion – about the cross.
A lot of Christianity tells the story of the cross in a way that’s actually pretty similar to the story about the snake. Humanity was and is a bunch of horrible, ungrateful wretches. So God sent the poisonous serpents of sin among us to chomp on us and make our lives even worse.
In order to appease God’s righteous anger, Jesus had to die on the cross. So we worship the cross, much like the bronze serpent.
Christians wouldn’t say we worship the cross – rather, what it stands for – but that can be a fine line, let’s be honest! The cross is unarguably central to Christian symbolism and worship.
There are churches that really dwell on Jesus’ death on the cross as their core story, the place where they find meaning and truth.
There are churches that are really more comfortable with the empty tomb, the happy ending of Easter morning, and don’t want to think too much about the hard stuff before – or after.
I like to think that at St. Dunstan’s, and in the Episcopal Church in general, we strike a pretty good balance of taking both Good Friday and Easter Sunday very seriously indeed.
While the cross is perhaps less overwhelmingly central for us than for some other kinds of churches, it is central for us too. I mean – there it is.
I would like the story of Nehushtan to lead us to reflect on what we think, what we feel, when we look at cross, or wear a cross, or sign the cross.
Does the cross tell us that we are miserable wretches who only deserve God’s anger?
Does it remind us of moments when we have felt amazing grace?
Does it tell us that we matter so much to God that God would pay any price to show us how beloved we are?
Does it tell us that no matter the depths of pain, suffering, struggle, God is in it with us?
Does it tell us, in the words of Paul, that God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength?
Does it tell us, in the words of Dr. King, that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality – that right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant?
Does it tell us that love wins?
I invite us to wonder and notice together, as we turn towards the cross in these final weeks of Lent. Amen.
9AM ZOOM ONLINE GATHERING: WE USE SLIDES THAT INCLUDE MOST OF THIS INFORMATION, BUT SOME PREFER TO PRINT IT OUT AND FOLLOW ALONG ON PAPER!
The link for the Zoom gatherings is available in our weekly E-news, in our Facebook group St. Dunstan’s MadCity, or by emailing Rev. Miranda: .
THREE WAYS TO USE AN ONLINE BULLETIN…1
1. Print it out!
2. Open the bulletin on one device (smartphone or tablet) while joining Zoom worship on another device (tablet or computer).
3. On a computer, open the bulletin in a separate browser window or download and open separately, and view it next to your Zoom window.
I was hesitant to post this sermon online because in the course of putting it together, I wasn’t careful about keeping track of which quotation came from which source. But I’ve been asked to share it so here it is! The sources are all at the end, if you need to track something down .
This Genesis lesson is one of the odder bits of the Hebrew Bible. And it’s odd even if you’re reading Genesis chapter by chapter, not just in a random chunk in the Sunday lectionary. If you’ve studied mythology in school or college, you know that the many peoples have stories that explain why the stars are scattered across the sky, why caves will return an echo, and so on. This is the clearest example of anything of the sort in the Hebrew Bible: God putting God’s bow in the sky to remind God not to flood the world again. And it’s unusual. Much of the Old Testament tradition is pretty cautious about describing God as being very much like a human being – and certainly having anything as mundane as a bow, a human weapon, is a surprise. (Though it is nice that God’s bow is so colorful!)
This passage is the end of the Flood narrative: the story of Noah and his family taking a pair of every type of animal on a giant boat, an ark, to survive a worldwide flood. Some of you, in school or college, may have learned that there are other ancient flood stories from this part of the world (and elsewhere). It makes sense; a thousand-year flood happens about every thousand years, and those events are catastrophic enough to be enshrined in story – stories that make meaning out of terror and survival, and offer a perspective on the human relationship with the powers that oversee the world.
There’s a lot to say about the flood story in Genesis, and I’m not going to say it today! But I do want to say that the flood story of Hebrew Scripture isn’t just echoing or copying the other flood myths of the ancient Near East in some simplistic way. It is recasting the story of some primeval disaster in a way that says something distinctive about this people’s understanding of God and humanity.
Likewise this bit about God’s bow in the sky: It feels like something borrowed from the sacred stories of some other people, who like to envision their god in full battle dress. Yet still this short passage says something distinctive and important. And part of what it’s saying is that the relationship between God and God’s people, of whom Noah is a forerunner, is not a two-way relationship. It’s a three-cornered relationship that binds together God, humanity, and creation.
One name for this idea is the Triangular Covenant … and getting Christians today to see this in the Biblical text, and take it on board in our own worldviews, is the life work of Old Testament scholar Ellen Davis. Davis isn’t unique in this perspective, but she has been advocating for it, clearly and compellingly, for a couple of decades now.
And her advocacy is necessary, because this perspective is significantly different from the ways our culture and many of our churches have taught us to think. Broadly speaking, we think of humans as different from, and dominant over, nature. Even if we do not think that with our conscious minds, the way we collectively objectify and commodify land and living things reveal the deeper truth. And we tend to think of God as distant and abstract – not down in the dirt with the worms and roots and beetles and mycelia. Davis says, “No generation has lived as far from the way that the Bible would understand the existence of everything on earth as we do.”
To bring us back to a Biblical understanding of humanity’s relationship with creation – which is also an ecological, sustainable, hopeful understanding of humanity’s relationship with creation – Davis starts from this foundational assumption of the Biblical worldview: There is a triangular relationship among God, humanity, and creation.
There are variations in how the relationship is described. Here in Genesis, it’s a covenant – a mutual promise, with benefits and consequences – between, in God’s words, “me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations.” In the book of the prophet Hosea, we see similar language: “I will make for you a covenant… with the wild animals, the birds of the air, and the creeping things of the ground…” (Hosea 2:18)
In many places, though, it’s not just animals but the whole created order that is in covenant relationship – often named simply as “the land.” Sometimes that means the particular land that God’s people understand God to have given them. But elsewhere it clearly means the land in general – Creation in general. Mountains and valleys, rivers and oceans, trees and all green growing things, sky, seasons and weather, birds and fish and wild and domesticated animals.
This triangular relationship means – among other things – that we both flourish together, and suffer together. When Davis first got curious about how Scripture talks about Creation, several decades ago, she thought she would find just a few passages. Instead, “the Bible’s concern for an ethic of sustainability popped up everywhere she looked.” And the overwhelming message was clear: “Human communities cannot thrive apart from the health of nonhuman communities — land, water, animals and plants.” https://canadianmennonite.org/articles/ellen-davis-unearths-agrarian-view-bible
There are many Biblical texts that point to this deep truth. Davis quotes the book of the prophet Joel as an example: “The vine withers, the fig tree droops. Pomegranate, palm, and apple—all the trees of the field are dried up; surely, joy withers away among the people.” (Joel 1:10-12) When the crops and fruit trees wither, the people wither. Joy withers.
From the Bible’s perspective, these withering seasons have a message for us. The fundamental character of this three-cornered covenantal relationship is that when any one relationship is neglected or violated, the whole relational structure is affected.
Humans have a vocation towards Creation. We are called by God to be caring and respectful stewards of the natural world and our non-human neighbors. Davis says, “We are answerable to God for how we use the physical order to meet our physical needs.” We often fail and fall short. This grieves and angers God. Our disordered relationship with Creation affects our relationship with God.
Likewise, in the Hebrew Bible, when humans turn away from God and God’s ways – for example, by perpetrating or tolerating injustice, not being merciful towards the poor, and so on – the alienation in that relationship is reflected in the land itself. Davis writes, “The suffering of the earth itself may be the chief index of the brokenness in our relationship with God.”
In the prophetic texts of the Bible, Davis argues, natural disasters like earthquakes and droughts are often understood as clues that something is amiss – as calls to collective self-examination and course correction. “The Earth and its non-human inhabitants [can] serve as divinely appointed witnesses to and agents of judgment.”
This is a different message than we might hear from conservative Christian leaders who cast such events as punishment for a nation that’s gotten too lax about the Ten Commandments. Davis suggests instead that “natural” disasters – an increasingly muddy category, in an era of climate crisis – bear witness to disrupted covenantal relationships and the need for repentance and repair.
Because the God of the Bible, the God we follow, always wants reconciliation and restoration. The Hebrew Bible is chock-full of ecological language and imagery. Some tells of present or potential devastation, like the withered trees of Joel. Some tells of flourishing and hope – streams in the desert, flowers in the wilderness. Today’s Gospel gestures to those texts and images, so quickly that you might have missed it: “Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”
He was with the wild beasts. I love how Mark tells the story of the temptations of Jesus, here at the beginning of his public ministry. It’s so short, yet there’s so much here to ponder. Let’s focus on those wild beasts for a moment! The image of Jesus in the wilderness, accompanied by the wild creatures of that place, might remind us of Eden – that powerful and evocative vision of a beginning-time before all the ruptures of human progress and civilization, when humans and creatures and plants all lived in harmony and shared delight. The Book of Job is a richly ecological text; there’s a passage in chapter 5 when one of Job’s friends describes the ideal state of being reconciled with God: “[You] shall not fear the wild animals of the earth. For you shall be in league with the stones of the field, and the wild animals shall be at peace with you.” (Job 5:22-23)
Jesus – already named as the Son of God – leaves human space for wild space, is attended by angels and befriended by animals – jackals and lizards, vultures and hyraxes, ostriches, ibexes, leopards, and the other creatures of the Judean desert. This moment, this brief but rich description, offers a glimpse of the triangular covenant in its wholeness: human, divine, natural, all in one place, at peace.
The Triangular Covenant arises in our readings today, but it’s also a timely topic for Lent. The word Lent itself is related to the lengthening of days in this season – we practice Lent in the weeks when winter begins to ebb towards spring. On Ash Wednesday, we acknowledge that we are one with the dirt, the soil of the earth. In the litany we use on Ash Wednesday and other Sundays of the season we confess our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, our waste and pollution of God’s creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us.
In the Great Litany on the first Sunday in Lent, we pray to be delivered from lightning and tempest, from earthquake, fire, and flood, from plague, pestilence, and famine, and from dying suddenly and unprepared. Meanwhile we struggle to make sense of disordered seasons, of an El Niño winter exacerbated by climate change; flooding in California; a February tornado just south of Madison. Dozens of cities from the Midwest to the Northeast are about to log one of the warmest winters on record. We are called in so many ways to reflection, repentance, repair.
I first encountered the Triangular Covenant in Ellen Davis’ Old Testament class at Duke in 2005. Since then, her sense of the need to reintegrate ecological awareness into our understanding of Scripture has only grown in urgency. In a 2013 interview she explained, “I’ve sort of taken a vow that every time I lecture or preach, when there isn’t a specific topic that I have to talk about, I talk about climate change and the Bible, and I do it because my experience is that the more we talk about it in community, the more possibilities we find to do something in response to it.” She says people need to feel they can engage with the problem *through* their faith. And it is powerful, I think, to know that the Bible speaks some deep wisdom and truth to one of the greatest challenges of our time.
A lot of us live with climate anxiety and climate grief as daily companions. I don’t think we need more guilt or fear. Overwhelm and paralysis are already big problems. We need to feel our grief and our anger, move through them, and let them move through us. We also don’t need more tasks, more busyness. There are meaningful things we can do, changes we can make, ideas we can share. I love all that! It matters. But – and – I think there’s something deeper.
We hear a lot, as Lent begins, about repentance. I think most of us hear that word as meaning: Being sorry for doing bad things, and trying to do fewer bad things – or at least different bad things – going forward. But the Greek word behind it is metanoia, and I think it’s a much more interesting word. It means a change of mind, a transformation of knowing. I like to translate it as “a change of mind and heart that bears fruit in a changed life.”
There is a call to metanoia in recognizing the truth of the Triangular Covenant. The metanoia of integrating this triangular relationship into our understandings of faith, self, world. I’m challenging myself, this Lent, to work on thinking of my relationship with place, with earth, with non-human neighbors, with ecological systems, as utterly integral to my life of prayer and the practice of my faith. To thinking of the natural world as not something I look at out at but something to which I belong.
That is a big shift. I don’t know how to do it but I’m going to try to start with something simple and concrete: Spending a little time outside, with intention and attention, every day. Every day.
I’d like to conclude by sharing two poems. Both of them deal, in different ways, with the triangular covenant. One is angry and one is… not exactly reassuring, but a gentler call to remember that we belong to the world.
I think my hope for myself this season, and for you too, is that we can find ourselves in the ambiguity, the tension, between love and anger, hope and despair, peace and urgency, as we walk the way of Lent as God’s people in and of the world.
Some of you probably know the first one. Mary Oliver, Wild Geese –
The second poem is called Inventing Sin, by George Ella Lyon.
Some sources:
https://archive.org/details/podcast_payton-lectures-2013-spring_the-covenant-triangle_1000153922109
Interview with Ellen Davis:
https://enterthebible.org/audio/4-14-is-there-hope-for-creation
A church talk by Ellen:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ducopvj_zyw
https://www.patheos.com/blogs/carlgregg/2012/07/ellen-davis-a-hebrew-bible-scholar-you-should-know/
https://canadianmennonite.org/articles/ellen-davis-unearths-agrarian-view-bible